“Are you Vivienne’s boyfriend?” Her expression was genuinely puzzled. “You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?”
As she squirmed and looked uncomfortable, feeling as if the signs of Conall’s kisses and caresses were visible to Cassie, Evelyn placed an arm around Cassie’s shoulder.
“Come, ma chère—”
“No! Wait a second! It’s got to be serious if he’s standing here. He’s met Mom before me? H-how long have you two been together? Probably before our birthdays, and you didn’t tell me when we went camping?” Now she sounded hurt, and as she stared at Vivienne, her sister could do no more than shake her head and look extremely flustered.
“It’s not like that, Cassie.”
Cassie suddenly pulled out of her mother’s grip and threw up her arms, “You know what? Doesn’t even matter! Nothing matters anymore. It’s not like I’m ever going to be able to go to your eco-friendly wedding or your children’s birthdays or your anniversaries or anything else for that matter, because I’m going to be locked in a padded white cell.” She gave three nods in rapid-fire succession. “That’s right, everyone including the guy who my sister never mentioned, I’m insane.” When they all stared at her slack-jawed, Cassie nodded again and laughed, hysteria clearly setting in. “Not just insane, I’m freakin’ certifiable.”
Chapter Ten
Everyone but Cassie froze. She continued bobbing her head. Conall passed a confused look to Vivienne, who was staring from Cassie to Evelyn and back. Evelyn was the first to recover.
“What are you talking about, Cassandre?” Evelyn spoke to her softly, carefully.
“Oh, just the usual. I’m going crazy, this time for real.” When Evelyn sighed and gave her a motherly pat on the hand before reaching for her again, Cassie pulled away and stared at them all, wide-eyed and frantic.
“I’m not joking, Mom! I just told you, I’m losing it. I’m having weird dreams, I’m seeing things that don’t exist, and I’m being commanded by these voices that will not stop.” She broke off and drew in a ragged breath, running her hand across her face as she shook her head. “Alexander told me this would happen. He told me, but I didn’t know I was crazy yet. I know what it is, too: paranoid schizophrenia. I researched it. I was at work, hearing these voices, the commands, the chants. I’m going insane and there’s nothing anyone can do to help it. I’m sorry I’m crazy.” As if defeated, she slouched back against the door and closed her eyes. “I want to go back to sleep. I want to go back to the beach—dream beach. I don’t care. I just want…peace.”
Evelyn stepped forward slowly, so as not to frighten her already jumpy child, and placed both hands against Cassie’s temples. Her skin was hot and slightly clammy. Something was unlocking Cassie’s powers, and although it wasn’t a breach large enough to send out a beacon to other witches, it was large enough to send her daughter into hysterics. Her inner druid was speaking to her, and she couldn’t cope. Evelyn began to wordlessly chant a spell that would put Cassie to sleep. Like Vivienne, Cassie would need to rest before she could cope with anything Evelyn had to tell her.
***
Cassie’s opened her eyes and shook her head weakly. Gradually, her lids fell, but Evelyn could see that she was fighting it.
“Relax, Cassandre,” she murmured aloud, gently caressing her daughter’s face. “I will take care of everything.”
“But you can’t fix this, Mom….” Her voice trailed off as blissful sleep took hold. As her body slumped against the door, Evelyn held her tight. Cassandre was right. She couldn’t fix it, but she surely could make everything better. She’d let her child rest, give her brain and body enough time to recuperate, and when she was at full capacity, Evelyn would explain, and teach.
Maximilian Cronin might have ruined her plan to keep her girls in the dark about their powers, but now that he’d forced her hand, she would train them to their full potential, making certain they could defend themselves against any attack he launched.
***
Drew was both surprised—and not—to find their apartment untouched. She’d half-expected police tape and barricades preventing them from entering the scene of a crime but there were no such things. The apartment was still trashed, with broken pieces of glass, overturned furniture, and feathers almost everywhere, but that was it. Obviously, something had been done to ensure that the cops didn’t show. She and Max had been in the place for little under an hour, grabbing valuables and tossing them into a black duffel bag that they’d found in Vivienne’s room. The bag currently housed Vivienne’s jewelry and passport, Max’s many different passports, and Drew’s important documents. Max, tense and watchful, had shadowed her as she worked, until they stepped from the apartment to the black sedan that belonged to Evelyn.
“I thought you told Vivienne the cops were here,” Drew commented, opening one of the back doors and placing the bag on the seat.
Max didn’t deny it. “I lied. I said that so she wouldn’t come.”
When Drew cocked a brow that plainly said she didn’t believe Vivienne was that stupid, Max added, “For her mother’s jewelry.”
Max had just pulled open the door to the driver’s side when his body stiffened. She was still arranging the duffel bag on the seat, but she heard a voice that sent shivers down her spine.
“You drive.”
Closing the back door, she pushed her braids out of her face and lifted her brows at him.
“What?”
He walked around the car. “Drive.” His voice was flat and his face reminded her of one of the sculptures in the art gallery. Set in stone.
“Why? W-what’s wrong, Max?” Drew asked softly, looking around them. It was growing dark, and the sidewalk was filled with people returning home from jobs, school, and the other events that took up vital time in their lives.
