Page 60 of Vampire Savage

“He has terrible fashion.” Irritation burns in Eris’ eyes. “It doesn’t matter. The bargain has been made.”

Ambrose concedes with a tilt of his head. “Any sign of him then?”

“No,” Ashe says, and the single word sends Eris into agitated pacing. “Nothing for the last hundred years. Eris was close after her summoning, so I imagine he went to ground. He knows she’s still on this plane, looking for him.”

My phone vibrates and I pull it out, brows narrowing at the notification. Ambrose and Ashe continue to speak, a part of my mind still listening and noting the important points for later.

Wren is at her father’s penthouse. She must have taken a car directly there after leaving. I grit my teeth, my phone creaking under my grip. I should have blown Ambrose off and chased her down.

Swiping open the phone, I send her another text.

Don’t do anything stupid, Little Bird. I want you safe.

My frown deepens when the message fails to go through. I try it a second time, but again it fails.

“Something wrong?” Ashe asks, breaking through my fixation.

There shouldn’t be, but my instincts are roaring to life. Is it just because she’s my mate and she’s now within reach of the man I’ve sworn to destroy? Or is something truly wrong? I focus inward, searching for her emotions through our tenuous, unsolidified mating bond. There’s nothing concerning radiating towards me. Annoyance. Frustration. Conflict. Hope. Each of those Wren felt as I let her walk away after hearing she could be pregnant with my child.

I’ve learned to trust my instincts over the centuries. They’ve never been wrong and have kept me and my fellow Nightshades alive. But why would she go to Oberon immediately? Does she doubt the evidence against him? Is she planning to confront him?

More importantly, why the hell are my messages not going through?

I meet Ambrose’s gaze, holding it as I call Wren. A bestial sound overwhelms Wren’s professional greeting for voicemail. As I stab the End Call button with my thumb, I realize the sound came from me.

“Yes,” I say, rising. “I’m not sure what yet, but I intend to find out.”

Ambrose nods and I turn to leave. I need to get upstairs to my computer. If Wren is at Oberon’s penthouse and I can’t get through to her, it means she’s in danger. My little bird may be upset with me and my reaction, but she’s not rash. She’s never rash. It’s something I love about her.

Love. I stop in my tracks. I love something about her. I might even... love her.

“Landon?” Ashe’s voice is thick with concern and even Eris is looking at me strangely.

I look over at Ambrose, who sits back in his leather chair and gives me a knowing look. It’s as if he’s experienced the same sort of realization.

My ringtone breaks the silence and I look at the screen. Unknown number. Ice fills my stomach as my instincts tell me this is what they were warning me about.

I answer the call and bring the phone to my ear but say nothing.

“Hello, Mr. Polastri. Or should I say, Soldier Polastri?”

Oberon’s voice is haughty and amused. By sheer force of will I don’t crush the phone and I say nothing. Rage replaces the blood in my veins, my fangs elongating and spine turning to steel.

I will not play this monster’s game.

Locking everything down, I let a grin twist my lips. I had always planned for this confrontation. I will not fail my vendetta or Wren.

“Mr. Benoit,” I say, modulating my voice into practiced pleasantries. “Or do you prefer General Demencius? I’d say it’s a pleasure, but we both know I’d be lying. Which I hate to do.”

An amused chuckle rumbles through the line. “I truly thought I was the only one to survive the blast. I almost didn’t, but I used the chalice and—what was your friend’s name? Erik—no, was it Jan?”

“Sergi.”

“That’s him!” Oberon answers, jovial. “Sergi was already dead, but I’d planned the attack well. The cultists had begun a ritual, one with enough of their magic that everyone’s blood was imbued with it as they died. So when I had to drag my broken body across the burning floor, it was a relief to find Sergi’s body intact but bleeding. It was difficult, since I was badly burned, but I managed to get enough of his blood into the chalice and say the rite. It healed me well enough that I walked away from there, laughing your name.”

Ashe and Ambrose rise, moving to stand in front of me. Ambrose’s eyes are wrath filled, and Ashe looks murderous.

“What a shame,” I reply drolly. “Is there a point to this call beyond gloating?”