The Vampire In The Room: Paranormal Women's Fiction: Death Dealers Curse (Magical Midlife Death Book 14), page 14
The room seemed to shrink around the cheap wood and lamplight. I imagined the message—burned into the living—an ugly ledger of power.
Con’s eyes darkened in a way that made the shadows look raw. “The man Rene killed… he’d done something worse. He’d defiled my sister.”
I clenched my teeth. “Damn, Con.”
He gave a small, humorless sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Rene offered retribution. Not for me to mete out. For me to accept.”
I thought of Rene—calm, implacable, the hands that could take a life or give one. “And all he asked for was loyalty.”
“Yes.” The single syllable carried more than an answer. It held the echo of blades, of bargains, of blood warmed in cupped palms. “I thought I’d just walk into the sun when I’d finished. When I had killed the baron who ordered my family’s death, when I’d taken what I could with my own two hands… I thought there would be no reason to keep living.”
There was a tremor under his words, the raw edge of the moment he’d been offered an impossible choice.
“But life is strange,” he said, softer. “And the immortal world changes us in ways we don’t expect. Rene didn’t just save me because he liked my skill. He saved me because a weapon with no hand to use it is a waste. He gave me a family. Purpose. He asked for loyalty—not out of cruelty, but because everything else in that world is bought and held in some form of currency.”
I swallowed, feeling rage and gratitude collide in my chest. I wasn’t naive enough to romanticize Rene’s bargains; I’d lived in one myself. But hearing it from Constantine—seeing how plainly he carried that debt—shifted something.
“I wouldn’t have said no,” he added, as if reading me. “Even if I had understood the price in full, I wouldn’t have walked toward the sun. There was too much to fight for. I suppose that’s the ironic part; we take up what we must.”
He let his gaze rest on me then, the fierceness folding into an exhausted, reluctant gentleness. “That’s why I fight the way I do. Because I know what it costs to lose the people you love. And because when someone like Rene puts his faith in you, you do not betray it.”
I reached out—because that was what you did when someone scratched old scars in front of you—and laid my hand flat on his forearm. His skin was cool beneath my palm, a quiet steadiness that anchored the story in the room. For a breath, neither of us spoke. Outside, the world held its own rumors; inside, two people were trading pieces of their histories like contraband.
“You never told me,” I said finally, not a demand so much as an acknowledgment.
He gave me a look that was part apology, part explanation. “I didn’t want to burden you. I wanted you to trust my skill, not pity my past. But maybe… that was selfish.”
“It’s hard to trust under those circumstances,” I said. “I get it. I just—” I let the rest drop. There was no need to say I had kept whole parts of myself in the shadows for the same reason.
He let out a long, slow breath, and the trench of pain in his face eased just enough to look human. “We don’t have to be the same kind of brave,” he said. “But I needed you to know why I stand the way I do. Why I would tear a wolf limb from limb if he so much as thought to take you. Not because I own you, Cassara. But because I remember what it is to have nothing left.”
That was his truth—not possessiveness, not the raw hunger that had once stalked battlefields, but a guard pulled tight around the fragile things life had given him. I let the reality of it settle, and for a moment, I only felt the heat of the room and the hum of old loyalties, both of us holding the ghosts that had made us.
CHAPTER 18
Afew hours later, the heavy tread of boots echoed up the hall. Therrian stepped into the room, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, Rylan trailing behind him. His presence carried the kind of weight that silenced a room without trying.
“It’s time to go,” he said, his tone clipped.
I slung my pack over my shoulder without a word. Constantine rose beside me, his pale eyes scanning Therrian with the kind of scrutiny that made the air feel charged again.
The four of us set out, the mountain air biting as we descended through the rough terrain. Rylan fell in step with me, asking small questions about Shadow Bone and how our clan worked. I answered lightly, throwing in a quip or two, grateful for the easy banter. It cut the silence like a blade through fog.
Therrian and Constantine didn’t say a word. Their quiet was heavier than any conversation could’ve been. Every step they took felt like two predators circling, waiting for the other to falter.
By the time Rylan’s SUV came into view, the silence had settled like iron on my shoulders. He drove us to the airport, the road long and winding, headlights bouncing off the dark trees. No one spoke. Not during the drive. Not as we boarded the private jet. Not for the entire flight home. The tension sat between us, a fourth passenger we couldn’t shake.
