Lucky Break (6 page)

“Do we have to ride in that orange disaster?” Damien asked.

“I call it the Orangesplosion,” I told him.

His lip curled with distaste.

“It's a good vehicle,” Gabriel said. “And now it's got four inflated tires.”

I gave him a wide grin. “You're really handy in vampire cult and ancient feud tire emergencies.”

“It's a narrow field,” Gabriel said, rising from his stool and towering over me. “But an important one. And watch the flirting. Ethan's right there.”

“No worries,” Ethan said, without a hint of irony. “I've ruined her for other men.”

Given the fire in his eyes, I had no plans to test that theory.

***

Ethan took the wheel of Orangesplosion, and I took the passenger seat. Damien folded his long frame into the backseat.

“How's Boo?” I asked, when we climbed into the car.

Boo Garza was Damien's pet, a kitten he'd saved during a previous magical misadventure.

“He's good,” Damien said, grabbing the vehicle's grip handle as we bumped from driveway to road, and bracing his other hand against the ceiling to keep his head from smashing against it. “Smart. Opinionated. Cute as hell.”

“And how's Emma?”

Emma was Tanya Keene's younger sister, a lovely brunette who obviously had eyes for Damien. I didn't know either Damien or Emma very well, but the few moments I'd seen them together hinted at something sweet and growing between them.

Really, Sentinel?
Ethan asked, his grin mismatched against intense eyes focused on keeping Orangesplosion on the road in the pitch-black night.
Is this the most appropriate venue to quiz the man on his relationship?

You just told a house full of shifters that you'd ‘ruined me for other men.'
The bar's pretty low.
Also, I was nosey.

“She's got a boyfriend,” Damien said. “He keeps her pretty busy.”

I was glad he was in the backseat and couldn't see my reaction to that answer. I'd seen Emma's eyes when she watched Damien. There was more than casual interest there. Lust would have been understandable, but it wasn't just that. There was respect. Awe. Appreciation. Love, maybe, or at least the beginnings of it, and I'd seen reciprocal emotions in Damien's eyes. I couldn't imagine she'd have taken on anyone else.

“Huh,” was all I could think to say. “And will I get in trouble if I say she's being dumb?”

A corner of his mouth lifted, but only slightly, and he kept his gaze on the road through the side window. “Probably.”

“Can I sit her down and give her a talking-to?”

His smile widened, with something a little bit bashful at the edges. “No.”

I humphed but turned back to the front again. “All right. But you decide you're ready for that heart-to-heart, and I'm all over it.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

***

Orangesplosion may have had new tires, but that didn't make the drive any smoother over the pitted gravel road. Fortunately, the Clan wasn't far from Ravenswood. I bounced in the seat for ten minutes before we pulled onto a long, paved road that curved through a stand of pole-straight pine trees stretching into the dark sky. We emerged into a flat clearing empty of trees but littered with residual pine needles.

The clearing held an enormous building in two parts—a circular component, the outside covered in curved wooden planks, and a straight component made of stone that intersected the circle like a spear.

The wood and stone were heavy and dark, the few pops of color all oranges and ochres. It had a 1970s feel and a UFO vibe.

“Interesting architecture,” Ethan said, pulling the car to a stop. We climbed out, took a moment to look over the building, the surroundings.

“Thoughts?” Damien asked, hands on his hips as he surveyed the property with a careful eye.

“I don't know much about them,” Ethan said, “so they're hard to handicap. I suspect Vincent controls them, emotionally or otherwise. They're vampires, so they'll act accordingly.”

“With strategy and manipulation?”

I bit back a snicker, but even Ethan didn't disagree. “All things considered, yes.”

We walked together to the portico situated in the junction between the compound's circular and linear buildings.

Astrid opened the door before we reached it, her lean body draped in tented linen that flowed to her ankles. She smiled, opened her mouth to greet us, and then caught sight of Damien. Her eyes silvered immediately, and she bared her fangs and hissed.

Damien, unflappable, watched the reaction with flat eyes.

“Astrid Marchand,” Ethan said calmly, “meet Damien Garza, a member of the North American Central Pack. He is here on behalf of Gabriel Keene, the Pack Apex, as an emissary of diplomacy.”