“Get in the car, Drew.” Max’s voice was firm, and he gave her a look that said he wanted no argument.
Moving around to the driver’s side, she stepped into the car. Her door closed immediately, causing her to jump. Drew stared through the tinted windows at Max. He bent next to the car, under the guise of tying his shoe laces, and said, “Drive. Now.”
With that, he began to walk in the direction of the apartment building. Drew grabbed the car handle and pulled but it wouldn’t open. She tried to shift the lock, but it was stuck.
“Max!” she called, fear closing around her heart as she stared at his retreating figure. What was he doing? He’d almost reached the entrance to the apartment when five men suddenly appeared around him. They were dressed in dark clothing reminiscent of the men who’d attacked them before. Drew blinked once, and they were gone.
“Max!”
The door opened this time and she stared at the spot where she’d last seen him. She remembered what he’d last told her and closed the door quickly. Panic set in and her hands began to shake before she forced herself to calm down. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she grabbed her cell phone and found Vivienne among her contacts. At the same time, she eased into the traffic, checking her rearview to see if she was being followed. She couldn’t tell. How am I supposed to tell?
Vivienne picked up after the fifth ring, sounding a bit winded. “Hey.”
“They took him—they took Max,” Drew rushed out, barely forcing breaths in and out of her body. Her eyes watered and she sniffled, feeling her throat clog. “The guys who attacked us took Max.”
***
Max groaned and blinked slowly. His mind was foggy and he shook his head to clear it. Where was he? As if in answer to his question, memory returned. His father had sent his personal guards after him. He’d felt them even before they materialized.
Drew…?
He tried to move but found he couldn’t. Something cold was at his throat, his wrists, and his ankles. It was then he fully took in his whereabouts. He was in a brightly lit stone cell, chained to the wall. Looking down, he recognized that all of his clothing, except for his boxers, had been removed. Closing his
eyes, he gathered his strength, and when he felt the familiar rush, strained against the bonds.
Max tired quickly, and after minutes of building up a sweat with nothing to show for it but the blood that now flowed freely from the cuts that he’d incurred, he recognized something else. These were not regular iron shackles. They were mixed with silver, which was harmless to a witch unless in the form of a deadly weapon, but crippling to a vampire. Hence, it would restrain, but not kill, a warlock.
“Shit!” he cursed softly, and tugged futilely against the chains once more. Where the hell was he? If his father’s guards had come for him, then this was one of his father’s holdings. Was he back in New Orleans? He couldn’t remember seeing any stone cells or laboratories in New Orleans. Hell, he couldn’t remember seeing any place that looked like this in New York, either.
He looked around the cell again. Max zoned in on what appeared to be a camera lens. His lips curled. He was being watched.
“What are you waiting for?” he demanded, pulling against the chains once more. Some of the silver seeped into his wounds and he bit his lip, as it burned like fire before cooling to a dull but still painful throb.
The lights went out, leaving the place black, and Max blinked. When his gaze adjusted, his father stood before him. His hair was pulled back from his stoic face, and he leaned heavily on the wooden cane he sometimes used.
“Where are they?” Maximilian asked softly. There was no need to elaborate on the “they.” Father and son knew to whom Maximilian referred.
Max chuckled drily. After all he’d done to aid Vivienne, did his father really think he would just give her over?
“What is this place?” he countered.
A muscle worked in Maximilian’s jaw, and his eyes narrowed. “Where are the girls, Max?”
“I don’t know what girls you’re talking about.”
“You don’t?” Maximilian asked in a voice that was whispery sweet.
Max shook his head slowly, “I don’t.”
“Maybe I should jar your memory…son.”
Max was contemplating what that meant when his head exploded. He swayed and would have fallen had it not been for the chains securing him to the wall. Pain lanced through his skull and his eyes watered as his mouth opened on soundless screams.
If you won’t speak, you will show me your memories….
He yelled, a primitive sound of an animal in pain, and bit into his lip. Blood rushed into his mouth but he didn’t taste it. He only felt the pinch of pain, welcomed it.
“No.” His voice sounded strangled, hoarse, but as he fought through the pain of the invasion to clear his mind, his voice grew steadier. “I. Said. No!” He might be powerless against a physical attack, but he’d been trained to parry a mental invasion by the very same man who now sought to do it.
Max remained still, allowing the pain to wash over him. Pain meant that his father was pushing and getting nothing. If the pain subsided, then he’d have to worry.
After what seemed like hours, Maximilian thumped the cane at his side and snarled, “You’d betray your own father, your own people, over two insignificant girls you’ve barely known for a few years?” When Max failed to answer, his father stepped closer and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into eyes similar to his. “If you weren’t my son, I would kill you for this!” He released him and Max’s head slumped forward. “But you are. You are my son, my only child and I feel inclined to give you one more chance. Tell me where they are and I may forget this….” his father paused as if offended by the very word, “betrayal.”