When we touched down at Black Blossom Airport, Therrian adjusted his jacket and finally broke the silence. “I’m going to return to the pack.”
I stepped forward and took his hand in mine. His skin was warm. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. And I’m sorry for the tense ride home.”
He gave me a half-smile, the kind that promised more than it should. “I appreciate your honesty. I don’t think you know what you want yet, but if you decide it’s me, you know where I live.”
I managed a small smile of my own. “I appreciate that.”
He squeezed my hand once, then released it and turned away, sliding back into the waiting limo. I watched as the taillights faded into the night, leaving only the weight of Constantine’s presence beside me.
And he hadn’t said a word.
The second limousine was waiting, sleek and black, headlights gleaming against the wet tarmac. Constantine opened the door for me, his expression carved from stone, and I slid in without a word. He followed, the air inside the car immediately thickening with the weight of everything unsaid.
The city lights blurred past the tinted glass as we drove back to Shadow Bone, but I barely noticed. My mind kept circling the same jagged thoughts—his story, his family, the brutal truth he had finally let me see.
It was still raw.
Our stories were so similar, in a way. Both of us torn from our human lives, left with blood and ashes where families should have been. Maybe that was why he’d always helped me, why he’d trained me harder than anyone else, why he’d never let me slip. Maybe he’d seen his own loss reflected in mine.
I wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck. Every time I glanced at him, his profile in the dim interior lights was all sharp angles and unreadable silence. So I stayed quiet.
By the time the limousine rolled through the gates of Shadow Bone, the tension in my chest felt like a vice.
We exited the limo, and I was eager to see Raven and Rene.
But then we stepped inside the mansion.
The atmosphere hit me like a wall. The foyer was thick with hushed voices and hardened stares. Clusters of vampires lingered, their postures taut, their eyes darting like predators scenting something dangerous in the air.
“What is going on?” I asked, my voice low, pitched for Constantine alone.
He shook his head, his hand brushing the small of my back in a silent command to follow. Without another word, he led me past the uneasy gazes, up the sweeping staircase, the tension trailing us like a shadow.
At the end of the hall, he raised his fist and knocked.
“Come in,” Raven’s voice called, muffled but relaxed.
Constantine opened the door, and we stepped inside Rene and Raven’s suite.
The air there was no less heavy.
But the danger felt closer.
Raven pressed a crystal glass into Rene’s hand, the liquid inside dark and thick. He looked… wrong. His usually sharp features were drawn tight, his skin paler than ivory, shadows carved deep under his eyes. The proud king of our clan looked gaunt, hollowed, like something unfinished.
“You look like shit,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
One corner of his mouth tugged upward, faint but genuine. “You were never one to bolster my self-esteem.”
“Normally, you look like a cover model for some glossy men’s magazine,” I shot back. “So no.”
A low grunt sounded from Constantine. “That is disrespectful.”
I jabbed a finger in Rene’s direction. “I don’t care if he grounds me. I’m more concerned that he looks like a zombie from The Walking Dead.”
Rene raised the glass in a mock toast, then drained it. The tension in his jaw eased, and a flush of color began to creep back into his cheeks. The slight spark of crimson in his eyes steadied.
“I must drink more often to maintain my strength,” he admitted, setting the glass down on the nightstand. “Raven and I must retire to our room every two hours.”
I folded my arms, watching as the life crept back into him, if only partially. His shoulders straightened, his lips no longer bloodless. “At least you don’t look like you want to eat someone’s brains now.”
Raven chuckled softly, though her eyes still shone with worry. “Do you have the first piece of the Pentacoris?”
The reminder snapped my attention back to the purpose of our journey. I slipped the black leather backpack from my shoulder, set it on the low table, and drew the fragment free. Its edges caught the firelight, the single pointed shape clearly meant to be part of something greater.
I turned it so Raven could see.
But she immediately shook her head, stepping back. “I can’t touch it. I won’t do anything that could interfere with our soul bond.”
Her voice was calm, but the shadows beneath her eyes said enough.
“I’ll take the piece down to Manu and Julian,” I said, turning the fragment in my hands one last time before sliding it back into my pack. “Maybe it’ll help them find the next one.”
Rene inclined his head, his color still slowly returning. “Do that.”
