The Billionaire's Heir (Sucubus For Hire Book 1)
Page 33
I opened the door cautiously. It was too late or too early for anyone casual to show up. And I didn’t want to deal with Chandler until I’d had a decent night’s sleep.
Blake Mansfield stood there. Pale. Nervous. No. Anxious. “May I come in?”
“Certainly. Where have you been?”
He didn’t answer right away. He scanned my apartment looking for other people. Windows. I wasn’t exactly sure.
“Are you alright, Mansfield?”
He turned to watch me as I shut the door. I faced him and leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Is it true? Maureen did all this?” He sounded defeated. He’d lost his parents. Now a sister. I felt a wave of compassion.
“It is. What’s going on?” My power slipped outward, just for a taste of his nervousness. My body reacting to his emotional state. Only there was nothing. A familiar emptiness. “Blake. What happened? What did you do?”
He laughed. A strangled maniacal bark. “You can tell. They told me you could.” He continued to pace, wringing his hands together. “It was the only way, you see. I needed to be free. Empowered to take back my life. The way Vincent decided to run off with Anton.” He strangled another sound. I thought it was a sob. Or a twisted bark of laughter. “The way Maureen tried to take back her power from Grandfather. All of us foolish.”
“Did the vampires force this on you?”
“No. No. Lots of talking. Discussion. Chandler pointed out all the benefits. Losing daytime was the only real downside.”
I held my breath. Counted to three. Then to five. Mind racing. Chandler had been involved? My stomach knotted for reasons that had nothing to do with hunger.
“Not the only one.” I shook my head. Realizing what he’d given up even if he hadn’t. “You can’t be an attorney if you only come out at night. And people will figure it out.”
“I know. Only. They won’t. I mean, I have the authority to set my own schedule. Grandfather only calls on me occasionally. It’ll be a long while before he realizes. I haven’t set foot in a courtroom in months.”
“And what happens in the meanwhile?”
He wanted to smile. It wasn’t convincing. “I get to be free. Experience life without fear of being discovered.”
“But you hate vampires.” I watched him. Trying to catch the lie.
“Still do, I guess. I’ve always been full of self-loathing. What’s a bit more?” He stared at the floor. Lost.
“I see. And why are you here?”
His apprehension spiked but he jerked his head up. Held my gaze. “You helped my family. Helped rescue Vinnie. I figured I should repay the favor. Watch out for Chandler. He’s not what he seems.”
I nodded. “I kind of figured that out. Definitely more than he seemed.”
“Not ‘more.’ Dangerous. Don’t trust him.”
I frowned. This wasn’t the same recommendation I’d heard from him before. “What do you mean?”
“I have to go. Just be careful.” He pushed past me. I was too astonished to hold him back. Then he was gone.
“What the hell did that mean?”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Blake Mansfield wasn’t my last visitor of the night. Dusty showed up twenty minutes later. Awfully close to dawn. And I was incredibly tired. My body finally taking control away from my mind.
He stood in the doorway as I answered it. Helpless. Lost. Just like Mansfield. I was starting to feel like social services.
“Dusty. Shouldn’t you be tucked away in a coffin somewhere?”
“I had to see you one last time.”
“One last—what do you mean?” I couldn’t hide the worry in my voice. I wasn’t attracted to the vampire. But I’d grown to like him. He was as much an innocent as Vincent Gibraltar. In his own way.
“Chilton’s sending some of us out of town. On a project. Can’t say more than that.”
“For your own good I presume?”
“What, because I like you? Don’t flatter yourself. He doesn’t care enough about you or me for that. It’s strictly business.”
“So you just wanted to say goodbye?”
“I know you think I’m nothing but a corpse. We can’t help how we feel. No hard feelings. Just—I really thought, you know, you might be as tired of being lonely as I am.”
“Does Rhoda know that’s how you feel?”
“What, and make her feel worse than she does? I’m stupid maybe. But not a monster.” He laughed morosely. He tapped his chest. “Not in here.”
“I am sorry, Dusty.”
“Yeah. I know. Everyone’s sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t love Rhoda back. You’re sorry you can’t love me back. Blake’s sorry his sister turned out to be a nutjob.” He turned to leave. Short and sweet.
