He shoved his phone back into his pocket and hauled himself through the vent. Her scent was a beacon. He’d find her, and this time, he might even demand an explanation.
Chapter 2
Isabelle flashed to the manor she’d grown up in. Mother and Father were home, but she didn’t go inside. They’d just worry about her and call Demetrius or Scurn to ask if they knew she was out. Like she was a toy poodle to coddle.
She’d always wanted a dog. Not many vampires she knew owned pets. The short life spans of animals probably highlighted how inexorably long vampires lived.
Long lives will be the downfall of the race. Rule like the tomorrows are limited.
She caught herself staring at the stark, brick manor. It was spring and the ivy hadn’t yet filled in the south side of the house. The lights on the first floor were on. It was nearing the middle of the night. Did her parents still like to sit and read the paper?
An image of Father in his brown house shoes, slacks, and black suspenders came to mind. Mother would be in a gown. She fancied the light, long ones from the last century that resembled the shifts Isabelle favored. Her lips twitched. She’d gotten her love of TV and movies from Mother. The first movie vixen’s style had been readily adopted by Madame Devereux. Did Mother still watch black-and-white movies? Did she know what streaming was?
Wouldn’t it be fun to watch a Real Housewives of Anywhere USA with Mother and comment on the clothing and antics?
Isabelle’s smile died. One does not watch television with a Fabergé egg.
She ground her teeth together. She was not a poodle or an egg. And she wasn’t here to see her parents. It was an orientation point, nothing more.
Where to next? Closing her eyes, she inhaled and concentrated. Inhale. Her senses were flooded with life, ready to spring forward from the ground, the trees, and the vines along the house. Soon it’d all erupt into a green frenzy of rapidly growing cells soaking up sunlight and nutrition. Exhale. Five months later, it’d be dying all over again.
Her kind wasn’t much different. When they were injured, life could drain from them, but given time they bounced back.
That night when she was ten years old, her life had been draining out of her. A stake had impaled her chest, missing her heart by a millimeter.
Her neck had been the next target.
She shook herself. She’d bounced back, and she needed to concentrate on another life, sift through the information that bombarded her to find the girl.
Another inhale. The smells that flooded her warmed her from the inside out. Strength. Determination. Woodsy leather.
Her eyes flew open. “He finds me.”
“Thankfully because she goes to the obvious place first.”
She resisted a shudder at his deep timbre. They talked all the time, but she could usually prepare herself first, little pep talks outside the door as she convinced herself she could chitty-chat with him without tongue-tying herself over lustful thoughts.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have bought the three Fifty Shades of Grey movies…after she’d read the books. Somehow her visions left her alone when she was nose-deep in a climax scene.
“What are you doing, Isabelle?” Curiosity mixed with wariness and apprehension in Scurn’s tone. Did he fear what she was going to say?
“Have you told my brother I’m gone?”
“No. I didn’t detect trouble. And you’re an adult.”
So he’d noticed. She couldn’t tell if he still saw the broken child she’d been over the grown female she was now. He’d always been a fearsome male, terrifying when she was younger. He was thrilling and scary for a much different reason now.
“What are you wearing?” He circled her, his usually dark eyes pitch-black in the night. Moonlight mingled with shadows on his scalp.
Smooth and hot? She’d imagined running her fingers over his head hundreds of time. Thousands since they’d been together so long. “My cat burglar outfit.”
His eyes widened.
“I’m not a cat. Or a burglar. Or an egg, or a dog.”
A dark brow lifted and his gaze swept down to her feet and lingered on the way back to her face. “No. You’re not.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She gave a dainty cough. “If you will excuse me,” she said. “I have work to do.”
“Are you going to see them?” he asked quietly. His gaze strayed to the imposing brick manor.
“It hurts” was all she had to say. They saw her as a delicate shell. The way they treated her after her attack had been fine—for after the attack. Her ability to move on had almost not moved an inch until she’d confessed to Scurn that she was suffocating under their constant coddling. He’d talked to Demetrius, and as soon as the compound had been acquired and readied for habitation, they’d moved in.
Scurn nodded and glanced at the house. What was he remembering? “You don’t have to tell me anything, but please let me go with you.”
“What was one has become two.” She met his gaze, and for once, she explained. Night wouldn’t last forever and she liked that Scurn didn’t pressure her for explanations, or ignore her. “There are two of me.”
“Two of you, or another like you?” Scurn did what many didn’t—he asked clarifying questions. Others shrugged and rolled their eyes and muttered “whatever.” A few decades of that and perhaps she’d gotten a little obstinate about her explanations.
“Like me. Like I was. Young. Her parents don’t understand.”
“You want them to.”
Isabelle stared him in the eye. “I want them to shut their mouths before their child is targeted.”
Color leeched from his face. “Hellfire. She could be kidnapped and used.”
“Unlucky in death,” she agreed. Isabelle used to think that about herself once. Unlucky in death, but she’d gotten the suffering that had come with it. Yet she’d survived and was grateful.
“What do you know about her?”
“She’s five.”
He waited. When she didn’t say anything else, he cocked his head. “That’s it?”
