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Njáll

T he entire time I’m getting ready the next evening, I turn Maurice’s offer over in my mind.

It would be foolish of me to accept. I know that. Perhaps even more foolish than my visit to that pub. I cannot trust him, not when his allegiances so clearly do not lie with myself and the clan.

And yet, I do not believe he will tell anyone of the conversation we shared.

Chasing Coral—and the few donors who came before her—was always a risky game. She enjoyed it, that much was clear. She always said it was more fun than sitting around either donating bagged blood or waiting for a vampire to come bite her wrist.

But if anyone had seen us? That would have been it. She would likely have been removed from the clan—though I always believed I could argue that away—and I certainly would no longer have been a chieftain.

I sigh, shrugging into another jacket. Will I ever get used to wearing these suits? It seems doubtful, but maybe they just chafe the way everything does right now.

Things will settle in time. And I need to apologise to Maurice, regardless of what I think of his offer.

I do not want him to be my bodyguard, and I know he doesn’t want to be here either, but his work with the Hunt is important.

His investigation will help our clan. It is not lost on me that he went searching mere hours after we were finished with the vampire here, one who had attacked a hunter.

Is this fae blood at work, or simply fae enchantment? Either way, it will be up to Maurice and his fellow hunters to solve the problem, and he cannot do that if I am distracting him from his work.

When I step out of my rooms, he is waiting for me in the hallway.

His fashion is… eclectic, at best, though I cannot pretend that is a subject on which I am an expert.

Today, he wears dark brown trousers that are cut off just above the ankle and a sand-coloured shirt that looks soft to the touch.

His black boots, of course, are ever present, though as I look now, I realise that they probably give him another few inches of height.

Not that he is short without them. That much is clear.

Maurice raises an eyebrow, and I realise I’ve been looking for too long.

“At least I look comfortable,” he says, and I huff without meaning to. He smiles. “Already in a snit, crai?”

I stalk off down the hall, and Maurice, of course, follows easily. He said last night that there is magic in his blood. Just the fae blessing, I would think, and yet he suggested that he can perform magic, too.

I have never heard of a vampire for whom such a feat is possible. Mages, witches… All lose their magic when they are turned. It is, I suspect, part of why a werewolf’s blood is poisonous to us, because to turn them would mean losing their wolf.

“You’re thinking awfully hard,” Maurice says, then lowers his voice. “Is it about my offer?”

“No,” I say, too quickly. We are in the centre of the clan house now and descend the main staircase into what was once a hotel lobby. Vampires and humans bustle about, though most at least nod in my direction when they notice my presence.

Hardly any even look at Maurice, but I believe they are all incredibly aware of him.

Is that why his only contact here seems to be Bel?

“No,” I repeat when we are walking down the hall to my office. “There is just much to contemplate after last night.”

Maurice nods, but the tilt of his head tells me he does not believe me. He sprawls over the sofa once we’re in the office, though for the first time, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and pokes it in much the same way he did last night.

I take a seat behind my desk and open my laptop. I have meetings scheduled for later in the night, but nothing so early. “Do you even know how to use that?” I ask.

Maurice glances at my computer, then back at his phone. “That behemoth? No.”

“I meant the phone you’re holding.”

He shrugs. “Mostly.” He taps it again, and when it chimes, he frowns. “Not really,” he admits, and I can’t help my faint chuckle.

Maurice’s gaze snaps up to mine. I expect him to get defensive, but he just looks down at the phone again, shoulders tensing a little.

“Do you want me to—” I cut myself off. That never helps. Instead, I stand and make my way over to the sofa. Maurice glares up at me, but when it becomes clear I am not going away, he sighs petulantly and moves his legs, allowing me to sit. “What is it you are trying to do?”

Maurice eyes me warily before he presses the device into my hand. “Just wanted to send a message,” he grumbles. “Grant and Asher sent me some, and they were easy to read, but I don’t know how to get them back and I don’t know how to reply.”

There’s no point in asking whether he’s looked up how to use the phone, and they never come with instructions anymore. I pull my own from my pocket and send him a message myself because I don’t want to invade his privacy.

