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  “Yes,” he said to the two vampires in the room, “her name was Annabel White, but you may have known her as Sandy.”

  And the man was, well, he was a very fine figure of a vampire. One of the prettiest men Anton had ever seen. At present, Kipling was slouching in the huge leather seat next to him, all loose-limbed grace. He was the younger version of the vampire sitting on the other side of the desk, although Kipling’s eyes were violet rather than the mauve of Lord Wintermere’s. And Kipling was far more handsome—a refined, purified version of Wintermere. Something that Anton couldn’t see Wintermere liking.

  From working with Wintermere in the Counsel of Lords, it had become clear to Anton that the earl always had to be the best; the most important, the richest. It was too bad that he kept failing at his objectives. Wintermere wasn’t the most important man in the kingdom—King Johan was. He wasn’t the foremost earl in the realm; there were even other human earls whose estates were more prosperous. And he wasn’t the richest; the king once again took that title from him.

  And now it was obvious that he wasn’t even the best looking in his own house, either. Did that mean he wasn’t the strongest or the most cunning? Anton had met Wintermere’s daughter, Viscountess Kipling, so he had to wonder about the latter, as well.

  “Sandy?” Wintermere asked, and mockery oozed from the word.

  “Yes, I believe that was her working name.” Anton smiled, showing his teeth. Kipling moved restlessly in his chair.

  “I thought a baron could do better than a whore.” Wintermere was smiling back, his fangs showing.

  So, intimidation was the angle of attack, was it?

  Anton shrugged and bit back the obvious retort, “She was going to quit”—from what he’d recently learned of Annabel, he privately questioned that statement—and said instead, “This was going to be her last job.”

  “It certainly was that.” Wintermere was having fun, Anton discovered. He was amused.

  Bastard.

  No, that word wasn’t strong enough for the rage that Anton was feeling.

  “Yes,” Anton said and decided to lie. “She had quit, but your son requested some very specific physical characteristics that only Annabel could meet. And so she went. Despite the fact that I have enough income to support her a hundred times over, she wanted her own money, and your son was offering a great deal of it.”

  Anton watched Kipling out of the corner of his eye. He saw the vampire swallow, but otherwise, his face remained impassive. Almost like it was carved from stone. This was the man who had fallen so passionately in love with Annabel that he’d Chosen her? He barely even blinked.

  “She sounds positively mercenary. Are you sure she wasn’t marrying you for your groats, while feeding her addiction on the side?” Wintermere had stopped smiling, but amusement was marked all over the snide bastard’s face.

  “She wasn’t addicted to vampires, if that’s what you’re saying,” Anton said. Despite the fact he hadn’t known about her…career choice, he did know she hadn’t been addicted to anything. That would have been something he could have spotted a mile off. Personal experience and all.

  “Of course she was; all humans are if they’re vampire whores.” Wintermere waved a dismissive hand through the air.

  “She wasn’t addicted.” It was the first time Kipling had spoken and his voice was soft, deep, and slightly…timid?

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Dante.”

  “She wasn’t. It was one of the physical characteristics I wanted.” Kipling shot Anton a look he couldn’t decipher. Was the vampire warning him to not say anything else about why he’d wanted Annabel specifically?

  “That’s ridiculous.” But there wasn’t as much venom in Wintermere’s voice. Doubt was creeping in.

  “I don’t like bit-ridden humans. Why would I want to try and Choose one?” Kipling was still slouching; he looked sullen.

  Wintermere tapped his lip with one long finger. “Yes, you did put down one of the bit-ridden slaves when I was away, didn’t you?” The earl shook his head. “You didn’t even drink its blood.”

  “It tastes bad when they’re addicted.”

  They’d just talked of murdering a human in front of him as if it were nothing. Anton fought the urge to clench his fists. Not that there was anything he could do about it. There was no law governing how a man treated his slaves. He could rape them, kill them, and even eat them. And there was nothing that could be done. Slaves weren’t legally people.