Astrid, one hand on the doorjamb, was obviously flustered and not entirely sure she should allow a shifter over her threshold. She paused, eyes fixed on Damien for a silent moment, probably seeking permission from Vincent to let us in.

“Come in,” she finally said, and stepped back.

“Emissary of diplomacy?” Damien murmured as we stepped inside.

“It got us in the door,” Ethan pointed out.

The retreat's interior was as unique as the exterior. The first room, a large foyer, had a Spanish tile floor, paneled walls in alternating shades of avocado green, orange, butter yellow. The walls bowed in front of us, the sides disappearing from view into hallways to other parts of the building. The rectangular portion of the building was a long lobby space, dotted with potted trees and backless leather benches in primary shapes. A circle and triangle here, a circle and square there.

“Good evening.”

We turned back, found Vincent and Nessa walking together down the hallway. Nessa had taken up her friends' fashion and wore a blousy ivory tank and long, wide-legged trousers in a chalky blue, the same homespun fabric Astrid and Vincent wore. Her dark mane was braided loosely across one shoulder. She looked, I thought, less a vampire than a goddess, but I wondered if goddesses had ever looked so sad.

“Good evening,” Ethan said, then gestured to the building. “This is an impressive structure.”

Vincent nodded. “The building was created as a corporate retreat center. The business failed, and we were able to obtain it at minimal cost. Many of our vampires find us because they are escaping unpleasant situations. We try to give them a safe and lovely place.” He gestured toward the linear building, and we followed him toward it.

“We find living communally, without the presence of humans, gives us a chance to truly be ourselves.” The sound of trickling water blossomed, grew louder. There was a fountain that ran down the middle of the space, a small spout that poured a thick and gleaming stream of water into a narrow canal through the bricks. The canal was lined with cloudy blue-green glass, the water gurgling as it moved through the channel to the other end.

“Very nice,” Ethan commented, clearly sensing that Vincent was seeking compliments. “And how many residents?”

“Thirteen of our fifteen present members.”

When they began to discuss potentially applicable NAVR regulations, I glanced around the building, caught familiar streaks of blue and green in a painting on the opposite wall.

I walked toward it, squinted at the long and straight brushstrokes, the light gleam of varnish, the aged cracking of oil paints used to render a luminous valley landscape. Although the angle was slightly different, it was the same scooped valley, the same familiar crags of mountain on either side.

I glanced back at Nessa, smiled. “This looks familiar.”

Nessa nodded, pleased I'd realized it. “It's a Barrymore—the same artist as the painting at the guesthouse. He traveled through Colorado in the 1890s, did nearly one hundred landscapes, including these two of Elk Valley.”

“You're a collector?” Ethan asked, joining us.

Nessa looked back at him, sadness pulling at her eyes. “Actually, no. They were Christophe's paintings. He had a great love of art, and he'd bought them in the hope he and Fiona would be able to build a larger home. We had them restored, Taran and I.”

Ethan nodded, and his voice softened. “Are you ready to return to the house?”

Nessa nodded shakily. “Yes. I mean, no, of course I don't want to see where he—where Taran—was killed. I don't know if I'll ever be able to live there again. But if my going back can help . . .”

Vincent touched her hand. “If it's too soon—”

Nessa smiled politely but firmly. I guessed she and Vincent had had this conversation before. “It's necessary. But thank you, Vincent.”

We were walking toward the front door when magic prickled my neck. Since Damien and I both stopped short in the hallway, I guessed he felt it, too.

There were guns, sure. But their magic was dwarfed beneath a bigger and heavier magic, like an ocean of deep blue water resting on grains of sand.

Damien and I exchanged a glance, nodded.

“Everyone else stay here,” I said, and used a pointing finger to warn them into place while we jogged back to the circular part of the building, where windows flanked the front door.

Sentinel?

Shifters,
I told Ethan, glancing through glass to see Niall and a few of his closest friends. Men and women this time, most of them young, with lean bodies and eyes hungry for violence.

Ethan ignored the request to stay back and stormed forward, magic rolling off him like boiling water. “Gabriel was supposed to handle this.”

