Queen (Bloodline Vampires 3)

“Mal’s right,” Rylan says reluctantly. “Lizzie could shoot Cornelius from a mile away and he’d never see the attack coming. It would give us the opportunity to take him out while he can’t speak. He’s still going to be able to fight, but at least he won’t be able to compel.”

Wolf’s distress flares so brightly, I reach over and cover his hand with mine. He’s shaking, just a little, fine tremors that send a surge of fierce protectiveness through me. I look at the other two men. “We’re not doing it if Wolf isn’t okay with it. It’s easy for you to say things will work out and this won’t backfire, but it’s his family.” His family that makes this mad vampire look well-adjusted. I don’t know what to think of that. All I know is that I don’t want any of my men harmed.

What are the chances of all of us making it out alive?

I don’t have an answer for that question.

No one at the table does.

13

In the end, the truth is we have no options. Unless we nullify my father’s ability to compel, any plan we make is dead in the water. Even dropping a bomb on the compound—if any of us were willing to do it—wouldn’t guarantee my father’s death. He’s too old, too savvy. He’d find a way to survive even that, and then we’d have mass casualties on our head.

My life was a living hell in that compound, and my father wasn’t the only one responsible for that. But not everyone was a monster. Not everyone chose cruelty when they could offer kindness instead. I won’t say those who showed me kindness as a child were the majority, but they existed. Even if they hadn’t, I’m not willing to sanction the murder of every adult and child in the compound. It’s too high a cost.

So Wolf phones his sister, Lizzie.

He makes the call in the other room, but even I can hear his side of the conversation, so no doubt Rylan and Malachi can hear both sides. Sure enough, they exchange a long glance. Malachi sighs. “Lizzie is going to be a problem, but we won’t let her hurt you.”

“Maybe you can fuck her, too, and then the seraph bond will take care of that.”

I stare at Rylan. Of all the things to suggest… “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Mostly.” He grimaces. “It would simplify matters, but we’d have to make sure Lizzie didn’t kill you during the bonding process, and that’s more difficult than you can imagine. She’s too unpredictable.”

There it is again.

The evidence that they have such a deep history that extends many of my lifetimes in the past. Malachi was in that house for a hundred years, but before that he was friends and lovers with Rylan and Wolf and others. Maybe even Lizzie. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Not jealous, exactly. Just…strange.

“If you want to know, you can ask.”

I jump, startled out of my thoughts by Malachi’s low voice. There’s no mistaking what question he’s talking about. I force myself to meet his gaze. “Were you lovers? Either of you?”

“Not me.” Rylan doesn’t exactly shudder, but it’s there in his voice. “I prefer my throat intact.”

“I was, briefly.” Malachi holds my gaze. “Does that bother you?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I don’t think so, but it feels strange. We’ve been very isolated up to this point, so part of it is that, I think.” I’m going to have to get used to the feeling that there are great swathes of these men’s history unavailable to me, at least outside of sharing stories. We have the future, and that’s enough. It has to be. “I guess we’ll deal with it as it comes.”

Wolf walks back into the room, unhappiness in every line of his body. “She’s in LA right now, but she’s all too happy to dive into the chaos and do a little murder.” His voice goes up on the last part of the sentence, obviously mimicking his sister. “She’ll be here in about ten hours.”

Every hour is a risk at this point, but this delay is one we can’t avoid.

Wolf comes back to the table, but instead of reclaiming his chair, he sinks down onto the floor next to me. He puts his head in my lap and wraps his arms around my waist. I freeze. “Wolf?”

“I’m fine.”

He’s lying. Now that he’s touching me, the bond flares between us, soaked in his misery. I tentatively clasp the back of his neck and massage a little. He responds by going boneless, though his unhappiness doesn’t abate. I look at the other two men. “Someone explain this to me. Now, please.”

Rylan shifts. “Fifty years ago, Lizzie set Wolf on fire.”

“Excuse me?”

I know him well enough to recognize that his cold tone is a way of masking his emotions. He holds my gaze and continues. “They had a disagreement and she felt that was a reasonable way to deal with it. He almost died.”