Page 11

Come in, child.

Freddie hadn’t been a child for centuries, but it wasn’t condescending when Coven Master Hughes called him that. In many ways, he had taken the place of the biological father Freddie had lost when he became a vampire. And he’d certainly been more of a sire and guiding hand than the asshole that had made Freddie.

Freddie turned the brass handle and opened the door to the coven master’s office. The furnishings had been carefully chosen, expensive but not over the top. Upon entering, your eye automatically went to the large mahogany desk that Master Hughes currently sat behind.

A handsome man who appeared to be in his early fifties, Master Hughes had perfect hair and a well-trimmed salt and pepper beard. He was fastidious about his appearance, and Freddie had never seen him look messy or disheveled.

Nearby, in a high-backed armchair, sat Daniel, the master’s American husband. A lithe, blonde man, he bore the strong iron-and-ash scent of a new vampire.

Freddie didn’t know Daniel very well, but he’d been impressed with how quickly the American had formed connections with the other vampires. Honestly, Freddie was jealous at how easily it came to him. There was a difficult contradiction between the wide-eyed overwhelm of a baby vampire and the authoritative presence needed to be coven master’s mate, but Daniel had navigated it with grace.

It was unusual for him to be there. Freddie turned back to Master Hughes. His face was a still mask concealing a deep undercurrent of rage. The air crackled with it. Freddie couldn’t recall another time he’d seen him so angry.

“Thank you for coming, my son. I have a job for you.”

Freddie waited for more.

“It’s the Azarians. They’ve threatened Daniel’s nephew, Anthony.”

Freddie frowned. The Azarians were all the way in New York, and there’d been some strain between the covens. They hadn’t been willing to set down a proper treaty. Still, the Atlantic Ocean was wide. Freddie didn’t understand what an American coven had to do with London vampires.

“Why?” Freddie asked.

“Anthony is an up-and-coming opera singer, a star tenor. He must have gained enough publicity to attract their attention, and they traced him back to Daniel and myself.”

Freddie cocked his head. This still didn’t make sense.

Master Hughes’ eyes hardened. “The Azarians have been making veiled threats for some time now, blustering about the illegitimacy of our coven and attempting to forge alliances against us. They may be across the pond for the moment, but they have plans for expansion. Their imperialistic tendencies remind me of the dark times, back when the ancient ones used all as their pawns. I remember being caught between the armies of Enolf the Brute and Gabriela de Aragon. Charles Azarian seems to model himself after them.”

“That’s daft.”

“It is, but ambition doesn’t require intellect. Anthony needs a bodyguard until we can sort this out. I’d like you to do it.”

Freddie hated the idea of being away. He could protect his coven-mates better than anyone, and he worried about leaving that job to someone less intelligent, or less ruthless. But if his master required it…

“Where?” Freddie asked.

Master Hughes glanced toward Daniel, who smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes, which were lined with worry and exhaustion.

“Anthony travels for his work, and his schedule is hectic. He’s wrapping up in Chicago now, and you can meet him at his next engagement in San Francisco.”

Freddie nodded, but he couldn’t help scowling.

“I know you don’t want to be away from the coven,” Master Hughes continued. “You have always kept us all safe and hidden. In my estimation, the threat from the Azarians merits your presence. If they try to take him hostage, or worse, we will find ourselves in a vastly weakened position.”

“I understand.” Freddie pushed down his instinctual worry. The coven had many capable vampires to assume his duties. He needed to follow his master’s wishes.

“Thank you,” Daniel said, and lunged forward, hugging Freddie. It took everything in him to tamp down his instinctual, violent reaction. His master just looked amused.

Freddie hated hugs.

“He’s like a son to me,” Daniel said. Freddie could hear the tears threatening to spill out. Daniel stepped back, bringing himself under control. “He may not be happy that you’re there. He’s…”

“Self-obsessed.” Master Hughes’ voice was tinged with amusement.

“Oliver!”

“Let’s not beat about the bush, my love. He is good at heart, but he doesn’t concern himself with much outside of his own career ambitions. He’s got blinkers on for everything else.” Master Hughes turned back to Freddie. “He hasn’t taken the danger seriously. Daniel didn’t hear from him until he’d received a third letter.”