Page 51 of Never Run from an Immortal

“And you gave him your blood.”

Another nod. “A turned Vampire… he said it might stabilise their formula.”

Aidan’s eyes narrowed. Cormac wasn’t out of place around wealth and had likely been in all of Demesia’s most expensive establishments, but in the centre of Aidan’s study, which admittedly was three times larger than any study needed to be, he seemed small, helpless. Cormac was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. “And the list?”

The Vampire retrieved a piece of paper from his pocket, the slightest tremor in his hand as he flattened it to the dark wood before them. A quick scan of the contents told Aidan not only was he and almost his entire household on the list, but most of the council too. All the more reason to meet with them.

“Scarlett’s location?” Aidan already had it, but he wanted Cormac to say it. Compliance was much easier to work with than the alternative.

“A building in the Southern Quarter. One of the humans’ facilities for growing that muck they call food.”

Aidan and Baelin exchanged a glance. The chances of Nim being there too were high, but they needed a better plan this time, or they’d all be serving themselves up for testing. Aidan needed Rae to focus on the task at hand; this distraction had gone on long enough.

Cormac rambled on, and Aidan let him for Baelin’s sake while he sifted through the Vampire’s memories of the meeting. Weyland was an arrogant bastard, but Aidan suspected he wasn’t the one pulling the strings on this. Then something snagged his interest—

“They want to make a new Order? That’s what this is about?” He thought of Daire, and the idea of more of them out there in the city spelled nothing but trouble.

“They want to use it on themselves,” Cormac explained.

Baelin leaned forward at that, his PAD discarded on the table. “The humans? Or the Fae they’re collaborating with?”

“Both, I think,” Cormac mused.

Aidan laughed humourlessly at the admission. Whatever Torrin had promised Weyland, he was a fool.

Shaw,Aidan called out to his steward.We’re done here.

My lord. A heartbeat later, Shaw stood waiting at the entrance to the study, the scent of weed and human food drifting through the open doorway.

Cormac’s face fell as he realised he was being dismissed. “Please,” he whispered.

“I’ll do what I can, but understand the only reason I’m letting you walk out of here is because I need Weyland to believe you’re gathering his list.”

Cormac nodded in understanding, though his objections were on the tip of his tongue, his thoughts a scrambled mess.

“I’ll send instructions,” Aidan said, his attention fixed wholly on Rae and whatever the fuck she was doing in her studio a floor above them.

“Yes, my lord. Of course.”

Aidan didn’t even acknowledge Cormac as he left, Shaw closing the door behind him.

“She’s cooking up there now too?” Baelin asked, handing over his PAD.

“Your guess is as good as mine. What’s this?”

“Transcripts.”

Between Baxter and Rae. Aidan hid his irritation, reading the messages once. Twice. Anger tightened his jaw as his eyes skimmed the words a third time. “When?”

“This is from tonight, my lord.” Baelin’s eyes dipped to Aidan’s hand on his chest. “She could have left the bullet there.” The bullet Baelin had examined, traces of the tranquiliser Aidan had suspected it had been filled with still coating the shell.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He tossed the PAD back to his Ascendant, leaving his study without another word. Part of him regretted telling her the truth of his lineage. The other part, the part that had revelled in the warm glow of that slither of sunlight, that had so badly wanted to see Rae’s reaction to the truth, didn’t care at all. He’d been more than giving, and she’d shoved it back in his face, time and time again.

At the top of the staircase, the damn rutok Rae had brought back with them darted between Quinn’s limbs, the daemon sitting stoically on its hind legs. Even the fucking dog had to suffer the Witch’s antics.

Farren, he called out, trying to smooth over his anger before barging into her room. No answer.Why can I smell baked potatoes drifting from your studio, Witch?Her studio. Like it had always existed in his home.

I needed a heat sink,came her tired reply. Likehetired her, just as much as he tired of her bullshit.

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