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Chapter twenty-five

Failure wasn’t an option for Aidan, yet two nights had passed since the colossal fuck up at the facility.

He’d given Rae space. She’d muttered something about looking for his magic as they’d made their way back into the manor that night, and if space was what she needed to locate it, he would give it to her.

She was playing him, he was sure of it, but she knew something.

Keeping her close was the best option he had, despite who she was.

What she was. Vampires had tried to strike a deal with the Witches once; it hadn’t ended well.

His hand ran over the scar on his chest as the other knocked back the remains of his glass of visk before he reached for the bottle to pour another.

He could still taste Rae. Still feel the press of her body against his, the pull of her magic under his skin.

A Vampire approached the front gates, alone; the cameras would pick up his arrival soon.

“Cormac is here,” he told Baelin, seated opposite his Ascendant on the sofa in the study.

Baelin hummed his acknowledgement, eyes never leaving his PAD.

He’d been tracking the movements of the remaining council members at Aidan’s request; it was time to try and salvage the absolute shitshow his uncle had been so proud of.

Aidan didn’t care if every last one of them perished, but he needed information, and if things got out of hand, he needed numbers.

He downed the second glass of visk, his hand rubbing at his chest again as if he could brush away the sensation of Rae’s magic. If getting under his skin had been her intention, she’d succeeded. Outside the study, Shaw had raised a hand to the door but was yet to knock. “Come in,” Aidan told him.

The old steward stood aside for Cormac, then merely dipped his chin before leaving the three of them alone.

“Sit,” Aidan told the turned Vampire. He took in the way Cormac held himself, the way he crossed one leg over the other, a hand resting on his knee.

A show of confidence the male believed, though not entirely.

Aidan didn’t press against his mind; not yet.

One-sided conversations were dull, and he needed his Ascendant to be able to do what he did best.

His gaze snagged on one of the rings on Cormac’s hand. One of Rae’s, Aidan was certain of it. “An interesting choice.”

“A gift,” Cormac offered.

From Scarlett. His mate. Aidan felt the Vampire’s reservation at even breathing her name in front of Baelin as he slid a glass of visk across the table.

“Your secret is safe with my Ascendant.” He already had what he’d been looking for, didn’t see the need to embarrass Cormac by airing it.

His mate had given it to him to keep him safe.

Touching, but Vampires were proud, and any show of weakness, of acknowledging what the ring was for, would shatter any respect Cormac might have earned since killing his creator.

The Vampire knocked back the liquid in one, unease leaking from every pore.

Fear. Fear he might never see her again.

“Weyland proposed an exchange.” Cormac smoothed the fabric of his grey trousers over his knee. “Scarlett has no remarkable abilities. Her powers are… average, at best, for her kind. What she lacks in magic she more than makes up for—”

Aidan raised a hand to cut him off. He had no interest in what her other talents were, and unfortunately, he’d already seen a flash of Cormac’s memories to show him in great detail. “What does Weyland want in exchange?” he asked, his patience running thin.

The Vampire thumbed the rim of his glass, and for a moment Aidan thought he was going to lie to them. “He gave me a list.”

“A list of those with more interesting abilities.”

Cormac nodded.

“And you gave him your blood.”

Another nod. “A turned Vampire… he said it might stabilise their formula.”

Aidan’s eyes narrowed. Cormac wasn’t out of place around wealth and had likely been in all of Demesia’s most expensive establishments, but in the centre of Aidan’s study, which admittedly was three times larger than any study needed to be, he seemed small, helpless.

Cormac was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. “And the list?”

The Vampire retrieved a piece of paper from his pocket, the slightest tremor in his hand as he flattened it to the dark wood before them.

A quick scan of the contents told Aidan not only was he and almost his entire household on the list, but most of the council too. All the more reason to meet with them.

“Scarlett’s location?” Aidan already had it, but he wanted Cormac to say it. Compliance was much easier to work with than the alternative.

“A building in the Southern Quarter. One of the humans’ facilities for growing that muck they call food.”

Aidan and Baelin exchanged a glance. The chances of Nim being there too were high, but they needed a better plan this time, or they’d all be serving themselves up for testing. Aidan needed Rae to focus on the task at hand; this distraction had gone on long enough.

