“How magnanimous of you.”
Kane sighed. So much for any of that ice having melted away after they’d worked together to bring down those rogue vamps that had been killing witches. Not that he could blame the guy. The death of those particular witches may have been a message of challenge meant for Kane, but Jourdain had been the one to suffer the grief. Those men and women had beenhispeople.
“I was hoping you might have a moment to talk.”
Jourdain backed up, waving his hand for Kane to enter.
Destin Jourdain was one big bastard. You didn’t tend to notice it as much when you were standing a few feet from him, but stepping up next to the guy, Jourdain practically loomed over Kane’s six-foot, two-inch height. Not to mention the frisson of power you could feel emanating from the man even when he was relaxed, that felt like a lightning storm was imminent, the kind that raised the hairs on your arm.
Jourdain’s home was an interesting mix, Kane noted as he fell into step behind the man. On the right, there looked to be a small family room with a couch, recliner, and one of those old-style cabinet TVs from the seventies that probably weighed more than Kane. Did the thing even work?
Before he could ask, Jourdain brought him into a room that had Kane stopping in his tracks with a surprised, “Whoa.”
This room didn’t have any furniture. Instead, the expanse of the bare plank floor held a large circle painted in white with symbols around the interior in red. Fat, white pillar candles crusted in dried wax sat on the floor just outside the circle while in the center was placed a massive metal bowl, flanked by dirt-smeared human skulls, and was filled with a red liquid that might have been mistaken for blood had his nose not told him otherwise.
Jourdain’s booming laughter seemed to echo around the room. “The look on your face, Mister Fletcher.” The man shook his head as his amusement continued. “I assure you, it’s for the tourists.”
Throwing Jourdain a sheepish grin for being caught gawking like one of those said tourists, Kane stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You can call me Kane, you know. That’s kind of one of the reasons I’m here.”
Jourdain raised a brow. “I see. And the other reason?”
“I was hoping you may have recognized the woman in that footage I sent you.”
Moving into what was clearly Jourdain’s office, one with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined the walls and held obviously ancient tomes, as well as newer books, Jourdain motioned for him to take a seat.
The leather club chair Kane settled into was probably comfortable, but he didn’t sit back to discover if that was true, remaining perched on the edge as he waited for an answer.
“Drink?”
The offer was surprising. Kane had thought Jourdain would want him out of his house as soon as possible, but he certainly wasn’t going to turn down the hospitality. Nor did he turn down the offer of a very expensive cigar.
He occasionally shared a cigar with Travis, but those weren’t anywhere near this quality and the combination of aged scotch and Cuban tobacco reminded Kane of his father. Sweeping aside the unwanted moment of nostalgia, Kane focused on Jourdain who was saying, “I didn’t recognize the woman in the footage, but from what I saw, the two of you seemed to be chatting. You didn’t get a name?”
Kane grimaced. “I don’t even remember meeting her. We think she did something to my memory.”
Jourdain leaned back in his chair as he blew out a stream of smoke and his eyes narrowed. “Interesting.”
Not interesting. Not for Kane. Frustrating was the better word, and he was about to say as much but bit it back when he noticed Jourdain’s face. The man was contemplating something, that was clear, yet, instead of sharing his thoughts with Kane, the leader of The Order of Witches suddenly changed the subject. “Now, about the other matter you wanted to discuss. My calling you Kane, implying a certain intimacy, a friendship if you will.”
Knowing he may never get this chance again, Kane quickly shifted gears from the annoying black hole that was the witch in the footage to the alliance he so eagerly wanted, though he was smart enough to keep that eagerness out of his voice. “Olivier Rodolfo was a fool.”
“Agreed. Though I can think of a few stronger adjectives to describe the man.”
“What I’m proposing,” Kane said, “Is an alliance between the vampires, the witches, and the shifters. You, me, and Archer Langley, all working together to maintain peace. We all share this territory, it makes sense to work as a team instead of fighting amongst ourselves for no good reason.”
Jourdain seemed amused. “Ah, a veritable supernatural utopia.”
Kane frowned, not sure if he was being mocked.
“So, after centuries of oppression under the previous regime, you expect us to simply trust that you have our best interests in mind? Do you even know what our interests are?”
Jourdain scrubbed a hand over his bald head and sighed. “Don’t answer that. It was rhetorical as I know very well you do not. Did Langley agree to this?”
“He hasn’t yet. And I don’t expect either of you to just go all in because I suggested it. What I’d like is for the three of us to be able to sit down together, talk things out, discuss what we want and what we hope to accomplish. Then, hopefully, we work to make it happen. Together.”
Kane noted that the other man seemed to be thinking about it as he puffed on his cigar. Taking a sip of his scotch, enjoying the smooth burn down the back of his throat, Kane patiently waited.
“I’ll agree to the meeting if Langley does,” Jourdain finally offered and Kane wanted to thrust his fist in the air and shout ‘hell, yeah!’, instead, he clamped his cigar between his teeth and attempted to look like he wasn’t about to burst with a sense of accomplishment.
