The elevator slid to a smooth stop and the doors dinged open, revealing dark marble and warm, subtle lighting. Unlike most penthouse elevators that I’d seen, this one opened into a small foyer area rather than the apartment itself. Dark glass doors dominated the three walls, all of them closed.
"If I knew everything, I would not be here," he said all too reasonably as he followed me out of the elevator.
"And if you told me everything you knew, then maybe you could get out of here sooner," I bit back, stopping in the middle of the foyer and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now.
"Knowing whether I have what you would term a mate has no bearing on this case or on what we seek to do."
"I know." No one appeared to be coming for us, and I was half tempted to just get back into the elevator. It was only the knowledge that the high council wanted results or death that kept me standing there. "Forget I mentioned it."
I could feel his gaze on my back—a weight that, oddly, seemed to demand that I turn around and look at him. I ignored the urge, listening intently. Somewhere in the silence of the rooms beyond, someone was moving. But whether they were actually coming to fetch us, I couldn’t tell.
"I do not," Azriel said quietly.
Something inside me unclenched, and I finally looked over my shoulder and met his gaze.
"I am Mijai," he continued. "It is not practical for us to consider a Caomh."
I raised my eyebrows. "I gather Caomh means ‘mate’? And since when does practicality ever come into it?"
"Caomh is a whole lot more than merely a mate," he said, his gaze moving past me. "A thrall comes."
Surprise flitted through me—as much for the fact that I hadn’t sensed the approach as for the fact that Catherine Alston had created a long-lived servant. From what I understood, it was considered bad form for vampires to have thralls. But maybe Alston simply didn’t care. And maybe other vampires did have them, but they just hid their existence better.
The middle door opened. The man who stood there was brown-haired and brown-eyed, with a pleasant, open expression. He wasn’t a man who’d stand out in a crowd or linger in the mind, and he looked to be in his mid-twenties.
Except he smelled older than that.
Much older.