“Betrayal?” Max managed. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Lifting his head, he leaned it against the wall, and stared accusingly at his father. “You want to resurrect the druids. You want to resurrect the very people who almost wiped out your people.” His father’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. Max took a breath, finding himself still weak from his father’s mind-probe. “You want to make a deal with them. Trade your own people for immortality.” A brow lifted, but Maximilian held his tongue. “I’m not the traitor, Father. You are.”
Maximilian moved so fast that Max had barely gotten the last syllable out before his father was inches away from him. He grabbed Max’s chin—this time painfully—as his eyes faded to black. “You would listen to a woman who hates me over your own father? You are a—”
“How did you know I was talking about a woman?”
Eyes narrowing, Maximilian replied, “Evelyn? Because she’s the only one to tell you something so ridiculous.”
Max’s shackles rattled, and he tried to twist his face from his father’s grasp. “How long have you lied to me, Father? How long have you lied to your covenant?” When Maximilian remained silent, Max snarled, “Kill me and get it over with. I’m not telling you anything.”
His father smiled and released him. “Oh you will, my son.” The wall to his left unhinged and swung inward.
Max watched in apprehension as two trackers, one male, the other female, entered and came to stand behind his father. Each held a wide, black briefcase. A hand touched his chin, almost gently, pulling his gaze back to the man standing before him. Maximilian’s fingers traced the blood at the corner of Max’s lips before he sighed and shook his head.
“You will tell me everything.” His father disappeared.
***
To say that Conall was on edge would have been an understatement. A big understatement. The fact that Max had been taken by trackers, coupled with the increased agitation he was feeling concerning his mating, or lack of mating, with Vivienne, and that he was driving toward the third council meeting of the year, were just three of the things tightening his short leash. The meeting was being held at an abandoned warehouse near the pier, just after dusk. All council members were to be in attendance. Sloan accompanied him while Raoul and three of his best fighters stayed with Vivienne and Evelyn. He was taking no chances.
From the expensive cars and bikes lined up before the warehouse, he wasn’t the first to arrive. Conall parked, and exited the vehicle. Sloan stepped out after, surveying the gathering in quick detail. Witches, vampires, and other werewolves, all waiting for their leaders, stood beside their respective vehicles. Some engaged in conversation with others. Others were silent, watchful. Each council member was allowed to have one member of their pack, covenant, or clan, accompany them into the building. Even then, they were all asked to wait outside the room. Protocol.
Conall was heading for the entrance of the warehouse when the sounds of tires screeching caught his attention. He quickly leapt back as a fire-engine-red Lamborghini sailed into the space he’d just vacated. Smoke rose as the car stopped and the loud bass beats of a rap song came, muffled, from the car before the driver cut engine. Conall felt his fangs descend. Now was not the time for some flyboy to be showing off his ride, especially since flyboy had come close to hitting an already pissed off alpha.
The door slid up and a tanned flip-flop-covered foot touched asphalt right before the other joined it. Santiago, a really angry Santiago, pushed himself from the car and did a quick intake of his surroundings. In an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and khaki bottoms, the werewolf looked ready for a vacation in a warm place with palm trees and beaches, but the scowl on his face, and the fact that his eyes glowed bold amber, contradicted his getup. He looked like a cross between happy tourist and coldblooded killer. Santiago de Luca controlled the second largest were pack in New York, right behind Conall in terms of heads, and assets.
“Athelwulf.” He extended a large, darkly tanned hand, which Conall grudgingly shook. He’d known Santiago for centuries, and was one of the wolves Conall respected. Respected enough to refrain from redecorating his face for that close encounter.
“I see you still can’t drive worth a damn,” he snarled.
Smirking, Santiago released his hand, and replied without rancor, “If I couldn’t, that wall would have a fresh new coat of red.”
He offered his hand to Sloan, who despite his rig
id expression looked friendly enough to Santiago.
“Still licking boots, McTavish?”
“Still being an asshole, Santiago?”
“Only when I have to leave sunny Jamaica for some bullshit Council meeting. Whose son got his ass kicked for being a punk bitch now?”
“That’s what I want to know.” Drako approached from the shadows, as if he’d been there for a long time. “Conall. Santiago. Sloan.” Knowing the wolf, he probably had.
“You know, one of these days I’m going to kick your ass for pulling that sneaky shit,” Santiago said lowly, his eyes trained on Drako.
A smirk touched the were’s lips and he said easily, “Santiago…always a pleasure.”
“Asshole. Where’s your brother? I like him better.”
Drako and Dominic Klevan were blood brothers, though they didn’t look it. Born to the same father, they’d grown up in different places, at different times. Where Drako was lean and tall, fast and lithe, Dominic was more traditional werewolf—just plain huge.
“Inside, trying to figure out what the meeting is about. By the way, anyone have an idea who called the meeting, or why?”
Footsteps approached them and the four wolves turned as one. Two tall men, with skin so pale it was almost luminescent, dressed from head to toe in expensive designer apparel, nodded once in acknowledgement and spoke, flashing sharp and pointed canines, “Wolves.”
“Vampires,” Santiago returned. Conall, already eager to get this meeting over with, and get back to Vivienne, dipped his head in acknowledgement.
Verenus Riddelin and Lucian Thormidor, the vampires, passed them and headed for the entrance.
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