“Yes. I was sensing for her when you interrupted.”
He folded his hands in front of himself, his shoulders square. He was allowing her to continue to sense.
“I need to wander,” she mumbled. Standing next to him while inhaling deeply wreaked havoc on her system. It never used to be this bad, but their casual chat sessions in the corridor left her increasingly needy and restless.
She ambled away, but his gaze licked a searing caress over her body.
“Can you close your eyes?” she croaked.
“Then I’d miss you in actual footwear.” His tease coaxed her into smiling. Good thing her back was to him. He used to be so formal. A very regimented male, but he’d relaxed over time.
She’d admit it was hard to be tense when families were filling up the compound with laughter and idle chatter, two things that had been missing from all those Demetrius surrounded himself with.
Occasionally Scurn would jest, then he’d retract back into himself so tightly she feared he’d fold into a ball and vanish into a black hole. And for what? Like she couldn’t be born with “the sight” and a sense of humor.
She tried to focus around his alluring scent and his overpowering presence. Dear child, where are you?
Nothing seemed to work and she couldn’t blame Scurn. “East Freemont. That’s all I can pinpoint.”
“That’s not really a pinpoint.”
She spun slowly toward him. “Did Bartholomew Danders Scurn just speak wryly?”
He blanched. “Please don’t call me that.”
“What? Your name?”
“Anything with Danders in it.”
“Bart?”
“Scurn’s bad enough.”
She giggled. His lips twitched. She crossed back to him. “I happen to like it.”
He blinked and when his lids lifted, his pupils had dilated. “I’ll let you get away with it.”
“You let
me get away with anything.” When he nodded solemnly, she sighed. “I just wish your reasons weren’t old and outdated.”
“I’m a big supporter of women’s liberation—”
She flicked the tip of his nose with a fingertip and enjoyed his stunned expression. “Ladies don’t wear corsets anymore and that wasn’t what I was talking about. You still feel guilty, and that’s why you’re tolerant of how I act.”
“I am guilty, Isabelle.” Devastation passed through his features and weighed his shoulders down. “You almost died by my hand. You suffered.”
“It didn’t feel good, that’s for certain. But you didn’t drive the stake, and you’ve repented for your role in the matter. You’re a good male.”
A crease formed between his brows and his strong, full lips flattened. “I’ve hurt more than you.” He lifted his hands and twirled his fingers around a strand of hair that had escaped her hat. As if he’d touched a flame, he jerked his hand back. “I’m not a good male.”
She wanted his hand back, almost touching her. He hadn’t touched her since the night he rescued her. He’d been her almost-slayer turned savior and she’d been a terrified child.
Now she was no longer a child, but he was her self-imposed bodyguard. “Have you thought about what I asked?”
“Always.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “There’s not much else to do.”
“You don’t let yourself do much else.”
“I guard you.”
She closed the distance between them. He went rigid but didn’t back up. “I asked you to think about what was different about me from your other victims.”
He flinched when she referred to his past as an enforcer for their old government. The council had been greedy and had employed those who were supposed to be an honor guard to carry out their wicked deeds. She’d been a wicked deed.
“You were a kid. Innocent,” he said. “Just like the others were innocent.”
“Yet they are dead and here I am.”
He frowned. “I still don’t understand why I should forgive myself for killing others at the council’s will and not you.”
“Sometimes things have to happen.”
“Hellfire, Isabelle. I can’t forget their faces.”
“You shouldn’t. I’d be upset if my murderer forgot me.”
He shook his head. “Even after one hundred and five years, you still shock me.”
“It’s my gift.” Literally. It was what he’d been sent to kill her for. Her parents wouldn’t hand her over to the council. Their former government had claimed she was a disgrace to their race, an imbecile who shouldn’t be allowed to procreate, whose ravings could threaten their kind. But she’d learned their secrets, the ones they’d kept from the general population. She could’ve warned others that when the council spoke, lies flew from their mouths like crows attacking a freshly harvested field.
They stared at each other. She’d rarely been this close to him. The moon brightened his eyes. Normally, they rivaled the rich brown of a strong cup of coffee, but under the moonlight, the striations of the irises were visible.
“You have pretty eyes.” She crowded him to look closer. She was average height for a female vampire, a few inches under six feet tall. He was average for a male vampire, a few inches over six feet. Standing like this was the only time she felt close to average. And she liked it.
Her gaze dropped to his strong mouth. It was usually held in a troubled line, especially when she was around. But his lips had parted, giving them the shape of a longbow. What would they feel like? Soft? Unyielding?
She stretched up on her tiptoes and planted her first kiss ever on someone.
He sucked in a breath through his nose but didn’t move. She was going to lose her balance so she put her hands on his shoulders and pressed her mouth harder against his.
He didn’t move for a heartbeat, then two, until he dissolved around her. His lips softened and fitted around hers, his hands landing on her waist. An unfamiliar and pleasing bloom of heat spread from her belly to the rest of her body.
When he opened his mouth, she mimicked him. She squashed a squeal of delight as his tongue licked out. Eagerly, she met it with hers.
