Death Game: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #3) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,13

believe you have.”

“You accept my apology?”

She quirked a brow. “I hear you.”

Damn, throwing my own words in my face. Forgiven but not forgotten. I grimaced. “I deserve that.”

The two-hundred-and-eighty-year-old vampire dipped her head. “Yes. But you’ve survived one beating. Don’t be so eager to beat yourself up again. Worse mistakes have been made, and your goodwill toward the Indebted cannot be erased by one night.”

That meant so much to me. I hadn’t expected their forgiveness. I’d expected Tommy’s.

“Okay,” I said hoarsely. “I’ll apologise to everyone soon, I swear.”

“They’d appreciate that,” she answered, then her gaze snapped to mine. “What’s the state of the game after what happened with Fyrlia?”

“Shit hit the fan. That’s what.”

Her eyes searched mine. “Sundulus is going to lose.”

“I need to restore balance in the game without delay,” I said. “It’s the only way.” I had to catch up on a landslide of reports, not to mention filling Tommy’s now-vacant position.

Laurel stood to attention. “What do you need me to do?”

There was a list a mile long.

But I’d considered filling Laurel in on my betrayal of Clan Sundulus before deciding nothing good would come from it. The iota of respect King Julius held for me would vanish the second he learned or guessed the truth. It was possible he’d interrogate the Indebted at that point. The less Laurel knew, the better.

My life would be forfeit, or at least my freedom. The bond with Kyros? He’d snuff it out quicker than I could recite his siblings’ names. I’d have destroyed my grandmother’s legacy of decades in mere weeks after swearing that I’d win—for her, for me, and for everyone Vissimo had ever used and abused.

Now, the battle wasn’t winning. It was ensuring Fyrlia didn’t win. And to do that, I needed help.

It was high time I paid my grandmother’s closest friends a visit.

5

Sir Olythieu, owner of Bluff City Bank, and human liaison of Clan Sundulus spoke from across the round table. “We’ve anxiously awaited your call, Basilia.”

I bet they had.

Weeks had passed since Grandmother’s funeral. Then a few more while I got my head around Kyros’s betrayal. Then a couple more while I recovered from death’s door.

It settled something within me to be sitting in Sir Olythieu’s massive office with my grandmother’s nearest and dearest. I’d craved normalcy and familiarity for so long.

“Circumstances delayed me,” I said. “Firstly, you should know that my mind is caged.”

Sounds of dismay echoed around the room. I hadn’t told them the reason for this meeting, but I was sure they’d guessed it had to do with Grandmother’s work.

“All of us are controlled to varying degrees,” Mr Hothen said. His eyes filled with an empathy that I hadn’t thought him capable of. Being the owner of Bluff City’s largest mall complexes and shopping streets required a certain pragmatic calculation he was renowned for.

“How long?” Mrs Syrre asked softly.

I regarded the genteel woman—by far the kindest elite in Bluff City. If my grandmother hadn’t tucked the woman under her wing after the death of her husband, the Syrre fortune would be long gone. Their ship freighting company had been around for nearly as long as my family name. “Three months.”

So little time for so much chaos and destruction.

Mr Dithis set a board on the table, and the oldies spread out all manner of cards over the square table.

Dame Burke jabbed her finger at two of the cards. “Which cunt did it?”

I couldn’t point. Not without the right intention anyway. I could say a specific word out of context, usually, but that would be useless here because the context was fixed—and exactly what the compulsion worked against—me spilling Sundulus and Vissimo secrets.

Fury warped Lady Treena’s face. “They got her good. Only Olythieu has trouble pointing. Must’ve been a strong beast.”

“Think of something unrelated, Basilia,” the regal man who always reminded me of Colonel Sanders said. “Hold that in your mind as you talk and move.”

I nodded. “Yes, I know.” I’d practiced more before coming here to keep my mind off Tommy.

Sir Olythieu’s grey brows slammed together. “You know?”

I glanced around the table, which had stilled.

Mr Dithis rubbed his jaw. “Took us nine years to figure that out.”

They shouldn’t congratulate me. I’d been told by King Asshole himself.

“Even with that knowledge, I’m afraid we must often rely on the others guessing to get information across,” Olythieu said quietly.

A reflection of my pain and frustration lurked in his dark-grey eyes. I’d previously thought that my intention had to be closely aligned with whatever I was trying to