Page 36 of Siege of Blood and Betrayal
My alarm goes off and the annoying ‘Happy Birthday’ jingle penetrates my state of near catatonia. My mind is heavy with sleep and throbbing. Wow! We must’ve had one hell of a night out because I feel like I’ve been run over by a Humvee.
And squished on a concrete road.
And then it backed up and ran me over again to make sure I was good and flattened.
I let out a long sigh and consider opening my eyes to face the day. It’s too bright. I squint at the golden light bombarding my sleep and curse myself for not closing the blinds before I went to bed.
Even with my eyes closed, it’s blinding.
Flailing a floppy hand toward the side table, I find my phone and make the cheery wake-up call stop. I’m not ready to face the day—even if it is Da’s birthday.
It’ll still be his birthday in another hour.
Shifting under the covers, I roll to my side and sigh. I don’t know when I’ve ever felt so cozy. My skin is buzzing, and the sheets are soft and luxurious over my skin. Man, this mattress is incredible.
And I was having the sexiest dream evah!
Everything about this moment demands I give in and go back to sleep. Everything except my stinking alarm.
Shaking off the woolly warmth of slumber, I open my mind and let the coming day creep into my state of warm and cozy. The heart-squeezing truth hits me like a breath-stealing punch to the gut.
Wait… there is no birthday.
Da and Francesco are dead.
We’re in the safe house.
The significance of the mid-morning sun blaring into the room takes root in my mind and I jolt upright, scrambling to get my legs out of the covers. “Zane!”
Sunlight is everywhere.
It’s flooding the entire bedroom and coming through the windows in the joined bathroom beyond. Where the hell are we? And with this much sunlight, where is Zane?
“I’m fine, Scots. And you’re fine. We’re safe.” Zane’s voice comes from the open door to the hallway.
Sucking in some much-needed oxygen, I focus on slowing my racing pulse, and rush forward to reassure myself that he isn’t about to burst into flame.
He’s fine, I repeat to myself.
My bare feet sink into the plush ivory carpet as I rush to the hallway. It’s long and unfamiliar, the walls decorated with artwork and sculptures that are no-doubt centuries old and invaluable.
I’m accustomed to life with the Vasari royals, so I ignore the splendor and find Zane in an office suite across the hall. He’s sitting behind an eight-foot slate desktop, his attention focused on the market readouts spooling across the bottom of the massive monitors mounted on the wall to his right.
With the mic of his headset down, he waves to me and goes back to a conversation he’s having with someone on a video call. “And how concerned was my father that this Pi-X start up would get exchange status?”
While he talks markets and business, I take in the leather sofa, the dark wood of the cabinetry wall, the white leather chairs, and let the normalcy of the moment dissolve what’s left of my panic.
He’s fine.
Hell, with his broad-shouldered build barely contained in an expensive black dress shirt, and the sleeves rolled back to expose the tanned olive skin, inked with his lineage tattoos, he is more than fine.
Add to that his dark green eyes rimmed by long, dark lashes, and his midnight black hair still damp from a shower, and it’s impossible to ignore how fine he is.
Stop ogling the man. I hate him.
Giving myself an inward shake, I force my gaze away from Zane and let the surroundings wash over me. By the color scheme, I know this is a Vasari office.
Each of the original families of the Fondatori true-blood vampires has a color scheme which sets them apart as the leaders of the vampire race.
