Rare Vigilance by M.A. Grant
Chapter Fifteen
Bea’s friend ran the plates to find they belonged to a different motorcycle whose owner had died in a wreck. Bea suspected someone snagged them out of the scrap yard to use on Leroy’s bike. He didn’t know if it was the evidence he needed until he shared his findings with Decebal the next night.
“They were registered out of New Jersey?” Decebal asked as he skimmed the printouts.
“Yes, sir.”
Decebal frowned and set the papers aside. “That’s within the Wharrams’ territory. I’ll need to think on how to broach the subject with the Council. And that is not the worst problem.”
“Oh?”
“Someone deleted the security footage from last night, including the backups. There are very few people who would have access to do such a thing.”
The older man shuffled some of the papers on his desk, not meeting Atlas’s gaze. “Mr. Kinkaid, the mole within my family risked my son’s life this morning. I need you to find out who is responsible before it’s too late.”
“I’ll do everything I can to protect him, sir,” Atlas promised. It felt like a lie though, poisoned by his own hypocrisy. Other than Bryony Wharram, Atlas himself posed the greatest danger to Cristian. “How involved do you wish to be in deciding the safety protocols?”
Decebal held up a hand and shook his head. “I hired Whitethorn because Beatrice said you could be trusted to act independently if I were unavailable. Preparing for such eventualities was your focus in the military, yes?”
“Yes, sir. Security and rapid response were my platoon’s specialties.”
“Then I trust your decisions with this matter. Do whatever it takes to keep my son safe, Mr. Kinkaid. As long as the threat to Cristian ends, you will have my full support.”
“Very good, sir,” Atlas said.
“Mr. Kinkaid,” Decebal called out when Atlas rose to leave. He waited for Atlas to meet his gaze before stating again, slower and firmer this time, “I trust you. Do not fail me in this.”
“I understand, sir,” Atlas said weakly. He couldn’t get out of the study fast enough.
Atlas hoped time would lessen the impact of Decebal’s offered trust. A few weeks later, the way his stomach swooped when he picked up an unknown-number call and heard Jasper on the other end proved otherwise.
“Mr. Kinkaid?” Jasper asked again when Atlas didn’t respond. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” he said at last, setting his coffee mug down on his kitchen counter.
“You hadn’t called yet this week. I was growing worried,” Jasper said. They were all the right words, layered with just enough concern that a lesser man might believe it.
Atlas knew better.
“It’s been busy,” he told Jasper, refusing to explain further.
“I see.” Jasper cleared his throat carefully. “And how is this week looking?”
Atlas fiddled with the handle of his mug, mind racing. Before, he’d happily shared Cristian’s schedule, sure he was doing something good in passing along that information. Now, after everything, including the nearly fatal incident at Rapture, he understood the true risks of handing the Wharrams potential leverage. His refusal was necessary, but he couldn’t risk inciting Bryony’s further ire.
“Mr. Vladislavic and Mr. Slava are being very cautious considering the recent attempts made against them,” he lied. “Each evening’s schedule is different, and I don’t learn it until I arrive on shift.”
“I didn’t realize they’d grown so suspicious,” Jasper said thoughtfully. “I wonder what put them so on edge.”
“I’m sure you can think of a few things,” Atlas said before swallowing down the rest of his accusation. Showing his true thoughts on their methods would accomplish nothing but piquing Bryony’s interest. “I need to be careful while I’m on shift,” Atlas went on, grateful Jasper couldn’t see him and read the tension in his body. “Mr. Vladislavic is searching for anyone he thinks might be working against his family. Risking his attention is a bad idea. I’ll try to get in touch with you when I can.”
The silence stretched between them and Atlas was positive Jasper would call him out on his less than subtle rebellion. He wasn’t outright refusing to uphold his end of the bargain, but demanding greater autonomy in their agreement could easily be taken as acting against Bryony’s wishes. So it was a surprise when Jasper hummed and said, “So be it. Enjoy tonight’s shift, Mr. Kinkaid.”
Jasper must have jinxed him, Atlas decided later that night as he faced off against Cristian in the billiards room. What should have been an easy shift was turned on its head when Cristian declared he wanted to return to Rapture.
