Page 9

"A seat on the Council," I say.

Jesus Christ. It hits me like a fucking freight train.

"I was right," I say.

"That's the spirit!" the Scotsman says gaily, as though I'm the most entertaining thing in the world. He helps me over to a large chair covered in a dusty white drop cloth, and I sink into it.

It occurs to me that I should probably be worried about breaking my lease, or getting my clothes and personal shit out of my crappy apartment.

Except… ghosting my landlord is practically community service and all my clothes and crap are sorely needing to be replaced anyway.

Is there anything in my apartment I’d want to grab, really? Anything I want to save?

The only thing I’ve cared about for a long time now is my research.

I swallow, the truth of how sad my existence has been smacking me right in the face. All that hard work, stolen by fucking Cole, and nothing to show for it.

Except for the fact that I’m now living my research. A crazed grin tugs one side of my face up.

"Are you thirsty?" he asks. "For something other than that foul swill you've been drinking? I could go for a Scotch myself."

"I think I need water," I tell him, croaking the words out.

"Of course you do, lassie. You've just had a big revelation."He says it ruefully, like it’s my fault. "Now tell me, what did you mean, you knew you were right?"

"I need to know everything," I say.

"So you don't just want the short version anymore, do you?" His grin is positively devilish, and he's so handsome it takes my breath away for a second before I come to my senses and realize that I'm fully at this giant man's mercy in what appears to be an abandoned house.

And I'm not really sure anymore if he's even a man.

Adrenaline shoots through me, leaving my fingers trembling, sweat beginning to bead in the small of my back as the implications of everything he's saying really hit home. If this isn't some weird, strange reaction to alcohol and likely dehydration from rooting around in a forgotten, spider-filled tunnel under the city, then that means what he's saying about vampires could be real. It means that I might have had my throat in the jaws of a giant bear who was sometimes a man.

My hand shakes as I bring it to my collarbone, and his eyes narrow. He takes a step closer.

I scoot back into the chair, my shoulders hitting the wingback with force.

"Och, lass, don't be like that."

"You almost bit my head off," I say, annoyed to find that my voice is shaking even worse than my hands are.

"You were never in any danger from me."

"You were a bear," I say, like the words will somehow create meaning if I say them out loud enough.

"Aye, I am a bear sometimes, but I'm still a man. And I've sworn, as everyone else in Clan MacTavish has for centuries, to protect House Midnight and all of her heirs, as long as they may be. So you're in no danger from me, missy."

"Vivienne," I choke out, because I definitely am tired of being called missy. "And I'm pretty sure 'lass' isn't my favorite thing I've ever been called."

"Well, I know a lot of words a lot worse than lass if it's that that bothers you. Could call you Mistress if that's the way you lean," he says, and I swear there's something like fiendish humor in his gaze.

"Mistress?" I say, shocked out of my fear by the sheer ridiculousness of that assertion.

"Sometimes the old seats of power prefer formality. I take it to mean you don't."

"I'm not stupid," I say slowly. "You're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?" he asks, looking clearly intrigued. "Do you feel any better, Mistress?"