His phone chimes as the message appears, and Maurice’s eyes widen. “Okay,” he says, “I know how to get to that one.”

“Do it.”

He taps the notification and the message opens.

“You can reply here,” I say, showing him how to open the keyboard and type. He’s clumsy, clearly unused to it, but after a minute or so, he has a reply to my brief hello . “Now hit this icon here.”

The message sends, and Maurice’s grin when he sees it on my phone is almost giddy. “It worked!”

“It tends to,” I say, a little dryly, but my tone does not dampen Maurice’s enthusiasm at all. “Now press this here…”

He goes back to the home screen, and I show him how to locate and open the messenger app. I am careful not to read anything on the screen—though I doubt he would risk showing me anything I should not be privy to—and watch carefully as he replies to a message from Asher, then Grant.

His phone immediately buzzes in his hand as though Grant has been waiting for his text. Are they close? I doubt asking will get me any answers.

“Just keep doing that,” I say. “These things are not as intuitive as they would like us to believe, but we can still learn.”

“It’s…” Maurice’s smile slips from his face, and the look he darts at me is somewhat uncertain. “Thank you,” he says, finally, and I shrug one shoulder.

“It’s not a problem,” I reply. “It’s helpful for me too, isn’t it, if you can contact others?”

“Yes.”

“The other apps you have… Just play around with them. I don’t want to say you can’t break it, but it should be difficult.”

“I’ll have the hang of it soon,” Maurice says. His smile returns, muted, and I miss his earlier enthusiasm.

“Well, until they update the software and move everything, and you have to learn it all over again.”

His eyes widen. “They wouldn’t!”

I laugh, and I’m not laughing at him so much as I am at his honest response. Maurice stares at me when I’m done, hand slack like he doesn’t care about the phone at all.

“Are you—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Did you think about my offer?” The words come out all in a rush, and, hindered by his accent, it takes me a second to understand.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

He seems desperate to know, but the truth is that I have come to no decision yet. Something about the last fifteen minutes has made saying yes suddenly dangerous, and I am not certain why.

Over on the desk, my phone rings, and I take it for the out it is. I give Maurice a tight smile, pretending not to notice the disappointment he hides, and snatch up the device and answer.

“A vampire is at the doors requesting an audience, crai.”

“They aren’t with the clan?”

“No.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maurice get to his feet. “Have they told you what they want?”

“No, crai. Only that he wants to talk to you about something.” The guard’s voice drops lower. “We asked, but he said he would only share it with you.”

It’s not the best idea to let him in, but no better to meet him out by the front doors. “Escort him inside,” I say. “Directly to my office. And if you get a hint of anything —”

“Yes, crai.” The guard’s voice is firm. He won’t hesitate. Few of us will, after the past year.

Maurice is in my space as soon as I end the call. “What is it?”

I have no doubt he heard both ends of the conversation, but I relay it to him anyway.

“I will not leave,” he says.

“I won’t ask you to.” The truth is, I don’t like this. It could be a usual visit from a vampire who does not reside in the city, but in that case, they would simply say that they are coming to announce their presence and let us know how long they will be in our territory.

This vampire is far too secretive for my liking, and I have not even met him yet.

Maurice arranges himself into a more professional position on the sofa, while I stand next to my desk. A knock sounds a minute or so later, and I shout for the guard to come in.

He swings the door open, stepping just inside to allow the stranger past. Mark is one of our longest-serving guards, a vampire who is not necessarily interested in gaining more power, but who takes his position seriously.

The look he gives me now tells me that I am right to be suspicious. “Your visitor, crai.”

“Thank you, Mark. Wait outside, would you?”

He nods and withdraws, pulling the door gently shut behind him. He’ll escort this vampire out when we’re done.

I take a few moments to get the measure of the stranger.

He doesn’t strike me as particularly intimidating, though I don’t like the presumptuous way he looks between me and Maurice as though I should tell Maurice to leave.

He is pale in the way of all vampires who were pale in life, with jaw-length brown hair and average features.

His clothes are dark and plain—all in all, he is entirely forgettable.

“I am Njáll,” I say because even if he knows it, I should begin with politeness. “You did not give your name to the guards.”