Page 11 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)

The aging butler scoffed for a moment before clearing his throat and announcing, Jack Hale, Devin’s club manager.

A business meeting he could handle. He instructed Haversham to show Jack inside.

Jack Hale was an immortal, their preferred name as opposed to the baser moniker ‘vampire.’ Society largely ignored their sect of the world, as their population was sparse at best, and there was a certain stigma attached to the race.

The speculation around the Dark Vow required to start the change was damning on its own, but they would forevermore consume blood to maintain the gained invulnerability, strength, and immortality.

In the early times, this meant that the other races were a food source.

Now, immortals were quite neatly sustained through familiars and thralls.

Suppliers were paid generous sums for small blood donations and laws were in place to keep them from feasting on mortals at their leisure.

Devin didn’t care what drove a man to such ends and Jack certainly never shared, but the man was dependable and honest. Plus, good with numbers and accounts. That’s all that mattered to Devin. Jack’s past was his own business.

Jack entered the study, steps silent despite his wearing boots on a wood floor.

He was a hair taller than Devin—a fact he regularly asserted—but similar in frame, yet gruffer in his manner and state of dress.

Devin may shirk a button or two and some layers, but Jack’s clothes were ill-fitting and disheveled.

“Another visit from Lady Miranda?” Jack asked, eyebrow arched.

“Lady?” Devin clarified, he’d been calling her ‘Miss Wilde’ since meeting her.

“It’s Lady Miranda, but Miss Wilde since she’s the daughter of a noble.”

“How the bloody hell do you know the difference?” Devin hadn’t questioned Jack’s past, but being part of the gentry was too ridiculous to consider.

Jack wouldn’t meet his eyes and Devin guessed the answer would remain a mystery for now. “What was she doing here, Drake?”

Devin laughed. “What can I say, I’m too tempting for even a well-bred lady to stay away long.”

Jack’s expression was unchanged, thoughtful and a bit sad. The man always carried a cloud of doom over his features. “That’s doubtful. She was pissed as she ran out the door. Seems your effect is pissing off pretty women, rather than wooing them.”

“Did you have a reason to be here?” Devin asked, as he took the seat behind the desk. He let his posture slump and leaned as far back as the chair would allow.

Jack’s posture was worse than Devin’s, a slight hunch to his frame as he attempted to make himself smaller than he really was.

Devin was familiar enough to recognize self-loathing when he saw it.

“Yeah, but if I’ve got to worry about an uppity lady making trouble for us I’d like to know about it now.

Upper class ain’t your usual type, Devin.

They come with a whole mess of baggage. Rules.

Laws. Her father would flay you alive just for looking at her. ”

“Obviously, I’m aware of the danger she presents. But there are…extenuating circumstances.”

“Like hell. You want to get in her skirts. Or are you telling me you didn’t notice that she was pretty?”

A surge of anger rose up his throat as Jack’s rough voice called Miranda ‘pretty.’ He bit back a retort.

Jack knew of his need for revenge, even of the bid war with Thaddeus Wraith, but Devin wasn’t sure if he should disclose his…

arrangement with Miss Wilde. He mused for too long and Jack’s patience wore out.

“I don’t give a shit about your personal life, Drake.

I only care how it effects the club,” Jack grumbled, though his actions said otherwise.

He liked to complain and moan, but he never hesitated to help when needed.

He’d picked Devin out of a few gutters, paid off debts, kept a store of liquor so Devin could drown his aura sight.

The rough exterior was mostly show. “So tell me or don’t, but if this effects business I’m done.

I mean it this time. If your skirt chasing up the ranks brings hell down on the Black Heart then it’ll be your mess to clean. ”

“Are you sure you’ve never considered a career in the theater? You excel at drama.”

Jack never smiled and even now his frown only deepened.

“Fine, if I tell you, I need you to promise not to overreact.”

Jack hung his head, hand over his face. “What the fuck did you do?” He fell onto the couch, sitting with his head in his hands. “Gods above, Drake, is it never going to be enough with you? I can’t keep shoveling money into your self-sabotaging habits or paying off—”

“It concerns Graves,” Devin interrupted.

“Fuck me.” Jack laid back, stretching his legs over the arm of the couch.

He stared at the ceiling with resigned frustration.

He knew enough about Drake’s past with Graves that he wouldn’t stop him.

On the list of things Devin hated, his father ranked third.

First place went to Yarrow Graves, the man responsible for the death of his entire unit during the Demon War.

Second, was himself, though he did not acknowledge this fact consciously.

“Miss Wilde and I have an arrangement to end Graves.” He ignored Jack’s groan. “We’re heading to the Night Court tonight.”

Devin was not keen to go to the Night Court.

He had been there a few times when his mother was still alive, but if the rest of the world was slow to accept half-breeds the Night Court was archaic.

Their welcome had been less than warm. As far as Devin cared, he didn’t belong any more with fae than with the human elite.

“In fact,” Devin picked up a pen and found a blank scrap of paper to write a note. “I need you to post something for me on your way out.”

Jack sighed for half a minute.

The note was barely legible, but Kylin should be able to read it. Devin couldn’t just waltz up to his cousin without some sort of warning. Devin sealed the note and held it out. Jack huffed as he stood to retrieve it.

“This ain’t healthy, you know,” Jack said as he snatched the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. “You can’t bring back the dead with revenge. Past is past, nothing we can do. It’s our job to suffer with it until we die.”

“Because that sounds healthier,” Devin responded drolly.

“Just count yourself lucky you can,” Jack droned, his tone bleak. He stomped off, having neglected to talk about whatever he intended to discuss. He’d rant about it later, but for now, Devin wanted to be left in peace.

Devin had gotten very good at brooding alone. He had little to care for, aside from his club, in which he did take a certain amount of pride, but which did not fill any of the holes blown through his chest at the loss and neglect and abuse.

Oh well. Once Graves was properly rotting in the dirt, then maybe Devin would find some peace. And if not, then he’d be able to put all his energy into hating himself.

His eyes drifted closed.

And he saw her. At first it was fleeting.

Just a passing thought of Miranda in her disguise, her olive skin barely covered by that red dress that flaunted all the right curves, leaving just enough to imagination.

And he’d never been said to lack imagination.

Decorum and respect, yes but his imagination was well up to the task of completing a flattering image of Miranda.

Devin gladly embraced his dream, much more favorable than his nightmares, and allowed himself indulgences he wouldn’t take while awake.