Reborn Yesterday (Phenomenal Fate 1)

The elevator doors separated, revealing a suited vampire, hands folded at his waist. His eyes might as well have been made of glass for all they gave away. He simply inclined his head at Jonas, turned on a wing tip and strode away through the high-ceilinged foyer. Jonas followed, unintimidated by the lack of greeting. After all, he knew the process well. Anyone requiring an audience with the king was first made to understand they were insignificant, no matter how old or young. A lot like he treated his public.

The sound of their footsteps was muffled by the royal blue carpeting. Lights flickered on the wall and cast shadows that shifted as they walked. Stone staircases crisscrossed overhead, leading to drawing rooms and sleeping quarters. Somewhere a single violin played a haunting melody and Jonas rolled his eyes because it was all so goddamn dramatic.

One of his less important reasons for leaving the High Order was their refusal to update their antiquated existence. The members of the union and their groupies haunted this place like specters, their robes dragging behind them while they drank blood from gold chalices and the like. Frankly the gold chalices were the most embarrassing part. Show him the rule that said vampires weren’t allowed to shop at Bed Bath & Beyond.

For all their showboating, however, the High Order was dangerous. Each and every one of them possessed superhuman strength and knowledge that was only earned by centuries of living. He might find them and their frippery somewhat ridiculous, but he wouldn’t let down his guard or underestimate them.

Only a fool would do so.

The suited man led Jonas down the far right corridor and down a set of stairs that expanded toward the bottom, emptying into the Great Hall.

And there they were, right where he’d left them, four of earth’s oldest vampires sitting in high-back, velvet inlaid thrones lining the far back wall. Jonas was surprised to find the chair beside the king—his chair—still remained empty, but he showed no outward reaction.

They’d been anticipating his arrival, that much was obvious.

The High Order didn’t assemble in the Great Hall unless there was an important matter at hand, but here they were, watching Jonas with an air of expectancy.

Jonas’s sire was tight-lipped and impassive, his salt and pepper hair in waves around his shoulders, though his eyes were sharp with humor. As always. Watching, measuring, deciding how best to amuse himself. If there was a fleeting flicker of affection in his sire’s eyes, he either imagined it or didn’t care.

The other three chairs were occupied by faces he recognized. Faces that hadn’t aged a day over the course of a century or longer, in some cases. There was Griselda, a German female who’d been Silenced during the Second World War. David, a Scotsman whose wife had been so distraught when he took ill, she’d hunted down and bargained with a vampire to Silence him, so he’d live on forever. Unfortunately, that same vampire had failed to successfully Silence her, too. Lastly, there was Devon, a steely-eyed black man from Chicago who’d once been a roadie for blues singer Robert Johnson.

Finally, his sire leaned forward, just the barest inch. “Perhaps with your fancy new heartbeat, you’ve started behaving as an entitled human, daring to address this council in sweatpants?”

“I’ve had a busy night,” Jonas returned, without a second’s hesitation. “As I suspect you well know.”

Clarence slowly tilted his head. “Why, whatever could you mean?”

The gut-crushing memory of his Ginny pitching forward off the bridge shot him through with white-hot rage. While he did his best to control his outrage, because losing his composure would serve no one, he would not play the fucking game. Not after three attempts on Ginny’s life. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. You’ve been waiting for me to figure it out.”

Silence ticked by, followed by a low laugh from the king. “How does it feel to be a hypocrite, son? Such an idealist and a rule follower, aren’t you? Traveling the country, turning my constituents against me with your bleeding heart.” He drummed his fingers on the armrest, the movement very precise, a glimpse at the irritation he tried so hard to conceal. “Until a pretty face—a human—comes along and the rules become inconvenient. Not so noble now, are we?”

“A pretty face?” Jonas took an involuntary step toward the foursome. “You speak of my mate. My devotion to her is not a whim. I could no more stay away from her than I could turn myself human again.”

Silence fell. “She is still alive then?”

They had no idea, did they? They had no idea he could never be standing there and forming words if she was dead. He’d be nothing more than dust motes carrying on the breeze. Furthermore, they had no idea he’d saved her. Or how. And he’d hold on to any potential advantage. “Yes. She is alive,” Jonas answered, voice clear.