  “So, we have established your whor—fiancée wasn’t bit-ridden. It’s novel, but not really the issue at hand.” Wintermere flicked a wrist through the air. “You want to know if she asked to be Chosen or if she was Chosen against her will. This is correct?”

  One was legal, the other wasn’t.

  Anton blinked and nodded. Wintermere was trying to keep him on his toes; to maintain control of the conversation. Anton didn’t really care. He figured that he was good at reading people’s expressions and body language, and right now, Wintermere was vastly amused.

  Kipling, on the other hand, was a closed book. No matter what answers Anton got today, he’d never know if they were true or not.

  “Yes, I want to know if she was Chosen against her will or not,” Anton replied.

  “Well?” Wintermere said, nodding at his son.

  Kipling started slightly. He uncrossed one of his legs and sat up straighter. “Sandy wanted to be Chosen.”

  That was it. No explanation; no reason for the life-altering decision. Just “she’d wanted it.” Everything screamed in him that Kipling was lying, but his face was serious, and he was staring into Anton’s eyes. Anton may not have known a lot about Annabel, but she hadn’t really liked vampires. Or weres.

  He couldn’t see her ever wanting to become one.

  “She wanted to be Chosen so badly she didn’t even tell you her real name?” Anton blurted.

  Kipling shrugged, and Anton noticed the vampire began to play with the armrest of his seat. “We didn’t do much talking.”

  Wintermere let out a chuckle that he smothered with a cough.

  “But enough to know she wanted to be Chosen,” Anton said. It was rather like speaking to a wall, he thought. Actually, he’d probably get more out of that conversation than this one.

  “Yes.”

  Deciding that coming here had been as foolish a choice as he’d feared it would be, Anton rose. He would get nothing useful out of these two. If he could interview the slaves, he might learn more, but he couldn’t do that without bringing his own honor into question.

  Blast them all.

  Chapter 14

  “Much on for the rest of today?” Mikael asked.

  A well-deserved sleep, Elle thought. Guard work really screwed with the internal clock. And she felt extra tired after seeing the blood around that dead woman’s mouth… It was as if a vampire had tried to Choose her. She guessed that was what Alice had been thinking. Most dead humans didn’t warrant autopsies. No Green would have agreed to be Chosen; so what could have happened? But Elle couldn’t write that in her report, which was as finished as she could make it, without Alice’s statement.

  “Picking Emmie up from Gran’s, that’s about it. You?” Emmie had classes there every day after school. She hated them, but then, who wouldn’t?

  “Just have to go to a formal dinner being held at one of the estates. Rumor has it King Jo might be there.” Mikael screwed up his face.

  “King Johan?” Elle echoed. “He actually might leave the palace for a meal at an aristo’s estate?” She shook her head. Elle wouldn’t know what to do if she found herself in the room with the king. “That’s why you’re the guard captain, and I’m the grunt.” Elle smirked. She didn’t envy him. Dealing with aristos—vampires—was not high on her list of desires. Then again, it did rank higher than being bitten by a vampire or dealing with a certain werewolf who didn’t understand the meaning of boundaries. Or windows.

  She just wasn’t sure she had enough sel
f-control to deny her attraction to the wolf. And why should she? He’d move on, and she might be left a little happier.

  He might be after Emmie, she thought. And that soured her mood. She’d kill him if he was. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

  She pulled on her leather jacket, careful of her sore shoulder, then buttoned it up mostly one-handed. “Well, you have fun with that dinner.” She smiled lopsidedly at Mikael.

  “Sure, as much fun as I would’ve had getting a hole in the head.” Mikael grimaced.

  Her expression turned sympathetic as she slung her satchel over her good arm. “Well, you could always force Dinya to go instead.”

  Dinya was the day captain and a grouchier, more taciturn woman Elle had yet to meet. Barring Gran, of course.

  “Blood, imagine her in a room full of vampires! She has enough trouble when she bumps into the aristos on the streets as it is. That’s why she’s day shift. Most of the toffs just wander around King’s Park and don’t get in her way.” Mikael was shaking his head.

