Now he was making a perilous habit of charging from one bad decision to another.
A pity there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.
“The Jinn is mine,” he hissed, grudgingly releasing his hold on the older vampire.
Victor smoothed his silk shirt, his sardonic expression disguising the lingering fury that Tane could scent in the air.
“I doubt the Oracles would agree.” “I will deal with them later.”
Victor folded his arms over his chest, a speculative expression on his noble features.
“What’s going on, Tane?” he demanded. “You have a reputation as a ruthless bastard who does your duty and disappears back to your hidden lair. Like Batman, without the creepy butler.”
He hesitated. He wasn’t about to share his strange obsession with Laylah, but he was going to have to offer some explanation if he wanted Victor’s help.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m playing a hunch?” he at last said.
“Yes,” he agreed with a remarkable sincerity. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”
Victor headed toward the door leading out of the dungeon, his Italian leather shoes clicking against the stone floor. Tane was barefoot as usual. Who gave a rat’s ass for expensive leather? Silence trumped fashion any day of the week.
Tane hurried to catch up with the clan chief, reaching his side as they climbed the narrow steps to enter the grand mansion above.
“Laylah,” he gritted.
“She’ll be safe with Juliet,” Victor promised with an offhand tone that made Tane’s jaw clench. The vampire was lucky that Tane had need of him.
“Not if half the demons in London are trying to capture her.”
“Don’t worry.” Victor smiled with smug confidence. “My mate has a collection of magical artifacts that could fill the Louvre. Somewhere among the cache are a hundred amulets, charms, and crystals that will keep Laylah hidden from nosy demons.”
They passed through the black and white foyer of the Palladian masterpiece and up an imposing staircase with a gilded balustrade. From there Victor led him through the marble hall that held a priceless collection of Greek statues set in shallow alcoves and a coved ceiling painted with fierce angels battling a horde of demons and into the formal salon.
The towering walls were covered by crimson silk panels, the rich color echoed in the upholstery of the traditional English furnishings and heavy velvet curtains that had been pulled aside to reveal a line of arched windows that overlooked a sunken garden.
It looked and smelled of ancient wealth.
The sort of stuffed shirt, grandiose, don’t-touch-anything place that made Tane itch.
Although he had no memory of his life as a human, he retained his people’s preference for being surrounded by nature.
Moving toward a heavy sideboard, Victor tugged open a scrolled panel to reveal a mini fridge tucked inside. There was the tinkle of glass, then he turned to cross the Oriental carpet and shoved a glass of fresh blood into his hand.
“Here.”
Tane wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want …”
“I know what you want,” Victor interrupted in a tone that defied argument. “But for now you’ll settle for this. Tell me how you came into contact with a mongrel Jinn.”
Tane concisely explained the events leading up to his pursuit of Laylah and her desperate attempts to elude him that had eventually landed them both in London.
Victor listened in silence, his expression unreadable. “So you’ve had her in your powers twice and failed to take her to the Oracles? A dangerous game.”
He grimaced, downing the blood in one gulp. Immediately he felt his strength increasing, although it was flat and tasteless.
For the first time in his long existence, he hungered for one blood in particular. “This stopped being a game days ago.” Victor nodded. In understanding or sympathy? Impossible to say.
“What of your hunch?” he prompted. “She’s hiding something,” Tane confessed.