“Freddy?” Aden said, eyeing the blood.
“Most of it belonged to your enemies, Sire. I’ll be healed by the time we reach the office.”
Aden nodded. “Call someone to get rid of these trucks,” he said, indicating the attackers’ two SUVs.
“Already done,” Bastien said from behind him. “We should leave now, my lord, just in case.”
Aden knew what he meant. Stig had been used as Silas’s sacrificial lamb, very possibly to weaken Aden in advance of a real attack which could come at any moment.
They all piled into the limousine for the short ride to the six-story building where Aden had set up his headquarters two months ago. It was an elegant structure of mixed use, with many of his fellow residents using the space for home offices. It also had excellent security, although Aden had augmented his top two floors with safety measures of his own, especially since he and his vamps spent their daylight hours in the living quarters adjacent to the offices.
Most importantly, the sixth floor penthouse couldn’t be reached directly from the lobby. One took the main elevator to the fifth floor and a private elevator from there. None of Aden’s offices or living quarters were on the fifth. It was occupied solely by his contingent of daylight guards, many of whom lived there.
Aden’s limo was en route to his offices when the phone signaled an incoming call.
“My lord,” Aden answered, recognizing Lucas’s number.
“Not much longer, my friend,” Lucas said, making a veiled reference to the challenge. “So . . . ,” he continued. “Stig?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
Lucas sighed audibly. “I chose him for his skill on the battlefield, not his IQ. I wouldn’t have predicted he’d go for the territory, though.”
“Someone charged him up and sent him off to die.”
“Silas?”
“Most likely. He admitted as much before he died. Could have been part of the feint, I suppose, but I wouldn’t credit Silas with that much influence.”
“Stig was always willing to obey orders. It’s part of what made him a good warrior.”
“Why throw in with Silas, though?”
“Silas was his commanding officer back in the day. Good with a blade.”
“Silas or Stig?”
“Both, actually, but I was thinking of Stig.”
“Maybe he should have gone with his strengths then. His people came out firing MP5s.”
“Stupid. Oh well, onward and upward. Stay alive, my friend. The real battle is ahead of us.”
“I plan on it, my lord.”
Aden tucked the phone back in his pocket thoughtfully. “Bastien, I’d like confirmation of Silas’s involvement in this as soon as possible. I need to know if there’s another player out there. If someone has enough cunning to use Stig against both of us, I need to know who it is before we end up as dead as Stig.”
Chapter Three
“DO WEAR SOMETHING more suitable, Ms. Reid,” Sidonie simpered, mocking Aden’s parting words to her. She lowered her voice to better replicate the vampire’s rumbling bass for the rest of it. “I’m rather fond of redheads.” She frowned, wondering what the hell he’d meant by that last remark, her suspicious nature not letting her believe he’d simply been admiring her coloring.
Her frown deepened as she stared at the full-length mirror. Or not so much at the mirror, which was an antique and rather lovely, but at her own reflection which was . . . not. Her hair wasn’t having a good day, flying everywhere, and she had circles under her eyes thanks to several weeks of night-owling with vampires. She wasn’t exactly a morning person normally, more of a midday person, preferring to stay up late and sleep late. But there was a big difference between staying up late and staying up all damn night.
Not that she cared about her sleep-deprived looks, or not overmuch, anyway. Her blood would taste the same whether she was tired or not. Her scowl was aimed at the scooped neckline of the sweater she’d chosen for the evening. She wanted to seduce Aden, the overbearing jerk, but she didn’t want to hang out an all-you-can-eat sign. Still, she’d chosen the sweater with seduction in mind, and it did fit perfectly. It accented the figure she worked hard to maintain, and the burnt-gold color brought out the copper highlights in her hair. Also, being cashmere, it wouldn’t shed all over her black wool slacks. It was just that neckline.
Her phone rang, and she spun away from the mirror, grabbing it and checking caller ID, frowning when it wasn’t the call she was waiting for. She answered anyway.
“Hi, Will,” she said.