“He will,” Damien said without hesitation. “They must have been on their way before Gabriel left.”

“Or he's meeting with Rowan, and Niall wasn't happy about it.” I gestured through the window. “Rowan's not out there.”

“So we have Rowan talk to him, and they walk back into the woods. I'll call Gabe, make that happen.” But when Damien pulled out his phone, he swore. “There's no signal out here. We're too far away from anything.”

Ethan looked at Vincent, who'd joined us. Vincent shook his head.

“We don't have a phone line. We normally find it unnecessary.”

I was beginning to find Vincent unnecessary, much like the rest of the Marchands and McKenzies.

“Fine,” Ethan said, hand on the door. “We go outside, and we talk to them. We remind them there's a law enforcement investigation under way. Me, Merit, Damien. Everyone else stay here.”

“I'm going with you.”

Ethan looked hard at Nessa.

“I'm not going to cower in that house while they accuse me of murder.”

Ethan glanced at Damien, who shrugged.

“Fine,” Ethan said, and looked at Vincent. “Stay here and keep the rest of your people calm.”

Vincent didn't argue and seemed to have no qualms about staying inside.

Ethan opened the door and slowly walked onto the stone patio beyond it, Damien and I behind him, Nessa at the rear. I rued the fact that I'd left my sword in the car. But then again, this was just supposed to be a pickup.

Ethan crossed his arms, kept his stare bland. “Didn't we just do this yesterday?”

“Nessa killed our cousin,” Niall spat. “We have evidence.” Without taking his eyes off us, he gestured behind him. “Come here, Darla.”

Darla walked forward. Jeans hugged her very thin legs, and a black T-shirt seemed almost blousy on her thin frame. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her eyes were bright and held that same predatory gleam as Niall's.

She pulled a sheaf of papers from her pocket, extended them to Ethan.

“What is this?” Ethan asked, unfurling and perusing them.

“A divorce petition,” she said, narrowing her gaze at Nessa. “She was filing for divorce. She was going to leave him.”

Divorce papers,
Ethan silently confirmed to me, before handing the papers to Nessa with an obvious question in his eyes.

“Where did you get these?” Nessa demanded, but Darla ignored her, casting back an ugly sneer. “You're not denying it?”

Nessa swallowed, gaze flicking from the papers to Ethan. “It was months ago. We had a rough patch. I couldn't get him to talk to me; he was so absorbed in his work. I was frustrated, and I talked to a lawyer. But we got through it. We started talking again. Prioritizing our relationship. Things were getting better, so I didn't pursue it. I focused on fixing my marriage.”

Darla looked entirely unconvinced. “That doesn't explain the fight you had with him at school three weeks ago.” She looked at Ethan, clearly believing he was the one she needed to convince. “She screamed at him, right in front of the library.”

Whatever Ethan thought about the admission, his expression stayed neutral. He glanced at Nessa, whose eyes had gone very, very wide.

Her gaze flew to Ethan, pleading in her eyes. “It didn't mean anything. It was just an argument. Just a stupid disagreement. I swear to you—things were getting better.”

Darla either wasn't convinced or didn't care. “You're not one of us. You never were, and you never will be. He could have done so much better than you, and we all know it. You couldn't even give him children.”

I winced at the shot, and the bolt of magic—horrified and grief stricken—that burst from Nessa. She jolted forward, and Damien wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from launching off the patio toward the shifters.

“You little bitch. I didn't murder my husband! I loved him, and he loved me.”

“He was one of us!” Niall said. “He should have stayed with us. This is precisely what happens when shifters stray from their kind.”

“He's dead, and now there are even more bloodsuckers in the valley,” Darla said, looking at me and Ethan. “Taran didn't want you here, you know. He didn't want her to let you stay here.”

“That's not true,” Nessa said, but the expression on her face said it was at least a little bit true. “He was just busy and tired. He didn't want to deal with company.” Tears streamed down her face. “I thought it would be fun to have you stay—that we could all go out together, just like a normal goddamned couple.” She sobbed in Damien's arms, looking utterly miserable . . . and to my mind, utterly innocent.