Vampire Debt - Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #2) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,7
hips, I pinned him with my grandmother’s quelling glare. “Other things have changed. I was in the thrall when I gave it to you.”
“Tell me what has changed,” he rushed in a low voice.
My fucking grandmother is dead, you callous bastard.
Kyros knew what had happened, but he couldn’t know what that felt like because I hadn’t allowed myself to feel everything since Tommy gave me the news.
He wanted to know what had changed?
Fine.
Holding his gaze, I thought of my grandmother lying in her open coffin looking like a stranger with her eyes closed. I thought of my fear that Laurel would report my real identity after the funeral; that my terror over that had overshadowed the grief that should have been my sole focus. I thought of the five Indebted who were no longer here, of hurting Tommy, and of my grandmother’s friends who’d lost a part of themselves too.
Kyros’s lips parted.
I thought of how I’d crawled to him across the ground of that basement, blood pouring from my stomach, unable to feel anything but white-hot fire roaring between us.
Kyros’s eyes blazed. His breath hitched.
I was so alone.
Sinking.
I wanted to sink.
Why couldn’t I sink?
When he reached for me, I stumbled away, shutting down the chasm I’d opened. Losing my parents made me pretty adept at slamming the door shut when needed.
“That’s what changed,” I whispered when I could trust my voice. “So keep the fucking pinecone. There are one hundred and twenty more in circulation anyway.”
A tendril that wasn’t mine panged in the centre of my chest.
Ignoring his hurt, I strode to the door.
“We’re yet to discuss the spy in our midst,” he called quietly.
We didn’t have a midst.
Hand on the doorknob, I cocked my head to look at the vampire. “Is it fair to say that someone close to me is the most likely candidate?”
“You know what our hearing is like. But in my experience, spies work themselves into profitable positions.”
“If they’re close to me, I’ll get back to you with the name in a week.”
Kyros regarded me with surprise. “Is that so?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I grew up amongst wolves, Kyros. Watch and learn.”
3
Sitting in the back, I leaned forward between the front seats. “Could you take the next right, Loz?”
Since the attack, Kyros hadn’t allowed me to resume driving lessons. Whatever. It was hard to care about the driver’s licence thing when my grandmother was buried in the ground.
Laurel checked the clock.
“I’ll just be a minute,” I assured her. The funeral service didn’t start for half an hour.
After the argument with Kyros, I wasn’t ready to feel the ache of another funeral so soon, but I owed it to the Vissimo who’d died saving my life to attend.
Laurel turned the car right without further comment.
“Just up here on the left,” I instructed.
Josie, the Indebted who’d unfortunately introduced me to Pinterest in my second thrall, studied the orange roof. “Where are we? The roll put us on Green, didn’t it?”
“Yeah. This is Mrs Gaughton’s.”
I waited for Josie to clamber out so I could slide from the vehicle. They no longer let me sit anywhere but the middle—Kyros’s orders, I assumed.
It was now the norm for three Vissimo to sit behind me, one to sit on either side, and two to sit in front. I had a cage of fanged females.
A cage I was okay with after my run-in with Clan Fyrlia.
“I want to check on something,” I told them before setting off up the steep driveway.
I stopped in front of a nearly lifeless lavender bush halfway to the front door.
Shoot.
“I said it was drought resistant, not drought invincible.” I specifically told Mrs Gaughton she should water the bush when the dirt was dry to the first knuckle.
“Has anyone got a bottle of water?” I said at normal volume, knowing my crew would hear.
Josie joined me, passing over a bottle.
I twisted off the cap, soaking the soil in a circle around the base of the dilapidated bush.
After that, I removed the dead heads, surprised Mrs Gaughton’s curtain wasn’t already twitching in response to my presence. Oh, but it was Sunday. She’d be at her extended lunch. Which was old-person code for getting plastered every weekend.
I slid back into the SUV. “All done.”
The surrounding women exchanged glances, except Laurel, who simply looked at me in the rear-view mirror. She was at Grandmother’s funeral. She could probably guess why lavender was important to me.
“Did you guys end up telling Lalitta about the service?” I asked.