“You love me. And I killed Ago for you.”
She snorted. “From all the blood, I’d say your wolf killed Ago. Good damn riddance. Why aren’t you healing Julien right now instead of arguing with me?”
“We’re waiting on Set.”
“I don’t trust her.”
“Can you tell me why?”
She tipped her head back, stared at the ceiling. “They were friends. Set and Amal. That makes her suspect number one.”
“Julien is her progeny,” I pointed out evenly. “And we need her.”
“Why?”
“Because a sire can heal her progeny if she gets to him in time. And she can heal you.”
“Heal me?” A dish sitting on the counter bumped and wobbled when Noa’s fingers flicked. “She’s not touching me.”
I smiled. “Julien says you have venom in your runes.”
“Tracker shit that Ago was using.” Her fingers clenched. “But he’s dead.”
“Barend isn’t.”
Her glare sparkled with white fire. I stepped close and tugged her against my chest. The tension in her edged too close to breaking, and I ran my hands up and down her spine while she trembled.
She’d come out of her faille burnout stronger and far more volatile. Glorious in her rage and indignation. The protective she-wolf for those she cared about. I wanted to sweep her up, carry her far away, splay her out on a bed and make love to her until every inch of her body quivered.
I sent those images through our mental bond, my arms tightening when she squirmed. A whimper broke from her lips. A tiny gasp that had me rock hard—although all erotic thoughts disintegrated with the first heavy thud against the ceiling. Additional thuds pounded above our heads with a threatening frequency, sending dust motes tumbling down.
Vampires were landing on the roof. More appeared in the muddy, snowy yard. I’d guessed Set wouldn’t come alone. Not after the message Noa sent through a secure connection, activated only in emergencies. Code words, a phone that was untraceable without the specialized equipment on the banker’s end. Something Julien set up a year ago when strange things began happening in the Selkirks.
Noa whipped up her weapon and was out the door with the arrow aimed. “Set,” she snarled, braced on the porch. Never mind that she faced vampires—after vampires had kidnapped her, held her in a dungeon at High Citadel. Bargained the lives of her friends in order to turn her into a weapon. One of them.
But after the way she’d destroyed their little get-together and nearly syphoned Ago into oblivion, then collapsed their tunnels filled with magic, I doubted many vampires were eager to get close. That I stood at her side was close to window dressing.
Julien’s sire stood at the bottom of the steps. She could not—would not—come closer without an invitation. She wore black, and I heard the flow of sarcasm running through Noa’s head… such a cliché with all the fucking black…
“Red smoke,” Set said. “I saw red smoke in the forest near to here.”
“Ago,” Noa said, while I remained silent at her side. She needed to do this.
“Black smoke.” Julien’s sire held steady.
Noa understood exactly what she meant. “Do you value Julien?”
“I’m his sire.” Vampire arrogance, the cold ice of Cleopatra’s handmaiden, of an entity who was centuries old and would continue down that immortal path for centuries more.
Noa said, “Being a sire guarantees nothing.”
“You are quite right.” An ancient, arctic power radiated from Set that Noa brushed aside as if it was nothing. “But I see he has a champion in you.”
“He was researching for you.”
“One of his many talents.”
“Someone close to you betrayed him.”
