Rare Vigilance by M.A. Grant
Chapter Twelve
Desolation House was a small town on the edge of a dark lake. Brochures would have called it quaint and historically accurate, phrases which were signs of inaccurate optimism at best, outright lies at worst. Attempts had been made to restore some of the historic buildings on the main street, though the papered windows and empty sign brackets warned few businesses remained. The roads were cramped, run down, and lacked consistently working streetlights, which forced Atlas to lean forward to scan what the headlights exposed. They almost missed the road for their destination because of it, only making the turn at the last second.
The narrow lane curled around the edge of the dark lake, opening a little wider when it hit a small parking lot. The Mollycoddle pub stood in all its dimly lit, Adirondack-style, faded glory, like an ancient cryptid emerging from the edge of the forest. Atlas couldn’t put his finger on what made his anxiety spike when he looked at the place until Ioana wrinkled her nose and said, “I bet serial killers come here for summer retreats.”
In a single sentence, she hit on everything he instinctively hated about the meeting spot. Too many entrances and exits to cover easily. Poor lighting. Remote location. Trees wrapped it in a dark embrace, reminiscent of a different forest where dangerous things had watched him from the shadows before moving in for the kill.
Cristian ignored Ioana’s complaint and leaned over the console into Atlas’s space, pointing at the black sedan to their left. “That must be her.”
Ioana frowned, but said nothing. She hadn’t said much since she’d been told they were going to go meet one of Cristian’s friends. When she pressed Cristian for an idea of who they were meeting, she’d been summarily shut down. The tension between her and Cristian had hung thick in the car after that, and her rising nerves put Atlas on edge too.
His undefined apprehension shifted to blaring warnings at the sight of the woman sliding out of the sedan, and that was before four other figures in dark suits followed after her. She somehow crossed the gravel lot without a single misstep of her stilettos. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight chignon, exposing the graceful curve of her neck. She glanced at him once through the windshield, and there was no escaping the flat look in her eyes. He left the car with Cristian, despite Ioana’s hissed warnings to not get out. Despite standing only a few feet away from the woman, he may as well have been invisible.
“Cristian,” she said, with a faint trace of an English accent. “Shall we go in?”
Atlas balked, reaching out a hand to stop Cristian from moving any closer to her. He knew that voice. It was different in person than it was over the phone, but unmistakable. This was Jasper’s mysterious employer, the woman who intended to usurp Decebal. She was here, on pretense of helping Cristian, and he had no idea of her plans for his father. Worse, Atlas couldn’t warn him of the danger without giving away his own part in the mess.
Movement behind her left shoulder. Atlas tugged Cristian closer. Jasper stood near her, his features partially illuminated by the headlights. He gave no indication he’d ever seen or met Atlas before.
Atlas wasn’t quite as good at hiding his own panicked reaction, since Cristian shifted in his grip and murmured, “Mr. Kinkaid, what’s going on?”
He had to warn Cristian. He couldn’t warn Cristian, not without revealing his own part in the betrayal. Think of something, he commanded himself. Think of an excuse, any excuse, but think of something!
“You said you were meeting a friend,” he croaked. “That usually indicates one other person.”
At the woman’s back, Jasper broke into a wide, disarming smile. “Apologies for the surprise, Mr. Kinkaid. I am Jasper Rhodes, Ms. Wharram’s assistant. She does not travel without security, much like Mr. Slava.”
“Wharram?” Atlas clarified, shocked enough to turn to Cristian.
His lips pressed together and he freed himself from Atlas’s grip with a twist of his arm. “My aunt.”
Atlas had to breathe. He had to breathe and he had to think, but that was so much harder when faced with Cristian’s sacrifice. Cristian knew who he was meeting with, had known the entire time, and considered the knowledge offered worth the risks. Risks Atlas had never seen coming, thanks to his own selfish goals.
Jasper continued on, stepping around the detonated bombshell in the conversation as if he hadn’t been the one to throw it there. “That said, it would probably be best for this meeting to remain between family.” He deferred to Cristian’s aunt. “Shall I wait in the car?”