  “See you tomorrow, then!” Elle headed out of the room. She didn’t want to wait around in case Mikael decided she should suffer with him.

  Whistling to herself, she jogged down the stone stairs of the Guard House and out onto Bridge Road. The cold was like a physical sock to the jaw. It had cooled drastically in the last hour. Her breath instantly misted and her face soon felt numb. It was only third month. Winter wasn’t due for another two.

  Turning right, hands in her pockets, Elle wished she was wearing a scarf. She tucked her chin under her jacket collar and kept her eyes on the cobblestone sidewalk. Sodium lamps were beginning to glow in the dimming light and the streets were dominated by luxury carriages rather than work carts and hackneys.

  It was early evening, and the city’s vampires would be out and about now, preparing for their social activities. She may not look like Emmie, but she was different enough—with her red hair and semi-Brown eyes—that a vampire might take an interest in her. Even their mother, who was normally too placid to react to much, had always said to keep out of a vampire’s, or were’s, line of sight.

  Elle was on the opposite side of the road from Gran’s house when she saw him. The streets were emptying out, as it was a human neighborhood. Nightlife didn’t really exist here. Tall stone buildings arched overhead and the smell of coal was thick, as it was used for cooking and was burned almost constantly to produce the hot water that serviced this area. Her eyes were drawn back to the werewolf. He was leaning against the wall on the other side of the road, still in buckskins and a white shirt, flagrantly unfeeling of the bitter cold that was seeping into her bones.

  Ignoring him, she crossed the road and knocked on Gran’s door. Please make him leave, she thought. Emmie must have been waiting on the other side, because she opened the door herself. Her normally nut-brown face was pale and set, but Elle couldn’t see any sign of tears.

  “How was it?” Elle asked as Emmie shut the door behind her. She was wearing an old jacket over a pale blue dress. She looked like a child from a lower-class family—old mended clothes and worn-out shoes. They certainly weren’t rich, but they weren’t poor. Gran was a wealthy and powerful cit; although she kept a tight rein on her finances. But she wouldn’t begrudge buying Emmie some new clothes. Although she shouldn’t need to. Elle’s mother, Melissande, earned a good living working for Gran in her agency, which supplied all of the estates with their servants and many of their slaves. But since Melissande and Elle had moved into their own apartment, Gran had stopped helping them out financially. Despite that, Elle brought in a reasonable sum from her guard work. Surely Emmie could have some new dresses and shoes?

  Elle held out her free hand, but Emmie ignored it. She was growing more independent every day and Elle wasn’t sure she liked it.

  “Not as bad as normal.”

  “No?” Elle tucked her hand in her jacket pocket and they began walking down the street. They were going to head down Court Road—it was a longer journey than walking straight up Pittbrough Street, but they wouldn’t have to pass the rows of vampire estates. If she’d been on her own, she would have risked it.

  There were plenty of humans wandering the streets next to them, and carriages rattled alongside. Horses nickered and coachmen cursed. Elle dodged the passersby and kept Emmie close. As they walked, they passed row after row of stone buildings, with cobbled pathways snaking between them. Her eyes on the path, she noticed a large shadow fall over them in the late afternoon light. Without thinking, Elle shoved Emmie behind her, up against the stone wall of the apartment block behind them. Her heart thudded and she realized she was acting strangely. She then looked up at the shadow caster and groaned.

  Almost larger than life, the werewolf stood in their path, grinning like a loon. “Only me!”

  Elle blinked, hoping that would wipe the image of the smiling werewolf from her vision.

  “You scared me, sneaking up like that.” Elle’s voice was barely audible.

  The wolf’s grin grew wider. “Sneaking up on you by walking straight into your path?”

  She couldn’t fault him on that. If she hadn’t been staring at the ground, then she wouldn’t have been able to miss him. Flicking a glance at her sister, she could see Emmie staring at the man in something like amazement.

  “Hello, little human.” His voice softened when he addressed Emmie.

  Elle pushed her sister further behind her, not that there was much room for her to be pushed to. “What are you doing here?”

