Page 35 of The Guardian's Curse

Her shoulders slumped. “So I just wait.”

“Eduardo did not become the Elder of the Auberon because he was weak or timid,” he said. “He will put the Casteron in their place when he knows the pieces are arranged properly.”

Her shoulders slumped as she turned away to stir his breakfast. Fingerprints still lingered on her skin, filling him with fury at this Elliott McAvoy. He was growing to enjoy her presence, but her light could brighten far bigger places than a lonely recluse’s home.

Perhaps Eduardo could not act directly, but someone else might. A hunter, perhaps? Or someone who used a hunter’s weapon of choice. If no one lived to tell their story, who would know the difference?

After checking the temperature with a thermometer, Shoshanna poured the heated blood into a steel cup. He frowned at it. “What’s this?”

“It’s insulated,” she said primly. “It’ll keep it warm longer.”

He tilted his head. “Where did it come from?”

“I ordered it for you,” she said. “The liner is plastic so it shouldn’t affect the taste.” Her nose wrinkled. “Not that I can verify the appropriate taste.”

Despite himself, he smiled beneath the dark hood. To be on her mind even when he was out of sight...that was a lovely thought. He sipped and found it perfectly warmed. “Thank you for the gesture. It tastes quite good.”

Her smile lit a fire in his chest. Then she sighed. “I’m going to get a little more work done before bed. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Of course,” he murmured, watching her retreat.

With Shoshanna back at work, Alistair retreated to his bedroom to get his phone. He rarely had contact with the others, but he intended to change that tonight. He perused his list of contacts. Paris and Dominic were out, and Julian with them. And Nikko was too unpredictable; he might enjoy a good hunt off the clock, or he might take his duties seriously enough to rat him out. Sasha...he’d probably do it, but taking advantage of him was a line Alistair would not cross. That left Safira, who had a taste for violence and a lot of frustration to burn off.

Safira answered after two rings. “Well, hello, stranger,” she purred. “What’s wrong? Is the witch safe?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he said. “I want to deal with a problem, and I want the others kept out of it.”

“Secrets and mystery. You have my attention, Allie,” she said. “What is it?”

“Find out what the Shroud knows about Elliott McAvoy,” he said. “The vampire who attacked Shoshanna York.”

“I’m on it,” she said.

Upstairs, Shoshanna was listening to noisy electronic music, oblivious to him. He changed clothes, exchanging his longer coat for something more form fitting, with a hood that drew tight around his face. After dressing, he contemplated the rack of weapons he’d accumulated over the centuries.

When he hunted humans, his bare hands and teeth were more than sufficient. But tonight, he would hunt his own. He strapped a harness to his back and secured two sharpened wooden stakes into it. The stakes were carved from white ash wood, which would incapacitate his prey long enough for a swift decapitation.

Once he was armed, he crept upstairs and drank another bag of blood to energize him. The rich taste of life spilling over his tongue put him on edge; an over-fed vampire was stronger, but more aggressive and volatile. All the better for hunting.

Safira texted with an address at just past one in the morning.

Safira: Meet me in an hour.

He frowned. He hadn’t intended for her to join him on the hunt, but once Safira got an idea in her head, it would be impossible to shake it loose.

He listened for Shoshanna, who had since retired to her room. Water ran down the hall, and then it was quiet. He crept to her door and listened. Along with her quiet breathing, he heard light crunching sounds. A dry, pungent smell drifted toward him.

Cat food. A week ago, he’d have laughed at the thought of a witch and her black cat living under his roof. They’d be safe for a few hours, especially once he disposed of Elliott McAvoy.

Leaving the witch and her cat to their evening, he hurried to the front door and locked it behind him. The balmy Atlanta evening was filled with the night chorus of humming insects and distant road noise. Half a mile down the road, he had an old car stashed in the parking lot of a twenty-four hour grocery store. Inside the musty car, he started his GPS and found that Safira’s address was in Midtown.

As he drove, the thought of putting his hands on Elliott became more and more appealing. Then Shoshanna could get out of his house and back to her own life. And that was best for all of them.

But that wasn’t it, was it? He didn’t want her gone. Not even he believed that he was doing this to get rid of her. He wanted to rescue her, to be her hero. It was dangerously naïve; the same thoughts had resulted in his curse all those years ago.

But if he hadn’t learned then, he never would.

The address brought him to a parking garage in Midtown. He drove in slow circles until he saw Safira standing in the harsh white light of a fluorescent bulb. Clad in black with her fiery hair braided tight to her skull, she was dressed to kill.

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