“No,” she said. “I want you there with us.” Her narrowed gaze flitted over Atlas and dismissed him. “Only you, Mr. Rhodes.”
Atlas had learned to function around Decebal’s wealth, but this woman—this Wharram—reminded him there were those living echelons higher. She was old money, with the apathy born of privilege soaked into her voice.
He opened his mouth to protest her order, but Cristian gripped his hip. Atlas’s breath hitched from the intimacy of the gesture and his protests died out.
“Mr. Kinkaid will wait out here,” Cristian agreed. He may have been looking at Atlas, but his words were directed to his aunt. She nodded and headed inside, Jasper close behind. “Give us some time to talk,” he told Atlas.
His hand falling away from Atlas’s body felt like a goodbye. Like a rift he wasn’t sure they’d be able to close. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, not without revealing his treachery.
“Since this is a family matter,” he ground out, “I’ll wait here, Mr. Slava. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”
Cristian offered him a bland smile and stepped away, following his aunt. Her security team stepped in behind Cristian, cutting him off from Atlas. One of the agents, a sturdy man who could have easily been a professional boxer, scowled when he dared to look past him to watch Cristian enter the building. With no choice but to trust Cristian, Atlas returned to the car.
“Tell me about her,” he told Ioana as he slid back into his seat. He stared out the windshield at the building as if that would somehow help him see what was going on inside. Fuck, he didn’t want Cristian alone with them.
“You are going to get us killed,” Ioana whispered back.
It was such an unexpected response, Atlas actually looked at her. She was hunched over in her seat, trying to make herself as small as possible. “That’s Bryony Wharram, Angelica’s younger sister,” she continued. “She is one of the most powerful women on the Eastern seaboard. She does not tolerate rudeness or familiarity. And you, a human, may not speak to her at all.” Ioana said nothing more. She trembled and refused to look up.
The realization came too slowly. “She frightens you,” Atlas said.
“I never would have come if I’d known Cristian was meeting her. We shouldn’t be here.”
A frisson scuttled down his spine. Jasper had gotten Atlas to join their crusade because they needed access to Decebal. He’d unwittingly attempted to deliver Cristian to their hands once and, luckily, failed. What if Bryony decided not to waste this second opportunity? Maybe that’s why she’d agreed to meet Cristian in the first place. Maybe her plan was ready to spur into motion and all it needed was the last nudge to push Decebal to give in to her demands. “Is she a danger to him?”
“Family is sacred,” Ioana said. “And he is Angelica’s son.”
It wasn’t a real answer, and an unspoken but hovered at the end of her statement, though she refused to be coaxed into further conversation. She huddled in the backseat, as if a movement or a word would reveal her presence and invite punishment for it. Eventually, he gave up on Ioana and tried to plan his next steps. If a vampire like Ioana was this terrified of Bryony, it meant he’d never stand a chance against her. Jasper was human, he knew that from their sunlit meeting; he could serve as a useful target if it came to it. Which only left Bryony’s security team for him to figure out.
They weren’t impressive. The longer the meeting dragged on, the less professional they became. They got lost in discussions, laughed and joked with each other, and never paid attention to their surroundings. Their ineptitude was astonishing, and Atlas was confident labeling them as vampires also. They’d only be so arrogant if they thought themselves powerful enough to stand up to any challengers.
Well, he’d already bested one vampire before. Three made for bad odds, but at least he knew what to expect.
Almost an hour passed in brittle silence before Atlas’s phone buzzed. Pulse racing, he checked and saw Cristian’s text: I want to go.
“Thank God,” Atlas muttered. He reached for his door handle.
Ioana jerked and grabbed hold of his shoulder. Her grip was painfully strong. “What are you doing?”
“Mr. Slava wants to leave. So we’re leaving,” he said.
“Mr. Kinkaid,” she said, “he can’t just leave. Give it a bit and she’ll bring him out.”
“No.” Atlas finally wrenched free from her grip and got out of the car, ignoring her cry of “Atlas!”
