Page 52 of The Guardian's Curse

“He wanted to see you, not me,” Paris said.

Dread gathered in his mind like thunderclouds. He slipped through the crowd, back to the lobby and up the spiral stairs to the upper floor. There was a big lounge area there, and he found Nikko sitting on one of the big leather couches with a file open on his lap. Though he wore a suit, there was no doubt that he was well-armed and would spring into action at the slightest provocation. With his long blonde hair tied off his neck, the swirling black lines of his curse were visible. It was only a matter of time before his curse took its terrible toll once again.

And to his surprise, there was Sasha across from him, quietly reading. A pang of sorrow stabbed through him at the sight of his brother.

“Alistair,” Nikko greeted quietly. At the sound of his voice, Sasha looked up and frowned. The shift in his posture betrayed coiled muscle, an intent to strike. “He’s one of us, brother.”

Sasha’s pale green eyes drifted over him. The look of suspicion and unfamiliarity there was heartbreaking. Weeks after the full moon, he’d likely recovered some of his memory. Long ago, Alistair would have been there to help him remember, to be an anchor in the storm until the witch’s curse stole his memory again. But no longer. Alistair was a name in a book, if even that. “Show your face,” Sasha said coolly.

“No,” Alistair replied. “That won’t be necessary.” They’d once been close friends. He’d even saved Sasha’s life once, carrying him to safety when a hunter’s bomb left the other man broken and bleeding out. He was nothing more than a shadow crossing his path now.

“It’s fine,” Nikko said, nudging the other man’s foot. “Let him be.”

Sasha’s eyes narrowed as Alistair retreated, headed for his rebuke at Eduardo’s hands.

The narrow hallway to Eduardo’s office felt a thousand yards long. He had once been one of Eduardo’s favorites, and could do no wrong in the formidable Elder’s eyes. Things had clearly changed.

The Midnight War, when Alistair and his brothers were cursed, was not his first time crossing paths with the vicious hunters of the Shieldsmen. After Franziska turned him, she bound him into the Rubrum Court, a small and ruthless band of vampires residing in Austria. They were careless and messy, and they paid for it by falling under the stakes and swords of the Shieldsmen. As far as Alistair knew then, Franziska was dead, and good riddance.

When their Elder was slain, the Covenant binding the vampires of the court was broken. Few survived the blitz of the Shieldsmen. Those who did were scattered and struggled to survive. Suffering the blood lust and madness of a broken Covenant, Alistair and his comrade Sylvain fled Vienna for the safety of the Auberon Court in Switzerland.

They were nearly starved and half-mad when they arrived, but they made it to one of Eduardo’s salons, where a younger and happier Julian Alcott nearly killed them on principle. Eventually, he and Paris allowed them to plead their case to Eduardo, who took them into the safety and security of his Covenant.

Alistair had quickly become one of Eduardo’s favorite subjects. A virtuoso vampire pianist from Vienna was exquisite entertainment for Eduardo’s parties, where he courted wealthy nobles in hopes of bringing them and their money into the court. And when the war began with a cowardly, unprovoked attack on the ball in Saarbrucken, Alistair had protected one of Eduardo’s most beloved Vessels, Zephryine Lenoir.

But he feared that he had long worn out his goodwill with Eduardo. If he had not done so before now, his stunt with Safira would surely demolish what was left of their fond relationship.

Eduardo’s severe secretary, Adeline, glanced up from her desk. Her dark eyes swept over him, thin brows arching. “He’s waiting for you, Mister Thorne,” she said archly.

The door was ajar, and Alistair crept forward. Inside the well-furnished office, Eduardo sat in a high-backed brown leather chair, long fingers steepled at his chin. His red eyes flicked to Hugo La Cour, the intimidating man that served as his Scythe. “You can go,” he said quietly, his voice a low, jaguar’s growl.

Hugo nodded to him, then left the room. Though he closed the door, Alistair was certain the other man was just on the other side. The pale, dead-eyed vampire had protected Eduardo for centuries. As the Scythe of the Court, he was Eduardo’s closest protector, war advisor, and occasional executioner.

The pull of the Covenant was painful with Eduardo so close. Ancient magic bound the vampires of the Court to their Elder, and it was impossible to ignore. “Sir,” Alistair, said, immediately kneeling on the plush carpet. Even with his immediate submission, he still felt Eduardo’s anger searing his skin and prickling through his veins.

“Reveal your face,” Eduardo said.

Without hesitating, he slid the hood back. The only thing that kept his chin high was the realization that he would offend Eduardo even further by refusing eye contact.

The Elder glared down at him, ruby eyes unblinking. “Are you well, Alistair?” he asked.

“Yes,” he said.

The older vampire circled him slowly. “Do you find the home in Midnight Springs to your liking?”

“Yes. Very much so, sir.”

“Did you understand the simple task you were given by Paris and Dominic?”

“Sir, I was—”

“Did you understand?” he said coldly. “Paris assures me that the contract I approved was extraordinarily clear. I’ll ask again. Did you understand the task you were given?”

“Yes, I understood,” he said. “This is about what happened with the hunters, isn’t it?”

“In part, but I’m more concerned about your failure to protect Shoshanna York,” Eduardo said. “The tisserand is valuable to me. I want her in my service, but that will not happen if the Casteron get to her.”

“She was always safe.”

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