Page 48 of Vampire Savage
“Your father has something very important to me.” Eris’s voice is otherworldly and fear ripples through me, Lan snarling at my side. “And you’re going to help me get it back.”
Chapter Twenty-One
WREN
Eris’s arrival shuts down dinner and we’re all herded into Ambrose’s large office, even Eloise and Deidre. The spacious room has richly paneled walls, polished hardwood floors, and ambient lighting from brass wall sconces. One wall is lined with grand bookcases, with two club chairs and a small tea table set in the center, the shelves filled with everything from leather-bound tomes to modern glossy paperbacks with cracked spines. My fingers itch to explore them, but I control myself and let Lan set me in one of the club chairs. Joséphine sits in the other, just after setting down a large china plate stacked high with mouthwatering cookies.
Ambrose claims the plush leather chair with high armrests behind an imposing mahogany desk with intricate carvings. It holds a massive, modern monitor and wireless keyboard and mouse—a fusion of old and new. From my father’s penchant for antiques, I’d place the age of the desk to about three hundred years. It’s a desk my father would covet if he saw it.
Thinking about my father pains me, with everything that’s happened since this morning. At least I’ve already decided I’m not marrying Miles. Lan disappears from the room the moment his mother is beside me, and I wring my hands, anxious for his return. Then I give myself a shake. I’m not helpless, even in a room filled with vampires and a demon. I’m not helpless against my father, if what Lan says is true even if I’ve yet to see evidence of my lover’s claims.
Eloise takes two cookies from the plate with a quiet thanks before she leans against Ambrose’s chair. He raises his hand, his eyes still on the monitor before him and she takes it while watching him work. The love between them is evident and gives me hope for my own vampire. He’ll see what he’s capable of in time. Deidre has joined Kasar beside a window, their bodies a breath away from touching. They may look different than Ambrose and Eloise, but there’s no mistaking the sheer masculinity of his claim on the woman next to him. One look at her is all it takes to see she’s just as possessive and protective of her vampire.
Malachi has propped himself on the edge of Ambrose’s desk, ignoring the dark glare from the vampire king, and he directs his attention to the center of the room where Ashe stands like a marble sentinel, his gaze never leaving the pacing, fuming demon that possesses the body of his wife.
“Tell us what you’ve learned,” Malachi orders the demon, rather than Ambrose, to my surprise. The vampire’s libertine attitude is gone, and in its place is a vampire I’d be wary of. Nothing escapes those sharp eyes, his body poised to look relaxed but there’s power lining his limbs ready to strike or defend. I may be falling hard and fast for Lan, but I have eyes and this serious Malachi is sex in a suit.
Eris doesn’t pause in her pacing, her sharp-heeled boots clicking menacingly with each step on the hardwood. She’d taken off her black leather jacket to reveal the black cotton tank she wore under, her black jeans painted on. I didn’t notice them in the dining room, but she has knives strapped to her thighs, and another knife handle coming from the top of her knee-high boot. Her sharp nails, long enough to be talons, are the only part of her that has color, though the pumpkin orange manicure’s effect has only grown more ghoulish with the dried blood on them.
She tosses her head back, hissing with irritation at her unruly locks getting in her face, and Ashe slides a hand from his pocket, silently offering a hair tie. She snatches it from him and angrily ties her hair up and back. I gasp, along with Deidre and Eloise, as nasty wounds that look like she’d been whipped by fire are exposed. Ashe halts the woman with a firm grip on her bicep and she flinches and glares.
“What happened?” Ashe’s voice is full of dark promises.
Eris sneers, her eyes going black. “Don’t worry, Ashe. Your precious mate’s body will recover without a trace.”
He doesn’t respond, waiting her out, and I notice she doesn’t pull away. Darcelle’s words may have more truth to them than the demon wants to admit. Eris grumbles again and rolls her eyes, then finds me.
“Somehow your father has gotten his hands on a celestial blade,” she says accusingly as if I had anything to do with it. “Mine, to be specific. I found this out when canvasing Demencius Antiques. When I tried to take it back, the godsdamned blood spell that bastard Aeternaphiel cast on lashed out.” She jerks her head towards the burns. “That wasn’t caused by mortal fire. It’s celestial flames. Hurts like a bitch but will heal without a mark. Angels don’t like to ruin their image of perfect beauty, so they’ve mastered punishments like this.”
“Angels? Aeternaphiel?” Deidre asks, her expression incredulous. “And why would you have a celestial blade? You’re a demon.”
When Eris tugs away from Ashe, he lets her go this time and she turns to face the woman I’d learned was an investigative journalist for the top newspaper in Newgate. Eris crosses her arms, but her face is less angry than before. In fact, she seems almost uncertain before she shrugs, adopting a look of indifference. “I wasn’t always a demon. I’ve got my own past, you know.” Then she sends her glare to each of the vampires, lingering on Ashe at the end. “You’d all know that if you ever tried to get to know me and not just think of me as the crazy demon possessing a woman that you can use as a weapon whenever you want.”
Ashe’s head jerks as if she’d slapped him.
When no one says anything, I clear my throat and everyone’s gaze turns to me. “Why were you at the gallery?” As much as I’d grumbled about my father assigning me the management and responsibility of the new gallery, I actually care about the place. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved with it so far. Another thought strikes me and I grip the armrests of the chair. “Did the fire hurt anything else?”
I don’t have my phone on me, and I have no idea if I had gotten any alerts about a fire or disturbance at the gallery.
My answer comes from Lan, who’s striding in with an open laptop balanced on his flat palm and my phone in his other. “Celestial fire only harms the intended target,” he answers, his tone clinical and almost bored. He stops beside me, eyes still on the screen, but he hands my phone to me. “The gallery is fine. And it looks like security is handling it. Eris held back, fortunately, and didn’t kill anyone. Niamh has texted you.”
“Oh,” I say, distracted as I look at my screen to see two missed calls, and five text messages. Looking at the date, I want to groan. I’d totally forgotten we had plans for happy hour earlier. I text her a quick apology and a promise that I’m fine and I’ll explain everything later. With that sent, I look back at Lan, my brows narrowing. He said he used to deal in information. “The gallery has top-rated cyber and on-site security.”
“So does your father’s penthouse,” Lan replies before handing me the laptop. My jaw drops when I see the screen. It’s the internal access to my father’s network, something that shouldn’t be possible. When I look up at him in question, the man smirks. “They’re good. I’m much, much better. And so is Eris.”
Eris nods in confirmation, her expression back to a blend of irritation and confidence. “I didn’t want to deal with the mess. Regardless, I want my blade back.”
Finally, Ambrose speaks up, Eloise’s hand on his shoulder. She may be dressed down, but she stands next to him like a queen. Together, they look like power and beauty.
“Why is the blade so important? Especially if it is spelled so you can’t touch it.”
Eris doesn’t look at Ambrose when she answers. She turns around and locks gazes with Ashe, and I’d swear everyone is holding their breath as we wait for her answer.
“Because retrieving my celestial blade will meet the first condition of the bargain Cassandra and I struck when she summoned me for aid all those years ago.”
“Well, shit.” Deidre responded before anyone else. She pushes off the wall and walks towards me, but her destination is the plate of cookies. She swipes up four and makes to hand one to Lan only to pull it away as she turns, grinning. “Payback, Polastri.”
My vampire huffs, practically silent, and confused, I reach for the cookies at last and silently pass him one. He seems surprised, his eyes meeting mine as he accepts it with the barest lift of his lips. He passes it to his other hand, then runs the back of his hand along my hair as if I’m something new and enthralling. I return the smile, mine larger and bolder, before taking a bite of my own cookie and looking back at the screen.