“It’s too dangerous,” Atlas told him.
“It’s not,” Cristian said. “Even if the Wharrams are waiting for me to show up, there’s no point hiding from them. I won’t let them dictate how I live my life.”
His courage stole Atlas’s breath. “Mr. Slava,” he began, unsure how to argue such a point.
Andrei snorted from his chair in the corner and said, “He’s not that noble. He needs to go there so he can feed.” His lip curled as he looked over Atlas, lingering on his neck. “Unless you’re offering to be his donor again?”
Atlas shut his mouth, grabbed the keys, and waited while everyone else got ready for the night out.
On the ride over, Cristian was adamant Atlas not accompany him in the search for a donor. They engaged in a silent battle of wills in the rearview mirror, until Atlas gritted his teeth and told Ioana she’d cover the job. She didn’t argue, thank God. She was the only one of the crew Atlas trusted enough to leave alone with Cristian.
He reminded himself of that fact again as he watched Ioana and Cristian pass through the crowd downstairs.
“So every time he’s wandered off here, he’s been looking for someone to feed from?” he mused aloud from the balcony railing as he watched Cristian approach a lovely young woman near the edge of the dance floor.
Cristian leaned in close, whispered something in her ear, and Atlas tried to suffocate his irritation when her hands clutched at Cristian’s jacket lapels. The emotion didn’t abate as he watched Cristian lead the young woman toward the Staff Only door, Ioana following close behind to do the check of his partner.
“Not every time,” Dinu piped up from his comfortable sprawl across the booth bench. He’d been lying down with his head in Vasilica’s lap for most of the evening. He seemed perfectly content with the way she absently ran her fingers through his hair while scrolling on her phone. “But it’s better to feed when you start feeling hungry rather than waiting too long.”
Vasilica nodded. She was listening, even though she didn’t look it.
“I’ve never seen either of you go off before,” Atlas pointed out.
Dinu looked up at the same moment Vasilica glanced down. A lewd smile crossed her face as they watched each other, and she ran a finger teasingly against the tendon in Dinu’s neck. “That’s because we have each other,” she said.
Dinu grinned up at her. “Yeah. She’s the easiest.”
Vasilica gave a fake huff of outrage and pinched Dinu’s neck. He winced and sat up as he apologized. When he glanced over at Atlas, he laughed. “Oh, please. You don’t actually believe all of that human propaganda about how vampires can’t feed off each other, right?”
Andrei grumbled something that made Dinu’s eyes narrow when he glared over at the older man. “Well, thank fuck you don’t get to decide how much the human knows or doesn’t,” Dinu said to him.
Vasilica’s smile was all teeth and poorly concealed dislike. At least she was directing it at Andrei. “Atlas is part of the family now, remember? Or are you challenging Cristian’s direct order?”
Andrei threw back the rest of his drink and abandoned the balcony rather than argue further. It didn’t stop him from shoving a shoulder past Atlas on his way down the stairs, but not every battle could be won cleanly.
“Sorry about that,” Dinu said. “He’s a prick.”
“He doesn’t want you talking about that kind of stuff around me,” Atlas guessed.
“Doesn’t matter,” Vasilica declared. “And ignore Dinu’s teasing. Humans don’t know enough about our world to actually make propaganda. They just throw shit at the wall and hope something sticks.”
“Like how vampires feed?” Atlas asked cautiously.
Vasilica wrinkled her nose and waggled her hand to indicate partial agreement. “It depends on the kind of vampires involved. Born vampires like me have a more refined palate. Made vampires like Dinu here are...less discerning.”
“We can feed on almost anything,” Dinu bragged. “Fresh blood, bagged blood, human, vamp, it doesn’t matter.”
“You just prefer mine, you garbage can,” Vasilica cooed.
Dinu gave her a sappy look that Atlas wished he hadn’t seen. “I would never feed off anyone else,” he murmured.
Vasilica flushed, the first time Atlas had seen such a reaction, and nuzzled against Dinu’s neck. Whatever she whispered was too quiet for Atlas to hear, but judging from the way Dinu gently brushed the backs of his fingers down her arm, it must have been equally affectionate.
