Death Game: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #3) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,83
doubt,” I replied. “So give me the pity win, please.”
Laurel rested a hand over her heart. “You are a friend of ours. Forevermore.”
I swallowed hard. Did she have any idea what that word meant to me? My forevermore love. Something my grandmother had often said to me.
If she could see me right now, I know she’d be so proud.
“We will not forget this day,” Laurel whispered.
Her fervent words robbed me of speech, so I just placed a hand over my heart in return.
She stood and the other leather-clad vampires followed suit. I joined them, scowling at their outfits.
“Maybe now you can leave the black leather to Jessica Alba where it belongs,” I muttered.
“You spent two days of your thrall in black leather,” Laurel replied in an even tone.
I turned away, entering the house. “Prove it.”
She called after me. “Look through your phone.”
Dammit. They didn’t?
I hurried into my office, scrolling through my gallery, settling on a photo of me hanging off one of the posts on my bed.
In black leather.
If I knew Tommy—and I did—there was more than one copy of these photos.
Fuckers.
Leaving the door to my office open, I threw myself into the upholstered chair. Uncomfortable fucking thing. “Fred,” I shouted.
Ten seconds passed and he appeared in the doorway. Magic man.
“Can you order me a comfortable chair, please?” I huffed.
“You want to replace the chair, miss?”
I fluttered a hand. “Yes, yes. A comfortable one that doesn’t make my ass numb. That kind.”
I caught his smile before he bowed and exited the room.
Logging into my inbox, the top email caught my attention.
Churchill Team
Miss Le Spyre, As requested…
I closed my eyes.
The moment of truth.
Did I have enough assets in Bluff City to swing the tide for Sundulus? I needed to make a 4 percent difference to trigger the end cascade against Fyrlia. If I could do that, everything would work out.
A 2 percent difference would restore equilibrium, and the game would continue.
Tommy entered the room. “You look constipated, lovely.”
Funnily enough, that’s how I felt.
“Just an email that could make or break my life. You know, typical Tuesday.”
“It’s not Tuesday.”
Really?
She rounded the desk and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Go on then. Open the mofo up.”
Taking a breath, I obeyed, scanning the short message before opening the two attachments.
I scrolled straight to the bottom of both documents, and my mouth dried.
There was no way to know if the valuation for each clan was completely accurate. Fyrlia could have assets I didn’t know about.
I pulled out a valuation of my assets from the top drawer. It detailed everything I owned locally, minus the estate.
Hands shaking, I extracted my grandmother’s massive calculator from the same drawer and added Sundulus’s total to mine.
I compared that figure to the sum of Clan Fyrlia’s assets.
“Well?” Tommy strained.
My heart sank.
21
The thick paper of Lady Treena’s invitation sat heavy in my hand. I was entering the lion’s den tonight with an agenda so fucking ballsy that Grandmother might have raised a single brow.
The gathering was at our usual meeting place at Sir Olythieu’s which led me to assume this wasn’t a soiree at all but a normal meeting.
Yet someone had gone to the effort of making an invitation.
Which meant Dame Burke organised this—her flair for the dramatic was about as strong as her sailor’s mouth.
I’d dressed for a soiree, regardless, slipping into a black and flittering floor-length gown for the occasion. Strapless, it highlighted the curve of my neck and the graceful slope of my shoulders, accentuating the curves of my body that drove Kyros to distraction. White gloves extended to my elbows.
I wish he could see me now.
I hadn’t heard from my mate, and weirdly, that felt right. He was gearing up for his battle, and I was gearing up for mine. Our last moment in each other’s arms was the memory we wanted to retain if the worst happened.
Two butlers in tuxes bowed and swung the doors of the ballroom open.
Yep, definitely Dame Burke.
The six elite were waiting for me, already seated around the square table in the middle of the huge dancing area. No one spoke as I took my seat and fixed each of them with a level look.
“Good evening, Basilia,” Sir Olythieu said in a mild voice.
“Good evening.” I inclined my head regally and saw the hint of amusement in his gaze.
Mrs Syrre cleared her throat. “We thought it best to give tempers time to cool so each of us could regain perspective before meeting again.”