  The wolf looked around, raising his eyebrows mockingly. Elle’s eyes followed his. “This is a public sidewalk.”

  And they were standing in the middle of it.

  Elle could feel curious eyes on the three of them, so she started walking, keeping Emmie close to her side, hoping he’d leave. He didn’t. “Why are you following us around?”

  “I saw the little human go in there after school,” he pointed backward down the street, “and I wanted to make sure she got home safely.”

  “So you were watching the house for hours?” Elle’s heart was beating oddly and her skin tingled. They—Emmie—were being stalked.

  “My name is Emmie. Esmeralda, actually, but I don’t like it.” Emmie was smiling her close-lipped smile, but there was a bounce in her step that hadn’t been there in weeks. Her brown ponytails swung jauntily as she walked.

  “Well, I can see why you prefer Emmie. You’re much too small and lovely a girl to have such a big name.” He had his hands in his pockets as he walked next to them. Trying to appear non-threatening, she thought. He was too bloody handsome for his own good. It was obviously why Emmie was so drawn to him; that and because he was different. Like her.

  “You watched the house for hours?” Elle asked again.

  He flicked a golden glance her way. “One hour, but yes.”

  Over Emmie’s head, Elle glowered at him. Despite the gathering dusk, they were drawing curious glances from the vampires that had started entering this part of the city. They were all primped and pressed and nearly all of them had long hair. Tucking her chin further into her jacket, she wished that the wolf would just disappear.

  “Go away,” she hissed at him.

  Emmie nearly tripped over her own feet. “What?”

  “I told the wolf to go away.” Elle pushed her onward down the street, wishing the encounter was over.

  “The wolf is ignoring her, though,” he said and he winked at Emmie. Elle wouldn’t have been surprised if he had started whistling.

  “What’s your name?” Emmie asked him.

  Elle made a sound that imitated a boiling kettle.

  “Clay.”

  “Clay what?” Elle asked, unable to help herself.

  He shot her a sidelong look. “I thought you wanted me to go away.”

  “I do.”

  “Clay Lovett,” he offered.

  “Will you just go away?” Elle hissed.

  “Now you’ve learned my name, you just want
to wash your hands of me?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 15

  They were home. Thankfully, they’d managed—or more accurately, Elle had managed—to drive the wolf off.

  Clay.

  Clay Lovett.

  What a ridiculous name. She didn’t believe for a second that was his real name; but then, most wolves had surnames like Lupu, Dire and Blaidd. Why not plain old Lovett?

  Still, she wasn’t about to believe that that was his name just because that’s what he’d told them.

  “When can we see Clay again?” Emmie asked.

  Elle slung off her jacket and hung it on the metal hook behind the front door using her good arm. She walked over to the wooden bench that ran along the opposite wall of the entry hall, and dropped her satchel as she sat. She took off her boots one-handed and mentally sighed. Clay had certainly made a convert of her sister. It was disgusting and horrifying how easily he’d managed it.

  “Hopefully never,” Elle muttered.

  “Elle!” Emmie stamped her foot.

  “Take off your shoes.”

  Grumbling, Emmie did as she was told.

  Elle shook her head and walked down the hall toward the kitchen in her socked feet. Emmie followed.

  “What?”

  “He’s just being nice.” Emmie’s lower lip started to protrude.

  “And did you ever wonder why?” Elle asked. She opened a white-painted cupboard and took out two glasses before going to the cold box and finding some milk. She poured them both a glass each.

  “Why does there have to be a reason? Why are you so grouchy about everything?” Emmie sat at the petite, scuffed wooden table that was positioned in the middle of the small kitchen.

  Elle plonked the glasses down and then pulled a chair out with her good arm. She sat opposite her sister and studied her. Weak sunlight filtered through the high windows and into the kitchen. Emmie had her hair tied back in a braid and it shone with red highlights. Elle hadn’t noticed that it had a bit of auburn to it before, normally it hinted gold.

  “I’m not grouchy about everything,” Elle protested.