“So it’s harder for you to feed?” Atlas asked Vasilica. He thought of how bad Cristian had looked as Angelica’s death day neared. “Is that why you all kept pestering Cristian to come here?”
“No,” Ioana said from behind him. He started, making Dinu laugh, and Ioana slid past him. On her way she added, “That’s because he wasn’t feeding at all.”
He hadn’t realized just how hard she’d worked to give away her presence around him. The more comfortable she was, the less she pretended to be human. It was complimentary and unnerving at once.
“We all have to feed to stay healthy,” Vasilica said. “But those of us who are born vampires need the personal connection donors provide. Bagged or synthetic blood is little more than stop-gap to keep us alive.”
“And there are consequences for staying on it too long.” Ioana’s comment was unexpected and came out a bit raspy. Vasilica gave her a worried look.
Dinu cleared his throat and clasped his hand around Vasilica’s wrist. “True. But it’s still better than not feeding at all.”
“Why’s that?”
Ioana abruptly walked to the edge of their balcony, looking out over the railing at the dancers below. She tapped her fingers against her glass, a staccato rhythm out of step with the beat of the music. She stood drowned in shadow until a light twisted in its pre-programmed movements, casting slants of illumination over the tight downturn of her lips. “Vampires who don’t feed properly can become very dangerous.”
Dinu and Vasilica both avoided looking at her and returned to their flirting. Despite their avoidance, curiosity made Atlas step closer, giving Ioana ample time to move away if she didn’t want him to join her at the railing.
“You okay?” he asked her quietly.
She let out a shaky exhalation and finished off her drink. He waited her out while she avoided his question by setting her glass down on the table, and celebrated silently when she reengaged with him. “Bad memories,” she said. She pointed at the dance floor. “He’s down there, in case you’re curious.”
He let her change the subject, even if she was less subtle than usual. “That seems faster than normal. Did he need another donor?”
“No. Said he wasn’t hungry yet. He finished up quickly and was asked to dance with her. Took her a while to convince him.”
“Does he usually go this long without feeding?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“Would it be easier if he had a regular partner?” He glanced over his shoulder at Dinu and Vasilica. He shuddered at their obvious affection and inspected the crowd. It took only a few seconds to pick Cristian out. The woman he was dancing with was lovely, with dark hair and a confident sway to her hips. He looked from the woman to Ioana and back, noting the similarities. “Why not you?”
Ioana laughed. A full blown, accidental guffaw so out of sorts with her serious demeanor Atlas actually boggled at the sound. “Sorry,” she apologized when she got herself back under control. “Sorry. It’s just...” She wiped at her eyes and took an unsteady breath. “God, we’d be such a disaster. Our needs are too different. I usually feed on bagged blood. Sometimes I’ll feed from a friend, but not often. I just...it doesn’t do much for me. I don’t like having someone else that close when I’m vulnerable. Cristian needs the connection he makes while feeding, more than any other vampire I’ve ever met.” Ioana shook her head. “And yet, he always puts his donors’ needs first. He shuffles them around so no one gets addicted.”
“Donors can become addicted?” Atlas asked doubtfully.
“All too easily,” Ioana confirmed. “Having the chance to step into your partner’s mind, to share their memories, is an easy way to get lost. The connection is...intimate.”
Atlas curled his lip. His experience with Cristian had been traumatizing. There’d been no rush, no joy from it. And the attack—yeah, there was no chance in hell he’d repeat that. “The connection can be nonexistent too,” he argued.
“What are you talking about?” Ioana asked slowly.
He clutched at the balcony railing, pressing each finger against the metal, one after another, to ground himself. “The attack Cristian and I survived...it wasn’t the first time I’ve gone up against a vampire.”
“Shit, Atlas, I didn’t know.”
“I told him not to say anything. Anyway, the vampire that got me, that fed from me, there was no connection between us. Nothing. Just pain.”
Ioana’s stillness was too absolute, too perfect. She stood there, a frozen statue staring back at Atlas. The only sign of her uncertainty was the tiny furrowing of her brow. “That’s impossible,” she said at long last. “We don’t have a choice about the bond if we’re feeding fang to living flesh. The donor can choose to reject the bond, but it is still offered. You must have felt it...the pressure in your mind?”