“Why’s Chandler involved with your coven?”
He glanced back at me. Shrugging. “Dunno. He and Chilton are thick as thieves. I always figured it’s the shared English thing.”
“Chandler’s English?” It wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t saying I didn’t know. It was a question. I needed to understand how Dusty knew.
“He drops the fake American whenever they’re together.” He smiled. His eyes full of pain. “Guess you don’t know your boyfriend as well as you think.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
He made a face that said he didn’t believe me. Then he shrugged. “I wish you well, Bianca.”
Then he was gone. Not superfast. Vampires didn’t have superspeed. But it felt like it. By the time I stepped into the hall after thinking about my reply, he was already out of sight.
Chapter Forty-Eight
I went into the office late the next day. It was almost closing time. I’d slept longer than usual. Growing wings will do that, apparently.
Janet looked up. Gasped. I’d forgotten to warn her. “What happened to you!? Are—are those real?”
“Yes, they’re real. As far as what happened. I haven’t a clue.”
She came over and hugged me. Skin on skin. To my surprise, my hunger ignored her completely. It was more interested in the goat in the hall closet. A refinement in control. Only interested in things with testosterone. I suddenly wondered if the wings were responsible.
Janet released me. Keeping one hand on my covered shoulder. “I saw that you saved the kid. It was all over the internet. Then the check came in.”
“That was fast. Gibraltar must’ve wanted to be sure I didn’t come around to collect it personally.”
“I don’t know. It’s twice our fee.”
I raised my brows. “Any note?”
“Something from Vincent Gibraltar. I didn’t understand it.”
“Let me see.”
She handed me the paper. A young man’s handwriting. But with a flourish. ‘He promises to show me a wild time. I owe you everything.’
“What’s it mean?”
“It means that a certain older man is going to give young Mr. Gibraltar the guidance he needs to navigate the real world.”
“Sounds naughty to me. A wild time? Drinking? Sex?” She watched me disapprovingly.
“Wild, in this case, simply hints at living large under the open sky.”
She shook her head. “What aren’t you saying?”
“The less you know, the less likely you’ll have culpability.”
“I knew it! You did something wrong! And you’re right! I don’t want to know.”
I laughed and went into my office, happy. Vincent was no longer a prisoner. As a werewolf, he could risk himself in ways he never could before. Anton would teach him how to control his beast. And maybe how to be a man independent of his grandfather. Happily ever after. My favorite kinds of stories. Even without reciprocated romance.
There was a white box on my desk. No bow. Something a hat might come in. Janet had forgot to mention it. I raised the lid. Found another note in that strange writing. A cluster of yellow flowers beneath it, wreathed for a small head. A gift? It felt like something more.
The
first time had been an invitation. A greeting of some kind. This message was less straightforward. Someone with powers that rivaled mine was asking or telling me something. And I had no clue where to start. I had a feeling, the wings weren’t the only thing I’d be spending the next few weeks figuring out.
The End
.
About the Author
MICHAEL DON ANDERSON was born and raised in Fresno County, California. His first professional publication was in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine with a short story called ‘The Lamp,’ although his writings have appeared in school-related newspapers, journals and competitions since his early teens. His published books include The Pride of the Pard (teen fantasy series), Dragon’s Reach (family focused traditional fantasy series), Murder at the Undead Comedy Club (fey urban crime fantasy); Werewolf Incorporated (lycanthrope and fey urban crime fantasy); and The Fey Adventures of Devon Mosteller (his popular gay-themed adult contemporary fantasy series); and now Succubus for Hire (urban crime fantasy).
His educational background includes two B.A.s (Anthropology and Linguistics) and an M.A. (Linguistics) from the California State University at Fresno, as well as an M.A. and Ph.D. (Linguistics) from the University of Arizona.
To contact Michael Don Anderson, please write him in care of the publisher CRIMSON WEREWOLF LIMITED, at 7260 W. Azure Dr., Ste 140-798, Las Vegas, NV 89130-7999.
For more information about our books, please visit our website at www.crimsonwerewolf.com