Cormac rambled on, and Aidan let him for Baelin’s sake while he sifted through the Vampire’s memories of the meeting. Weyland was an arrogant bastard, but Aidan suspected he wasn’t the one pulling the strings on this. Then something snagged his interest—

“They want to make a new Order? That’s what this is about?” He thought of Daire, and the idea of more of them out there in the city spelled nothing but trouble.

“They want to use it on themselves,” Cormac explained.

Baelin leaned forward at that, his PAD discarded on the table. “The humans? Or the Fae they’re collaborating with?”

“Both, I think,” Cormac mused.

Aidan laughed humourlessly at the admission. Whatever Torrin had promised Weyland, he was a fool.

Shaw, Aidan called out to his steward. We’re done here.

My lord . A heartbeat later, Shaw stood waiting at the entrance to the study, the scent of weed and human food drifting through the open doorway.

Cormac’s face fell as he realised he was being dismissed. “Please,” he whispered.

“I’ll do what I can, but understand the only reason I’m letting you walk out of here is because I need Weyland to believe you’re gathering his list.”

Cormac nodded in understanding, though his objections were on the tip of his tongue, his thoughts a scrambled mess.

“I’ll send instructions,” Aidan said, his attention fixed wholly on Rae and whatever the fuck she was doing in her studio a floor above them.

“Yes, my lord. Of course.”

Aidan didn’t even acknowledge Cormac as he left, Shaw closing the door behind him.

“She’s cooking up there now too?” Baelin asked, handing over his PAD.

“Your guess is as good as mine. What’s this?”

“Transcripts.”

Between Baxter and Rae. Aidan hid his irritation, reading the messages once. Twice. Anger tightened his jaw as his eyes skimmed the words a third time. “When?”

“This is from tonight, my lord.” Baelin’s eyes dipped to Aidan’s hand on his chest. “She could have left the bullet there.” The bullet Baelin had examined, traces of the tranquiliser Aidan had suspected it had been filled with still coating the shell.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He tossed the PAD back to his Ascendant, leaving his study without another word.

Part of him regretted telling her the truth of his lineage.

The other part, the part that had revelled in the warm glow of that slither of sunlight, that had so badly wanted to see Rae’s reaction to the truth, didn’t care at all.

He’d been more than giving, and she’d shoved it back in his face, time and time again.

At the top of the staircase, the damn rutok Rae had brought back with them darted between Quinn’s limbs, the daemon sitting stoically on its hind legs. Even the fucking dog had to suffer the Witch’s antics.

Farren , he called out, trying to smooth over his anger before barging into her room. No answer. Why can I smell baked potatoes drifting from your studio, Witch? Her studio. Like it had always existed in his home.

I needed a heat sink, came her tired reply. Like he tired her, just as much as he tired of her bullshit.

He forced himself to knock on her door. “A heat sink?”

“I’m busy, Vampire.”

“With your potatoes?”

A sigh. “It’s open.”

She didn’t look up as he walked in, something she’d perfected now after a few days in the manor. Aidan knew the Witch went out of her way to do the opposite of what was expected of her as his Odalik, just to piss him off.

“The potato draws the heat away from any parts of the silver I don’t want to melt.

See?” she explained as he made his way over to her workbench.

She’d pushed her goggles up to her head, a mask pulled down to her neck, though he doubted she’d been using it given that her joint sat half-finished on the bench beside her.

Her lilac hair was tied back, a few curls falling down her back, the cut of her vest low and exposing the back band of her lace bralette.

A scrap of fabric that could barely be called a skirt had ridden high on her thighs, and in the back of his mind Aidan wondered at the safety of exposing so much skin around hot metal, but Rae didn’t seem to care.

His eyes lifted reluctantly to the scorched potato and the piece of metal wedged inside it. “Faction order?”

Rae stiffened, lighting her joint with the extended flame from her torch like she’d done it a hundred times before, and took a drag before handing it to him. “For Bax,” she said on an exhale, pulling down her goggles and turning her back to him.

“A gift.” It wasn’t a question, and again the fucking scar she’d given him heated.

“The only piece of jewellery I’ve ever gifted was to Nim,” Rae said quietly. “This one is imbued with a tracking spell.”