“With Cristian, maybe. But not during the attack,” Atlas said.
“Atlas, then whatever attacked you wasn’t—” She bit her lower lip. “It was something else, then.”
“Like what?”
She trembled with the same shivering misery she’d suffered at Desolation House. Every instinct screamed she knew more than she was letting on. He just had to convince her to tell him.
“Ioana,” he whispered, “what else could it have been?”
“I—I can’t,” she stammered. “I won’t—”
Movement on the dance floor. Cristian had noticed them both and was extricating himself from his partner. Atlas wanted to urge him to stay down there, to not come up and interrupt his attempted interrogation of Ioana, but it was too late. Cristian ascended the stairs to join them.
“Something wrong?” he asked, looking between Ioana and Atlas.
Ioana lifted a hand to her face, trying to hide herself from his view. Atlas gave up all pretense and stepped between her and Cristian, offering her what little shelter he could. “No,” he lied. “Did you have a good feeding?”
Cristian rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and looked away from Atlas. And from the dance floor, where the woman continued to watch him. “Sure. I suppose so.”
“We’ve got plenty of time if you want to find someone else to—”
“This is not a conversation I want to have with you, Mr. Kinkaid,” Cristian interrupted.
“Then what do you want to do, Mr. Slava?”
“Come with me. I want a drink.”
“From the vein or the bar?” he asked without thought.
Behind him, Ioana sputtered. Dinu howled from the booth, and even Vasilica laughed. Cristian, who’d frozen, recovered quickly enough. He gave his friends the finger and managed to get his voice even enough to tell Atlas, “From the bar. The bar, you utter bastard.”
Atlas followed after him as they worked their way through the crowd. He scanned the nearest faces, irritated by the close press of bodies against his and envious of the way Cristian slid through them with minimal contact. They made it to the bar, a beautiful metal thing with a thick wooden top that was worn from use, but well polished. It looked like it had been plucked from some ancient keep, a splash of Old World elegance in the midst of the contemporary splendor.
The barman approached with a smile for them both. He knew Cristian well, and Atlas left them to their conversation in favor of people watching. He caught Andrei on the edge of the crowd, slipping off with a young man, maybe to feed, maybe to enjoy each other’s company. He didn’t know, nor did he care much. It was enough to linger here, leaning against the bar, knowing Cristian was safe for now.
Cristian’s earlier partner sidled out of the crowd, eyes fixed on the back of Cristian’s head until she noticed Atlas standing beside him. She drew up, eyed them both, then shook her head with a smile and gave Atlas a farewell wave. Her good-natured forfeit surprised an answering grin from him, and he waved back to her before she disappeared once more into the crowd.
“It didn’t mean anything,” Cristian murmured. He wasn’t looking at the woman, and Atlas wasn’t sure what to make of his half-lidded gaze, or the emotion he saw in it and couldn’t quite recognize.
“Wouldn’t be my place to complain if it did,” Atlas countered.
“I suppose not.” Cristian reached behind the bar and snagged a thin straw to fiddle with. He began folding it. “What were you and Ioana talking about?”
“I’m not sure. But I think she may know what attacked me all those years ago. I was describing it to her and she recognized something and then...she shut down.”
“Hmm.” Cristian abandoned his poor attempt at a straw star. “She’s never mentioned anything to me.”
“Does she know you’re asking around about them?”
“No.” He peered up toward their balcony, far too serious for Atlas’s tastes. “And I haven’t heard from anyone else I contacted. I know Father and my aunt said they don’t exist, but if there’s this much silence around the topic...there’s more to this. I’ll talk to Ioana. Maybe I’ll have better luck with her than you did.”
“Later,” Atlas urged. “I think I scared her.”
“That would be a trick,” Cristian muttered.
He was too lost in thought to notice the bartender’s approach. Atlas nodded his thanks to the man, who set Cristian’s order down on a thick, dark crimson napkin before moving away. “I know. Think we should be worried?”
Cristian plucked up his drink with a frown. “No. If she’s scared, I know we should be worried.”