Lord Timotheius cleared his throat. “So it’s true, then. This is quite an amazing occurrence.”
Tatiana hugged Lilith to her, bouncing her gently to soothe her crying. “I’d say it’s more than just an amazing occurrence. It’s the start of a new era. With my daughter, a new race of vampires has begun.”
Kosmina hurried to Tatiana’s side. “Shall I take her, my lady? She sounds hungry.”
“Yes. See that she’s fed.” She handed Lilith off. Octavian pulled a chair out for her and she took her place at the head of the table; then he helped Daci into her seat before taking his own. The rest of the Dominus and their Elders sat.
“This new race,” Zephrim began. “How is it different from our own nobility, other than she was born vampire and we are sired? She is still just a vampire. No disrespect intended.”
“No disrespect? Really?” Tatiana turned to Octavian, savoring the last moment of their shared knowledge. “Just a vampire,” she mocked.
Octavian sipped his wine. “She is anything but.”
“Hear, hear,” Daci said, lifting a glass and drinking to her own toast.
“And why is that?” Grigor waved his hand as if trying to hurry her along. “You must share whatever it is you think is so special about this child.”
Tatiana straightened to look down her nose at the Dominus seated at her dinner table, pride rippling through her. “My child has powers no other noble vampire has.” She paused, savoring their eager anticipation. “Lilith is a daywalker.”
“You did bravely today,” Yahla cooed against Creek’s skin.
“Did I?” He couldn’t remember much since last night. “What exactly did I do?” He moved away from her, trying to clear his head.
“Just what I asked of you.”
She looped her arm through his, but he got off the bed, walked over to the small flat screen, and turned off the news. That and the small flashes of memories fading in and out were the only way he’d figured out what had happened.
The mayor had put a curfew in place and he was somehow a part of it. He’d gone to her house, been in her office, but beyond that… there wasn’t much. A flash of Chrysabelle. The ever-present urging of Yahla. Mal taking Doc’s place. Or had he gotten that part from the news? Not that he’d be watching any more of it. Being with Yahla made it tough to concentrate on anything but her. “Why is it so hard for me to remember?”
“Perhaps when I am with you, I am all that fills your thoughts.” She slid off the bed and came to him, pressing herself into him and drawing patterns on his chest with her fingers. “I do not enjoy this place you call home. It is not suitable for you any longer.”
His body was too focused on her touch to remember what he’d been talking about. “It might be a dump, but that’s kind of the point. No one would think anyone living here would have anything worth messing with. Besides, the KM aren’t about to fund a new place unless this one is compromised.”
“The KM are not your—”
He shook his head, making a small place in his brain where he could think. “I know you don’t like them. I’m not crazy about them either, but I work for them. You killing Argent doesn’t change that.”
She blinked rapidly. “I said I will free you.”
He kissed her forehead. “And I don’t doubt you. But until then, I have to do the job they got me out of prison to do, or they’ll put me back there. And that ain’t happening.”
“I would not allow that.” She opened her mouth to say more, but a knocking on the downstairs door interrupted her. He slipped his jeans on, then headed downstairs, crossbow over his shoulder. “Stay here. Don’t make any noise.”
He padded across the space, the concrete floor cool under his bare feet. If he had to guess who his caller was, he’d say Argent’s replacement. The KM wouldn’t leave him untethered for too long. Bringing the crossbow down, he unlocked the heavy-duty door and slid it back a few inches.
Spiky black hair and wraparound sunglasses greeted him. The woman standing there, dressed in black leather from head to toe, didn’t even glance at the crossbow aimed at her heart. Or at least not that he could tell from the dark sunglasses that were… screwed into her temples. Screwed? Really? And why the shades at all? It had been dark for over two hours.
She nodded at him. “Creek.”
He held the bow where it was. “You have me at a disadvantage. You are?”
“Sector Chief Annika.” She spoke with a slight accent. European maybe. “I’m filling in for Argent.”
Creek dropped the bow to his hip. So they didn’t know Argent was dead. “Filling in?”
“Yes.” She held her arm out, palm up, and pulled her jacket sleeve up. A small brand—the Greek letter Ω—he’d come to recognize as identifying KM higher-ups, marked the inside of her wrist. “Are you going to let me in?”
“Sure.” No answer on why Argent needed filling in for, then. More need to know that he didn’t need to know. He slid the door back.
Without waiting for it to be opened all the way, she pushed past and came inside. “When’s the last time you saw your sector chief?”
“Couple of days ago. Last time he was here.”
She nodded, studying the interior of the old machine shop. She glanced briefly at the sleeping loft. “He hasn’t checked in since then. Any idea where he might have been headed when he left you?”