The agents glanced up when they heard the car door open, but it was the sound of it closing on Ioana’s frantic call that put them on actual alert. They stepped away from the pub entrance as he closed the distance between them—forty feet to thirty, to twenty—and told him to get back to his car. Ioana swore behind him; she must have extricated herself from the backseat to follow after him.
“Evening,” he called to the other agents, forcing down the surge of fear threatening to overwhelm him. “Mr. Slava informed me he’ll be out in a minute. If you could please move away from the door—”
The smaller of the three agents stepped forward and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Return to your vehicle.”
Atlas held his hands out at his sides, showing he had no weapon, but didn’t slow his pace. “I can’t do that. Mr. Slava requested we leave and it’s my job to follow his orders.”
“Atlas, please!” Ioana begged as she rushed to catch up with him. “Cristian will understand—”
Boxer agent threw his head back and laughed. His eyes glowed amber when they caught the light and his teeth were pointed. Atlas managed to avoid stumbling and focused on the door. He needed to reach it. Needed to be there when Cristian walked out so he could assure himself Cristian hadn’t paid the price for his terrible mistake. He wanted to be there for the man he was tasked to protect, even though he’d thought otherwise before. It was almost a relief to recognize that.
Only a few steps left. He was close enough to smell the cigarette smoke on the third, silent agent. Close enough to see Boxer’s surprise at his refusal to back down.
“Last warning,” the woman growled.
“You are between me and my client,” Atlas shot back. “Move.”
She bristled, Ioana shouted something, and Atlas was about to push through when Bryony’s agents stilled unexpectedly. The door to the pub swung open and Cristian rushed out. His red-rimmed gaze met Atlas’s and the world seemed to slot back into place as he reached out. Not to the other agents. Not to Ioana. To him.
Atlas dragged him under an arm, murmured reminders that they were leaving in hopes Cristian would stop shaking. He turned so Cristian was protected by the shield of his body and started to draw him away, but Bryony stepped out of the pub after her nephew. Her lip curled when she spotted Atlas.
“Cristian, come along,” she said, as if the conversation they’d been having inside wasn’t over. “We both know it’s the best decision for you.”
Cristian shuddered against Atlas and he tightened his grip on the man, offering what little comfort he could through the touch.
“Mr. Slava is returning home,” Atlas told Bryony. “Have a nice evening.”
It was too dangerous to wait for her reaction. It would only take a single word from her to destroy Cristian’s trust in him. He hurried Cristian toward their car, angling them so he could keep an eye on the others as they moved. Ioana had already retreated and waited by an open door. Atlas shoved Cristian toward her and got in the driver’s seat.
“Tell me if they start moving,” he ordered Ioana and focused on backing out of the tiny lot as quickly as he could manage. The moment the car pointed toward the exit and the lake road that spelled their escape, Atlas gunned the gas.
Ioana waited until they were deep in the curves of the lake road before telling him, “I don’t see anyone behind us.”
Atlas knew they weren’t being followed. He’d been checking the mirror every few seconds. But hearing that confirmation from someone else was a welcome relief. He made a rolling stop at the sign connecting back on to Desolation House’s main road and kept on. As long as he didn’t have to try to evade any tails, the drive back would get them home well before dawn or Decebal’s return home.
“Mr. Slava, what happened back there?” Atlas asked.
When he got no answer, he checked on his passengers in the mirror. Ioana was halfway across the backseat, her hands outstretched toward Cristian, though he’d drawn away as far as he could manage so she couldn’t touch him. She simply waited there, an offer of comfort if he wanted it. Cristian stared out his window, expression too blank for brooding. Atlas had seen shock before, had experienced it, and his knowledge of the fog it caused tempered his immediate anger toward the situation they’d just escaped. Whatever had happened during the discussion with Bryony had been bad enough for Cristian to flee, so he kept his voice calm and tried again. “Cristian—”
Cristian swallowed hard, but didn’t look his way. At least it was a reaction.
“What happened?” he asked.