This was so new. It overpowered her senses in a good way, and…and…his touch…
Her hips rocked of their own accord, brushing against his hard body, and oh—
Had that wanton moan come from her?
He approaches. Isabelle gasped and pulled away. Scurn stumbled back, snatching his hands away like she burned as hot as the sun.
“Who goes there?” A dark form flashed to a spot several feet away from them.
Unhurried, Isabelle touched her lips. She didn’t want Scurn’s taste to go away. How long had she been wondering what kissing him would be like? When had she started wondering in the first place? When could she wonder more?
Turning toward the male, she said, “It’s me, Father.”
Scurn grunted like he couldn’t choke a coherent word out.
“Isabelle? Oh, Scurn. Greetings.” Father pushed a lock of shiny hair off his face and lowered the muzzle of his shotgun. “I stepped out to admire the stars and thought I heard voices.”
Isabelle frowned. Father had never wandered the grounds before. Her ability didn’t chime in with information though. She hadn’t deciphered how or when she glimpsed insight, or why. It just came in flashes, about her, the people around her, events their kind would face.
“Is something amiss, Father?”
He lifted his brows. His dark hair was once again slicked back into place and he wore the very outfit she’d imagined him in. “Not at all. Our nights get…long.” Curiosity darkened his gaze as he studied her outfit. “Perhaps I should ask you the same thing.”
“Nope. Nothing’s amiss.” She smiled brightly. He wouldn’t buy it, but he wouldn’t question it. Because she was quirky like that and they didn’t understand her.
“Scurn, should you be getting her back?”
Scurn vibrated with tension, his expression slashed with guilt. Father probably wouldn’t notice.
Scurn cleared his throat. “She has business in town, Master Devereux.”
Father’s brows popped again. “Oh. And Demetrius knows about this?”
“I have not informed him yet.” Scurn’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his expression uncertain, but he finished, “I will accompany her.”
“Good. Well, good. Give Demetrius a call, would you?”
“Of course, Master Devereux.”
Isabelle pursed her lips together. She was the one with “business” and she was 115 years old. But she didn’t feel a day over fifteen, the way these two males talked about her.
And if she didn’t feel like a modern teen with the whole Does your brother know what you’re doing, young lady? thing, then she would after she asked her next question. “May we borrow the car, Father?”
“What?” Both Father and Scurn asked simultaneously.
“The car,” she repeated with her back ramrod straight. She even crossed her arms for effect.
“I…” Father scrutinized her. “Do you know how to drive?”
It wasn’t that hard, but then they’d inquire how she knew and that would incite more investigation into what she did with herself many nights. “Scurn does.”
Scurn’s eyes widened, but he recovered before Father glanced at him. Would he correct the misinformation?
Finally, Scurn eked out a nod. Surprisingly, the bones in his neck didn’t crack from the tension. Isabelle repressed a triumphant smile.
Father’s gaze jumped between them. Was he recalling that cars had barely been a thing when Scurn had turned his life over to protecting her? That Scurn rarely left his station outside her door no matter which structure that door was in? “Certainly. I will get the keys and meet you in the garage.”
Father flashed away.
“Isabelle,” Scurn hissed. “What are you thinking? I can’t drive.”
She smiled at him. “I c
an.”
“What?” Veins bulged in his neck. Scurn was usually calm and collected. This turn of his personality was…enjoyable, like she was seeing the real him. “When did you learn to drive?”
“My supper one night was kind enough to teach me.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry. I tranced him when I fed. He thought I was nothing more than a delightful distraction to his sleepless nights.”
Scurn flushed, his hands fisting at his sides. “You’ve been sneaking away to dine on other males?”
Jealousy? Who else was she supposed to feed on? And who was his blood source? She turned to walk to the garage instead of flashing. “You never offered.”
Chapter 3
Scurn watched her delicately swaying backside as she marched to the garage.
You never offered.
He nearly swallowed his tongue. No, he hadn’t bared a vein for her. She was the daughter of a prime family, the elite of their kind. He’d been the lackey of the vampire council, then her bodyguard. Not to mention he’d almost killed her when she was ten. His blood wasn’t good enough for her to wash her silverware in.
But she wasn’t a child anymore. She was an adult.
He dropped his gaze. No one treated her like one. Her father seemed to think she shouldn’t be out on her own and that her brother should always keep tabs on her. No wonder she’d been sneaking out.
He took out his phone. Regardless of how he felt, he’d told the master he’d call Demetrius. Pausing with his thumb over the screen, he didn’t dial at first. The image of a disappointed and frustrated Isabelle stayed with him.
Her father only saw the broken daughter who spoke in riddles. Why didn’t she give them time to learn the person she’d turned into? Or, maybe, try to filter what came out of her mouth? Not everyone understood what her premonitions meant, but Isabelle never seemed to hold back.
He dialed Demetrius’s number.
Demetrius answered, alarm ringing in his voice. “Scurn?” Was this the first time he’d called?
“Master, your sister has left the compound and I wanted you to know I’m with her.”
The Seer Page 2