Page 15
Chapter 3
Caelan
It feels like tiny bugs are crawling all over my skin.
Being an Alpha means advantage, and being an Alpha vampire is the biggest advantage of all.
Strength, speed, sharper senses than any human male alive and most wolven, too. Except tonight, my instincts are shot. Completely fucking shot.
I nearly step on a branch—right here in plain sight—as I make my way through the forest surrounding the Varenthrall Estate, because I can’t focus for shit.
Thank the gods I’m on recon alone. Gav knows I work better solo, so I knew I wouldn’t get any pushback when I volunteered.
Besides, the probability of running into danger is almost non-existent. It’s a clean recon. In and out.
I lean against an old ash tree at the edge of the property, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. My mind and body aren’t aligning, and that’s a problem.
I’m not here to get caught. I’m here to get information.
I double-check the daggers at my hips and the gun strapped to my thigh, then push off the tree with a booted foot.
Vae gives me shit about suiting up with so many blades, but I’ve always preferred steel to lead.
There’s a kind of honesty to a blade. Killing is personal, and stopping a man’s heart is about as personal as you can get.
Dax is silent in my ear comm, but I can hear his steady breaths. Every now and then, I hear him roll his chair across the floor or pull something up on a computer. As usual, though, he’s content to wait for me to initiate conversation when I’m in the field. He doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence.
Not like some of our team, who love to hear the sound of their own voice anytime a patrol doesn’t require absolute stealth.
I went on a single mission with Silas fifteen years ago and told Gav it was my last. It’s the only demand I’ve ever made of him. The kid never shuts up. I swear he mainlines caffeine directly into his bloodstream.
A single security guard is patrolling the perimeter of the estate, and he’s old and fat.
And human.
Alexander arrived twenty minutes ago. I watched from deep in the woods as he exited his sleek black vehicle, sauntered up to the door, and walked in like he owned the place.
He didn’t knock. Didn’t wait to be let in.
That, more than anything, tells me exactly how close he and Varenthrall are.
Despite the lack of security, the estate contains quite a few other members of staff. I clock housekeepers walking past windows, a light on in the kitchen where a chef is preparing dinner, and the grounds are meticulously curated.
There’s a real-life fucking hedge maze on the East side of the property.
Fucking rich people.
I’ve been scouring the perimeter for the better part of an hour. The west wing is the most active—lights flickering on and off, doors opening and closing. According to Dax, it’s where Varenthrall spends the majority of his time, in his study, smoking room, or bedroom.
I’m debating how to continue my approach when something catches my eye. Motion sensors spin on the edge of the property, alerting me to something that, even with my enhanced eyesight, would have otherwise blended in with the night and the trees.
There are three—
No.
I count again, keeping track of each blinking light. Four sensors surrounding what looks to be a pool house.
Interesting. Why does he have more security on a pool house than his own home?