“She wanted me to go visit my grandparents. When I told her I didn’t want to, she tried to convince me why I should. She talked about my mother. And my father.” He made a choked sound, part laugh, part sob, all agony. “I used to think my parents were lying when they said that side of the family was dangerous, but now...” He trailed off.
“But now?” Atlas prompted gently.
The wheels hummed a peaceful lullaby as they sped through the night. Ioana had curled away from Cristian, trying to grant him space, though she continued to watch him with rapt attention. Atlas stayed quiet, using Cristian’s breathing to center himself as his own adrenaline died out. After a few minutes, Cristian said, “She was fairly insistent I consider my grandparents’ offer to visit.”
They were far away from Bryony Wharram, Atlas reminded himself. The knowledge didn’t make it any easier to unclench his fingers from around the steering wheel. “How insistent?”
“She implied a visit would happen sooner, rather than later. How that happened would be my choice.” He finally met Atlas’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “I’m not stupid. I know it was a promise, not a threat. Mother warned me they would try to win me with kindness before they drove the dagger home. God, she was right. They’re going to use me as leverage against Father and... Atlas, Ioana, I’m sorry I involved you in this.” He took a deep breath and looked away. “I’ll speak to him when we get back.”
“He’ll be furious,” Ioana warned.
Atlas wanted to snap at her to leave it alone, for his sake as much as Cristian’s, but Cristian had already turned to her. He said, “I know. I’ll take full responsibility. My poor decision will not touch either of you.”
“I don’t fear your dad’s judgment,” Atlas interrupted. “You were put in a bad place and you did the best you could with the limitations. You weren’t rash. You didn’t romanticize how it could go. You acted as well as you could.” When Cristian tried to protest, he added, “I worked with diplomats, Mr. Slava. I always respected those who chose hope over hate, even if it meant my platoon had to move in to support them afterward.”
“But my actions could hurt you,” Cristian began.
“And theirs did,” Atlas interrupted, tapping a finger over the scars on his neck. “We were attacked on our way back from staging to extract our people from the embassy if some meetings went south. I’ve got a lot of regrets from that night, but supporting someone trying to do the right thing has never been on my list.” And in case he hadn’t made it clear enough, he said, “You are not on that list either.”
“I don’t want you in danger—”
“That’s the job. I’ve got no illusions about it. I know what I signed up for. Whether you tell your dad what happened tonight or not, it doesn’t change my directive.” It was the truth, but Atlas knew it went deeper than that. He’d followed orders before. The responsibility he felt toward Cristian, his urge to protect and try to make right all the things he’d done wrong, that wasn’t about obedience. It was about choice, and he took a breath before promising, “No matter what, I will protect you.”
He waited for Cristian to try arguing again, but instead the man closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I worry it will get far more difficult after tonight.”
Atlas shrugged, hoping it hid the rising tension in his shoulders. He knew it would get more difficult, for both of them. Now that he’d connected the dots between Jasper’s mysterious employer and Bryony Wharram, he had no choice but to escape his own deal. “We’ll handle it.”
“You know what the worst part is?” Cristian asked miserably.
“What?”
“She couldn’t tell me anything about Mary’s death. She said no such creatures existed. When I described them, she laughed and told me I was making it up.” Cristian said it so carefully, Atlas knew he’d described the monsters from Atlas’s memory to her. He’d lied about how he knew about them, obviously, but he’d tried to dig a little deeper, not just for Mary’s sake, but Atlas’s as well.
He pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal, desperate to put even greater distance between them and Bryony. He couldn’t outrun Cristian’s undeserved kindness, but maybe he could escape the monstrous agreement he’d crafted with his aunt. “Do you think she was lying?”
“I don’t know why she would. What could she possibly gain from lying about something like that?”
“People lie for all kinds of reasons.”
Cristian hummed. He rested his head against the window and fell silent. They were almost back to the Scarsdale city limits before he spoke again. “Atlas, I need you to promise me something. No matter what you have to do, don’t let her near me again.”
It was the easiest promise he’d made in a long time, and that meant it was one of the most dangerous too. But still he said softly, “Okay, Cristian. Okay.”