I glanced between him and Raven, tension pressing on the back of my neck. “What’s going on with the clan? Everyone downstairs looked ready to leap down each other’s throats.”
“They sense something is wrong,” Rene admitted, his voice quieter than usual, the weight of truth heavy behind it. “But they have yet to discern that it is me.”
My stomach clenched. “And the election?”
Raven shifted beside him, sliding her hand over his arm. Her face was calm, but her eyes were focused. “Siris has pulled ahead a little. Edward is new to Shadow Bone, and while he’s well respected, some of the older families don’t trust someone who hasn’t been here long.”
I frowned. “But Edward’s experience is greater. He was integral in the operation of Shadow Demon. We were lucky to get him to transfer.”
“Exactly,” Raven said. “That’s why he has as much support as he does. His history makes him a strong candidate. But Siris… Siris knows how to play politics.”
“What happened?” I pressed.
Raven sighed. “Last night, one of Edward’s supporters accused Siris’ faction of bribery. Gold and blood favors, offered in exchange for votes. Siris denied it, of course, but his people turned it into a spectacle. Two of Edward’s men ended up brawling with Siris’ in the east wing. Chairs were broken, walls cracked. Quinn had to step in before things got out of hand.”
“Sounds civilized,” I muttered.
“Civilized is a luxury,” Rene said, his tone edged. “The clan is divided, and division breeds weakness. And weakness is an open invitation—to enemies within and without.”
I met his gaze. He wasn’t just talking about Siris and Edward.
He was talking about Valerian.
And we all knew it.
I blew out a slow breath, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “I know it’s bad timing, but the election was well underway before Valerian decided to drop in and play god. We can’t exactly hit pause on it now.”
Constantine’s arms folded across his chest, his expression as cutting as the edge of his blade. “Postponing would raise suspicion. In fact, it could be interpreted that you favor Edward over Siris.”
Rene grunted, the sound weighted. “I do. And I am the only one who doesn’t get to vote. But you are right. I mandated that the clans would have the right to elect the leader of their choosing—since none of them chose me.”
I frowned, my voice sharper than I intended. “You were the only one who could have freed the clans from Siam. Nobody else had the power.”
“But nobody is left from that time, so they don’t realize what they were liberated from.” Rene leaned back, exhaustion etched into his gaunt features.
“The election will be over in a few weeks,” I said.
Silence stretched, heavy and tight.
I turned to Constantine, my hand brushing the strap of my pack. “Let’s take the piece to Manu.”
He nodded once.
We left Raven and Rene’s suite behind, the door clicking shut softly.
The corridor was quiet, but as we descended the staircase toward the foyer, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The tension below was thick, like walking into a room where blood had been spilled, even if the floor was spotless.
Clusters of vampires lingered at the edges of the grand hall, their conversations hushed, their gazes sharp. Some looked up as Constantine and I passed, their expressions a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and something else—fear, maybe.
Every step down the staircase felt like walking into a brewing storm.
And we both knew it was only a matter of time before it broke.
The foyer was thick with bodies, but no laughter, no echo of the usual bickering. Instead, clusters of vampires stood shoulder to shoulder, their voices low, their eyes focused. Whispers carried, just enough for me to know we were the subject, but not enough to catch words.
“This is a mess,” I muttered, keeping my voice low.
Constantine’s chin dipped in a single nod. His hand brushed the small of my back, a silent nudge to keep moving.
We crossed the expanse of polished marble and slipped into the corridor leading to the conference room. The heavy door creaked as we pushed it open, the atmosphere instantly different—focused, quiet, the hum of minds at work instead of rumor.
Manu sat at the far end, hunched over an old tome, his long fingers tracing faded ink like it might whisper secrets if he stared long enough. Across from him, Julian’s laptop glowed, his fingers flying over the keys, the rhythm of his typing as relentless as a drumbeat.
I swung the black leather backpack off my shoulder and pulled out the fragment. Its sharp lines caught the lamplight as I set it down on the table between them. “I hope this helps you find the next one.”
Manu immediately leaned forward, his glasses slipping a fraction down his nose as he studied the piece. He pulled on thin gloves before he examined it. The single point of the star gleamed, its etched markings catching under his touch. “It will,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “The craftsmanship alone… this is older than most of the relics I’ve ever seen intact.”
He tilted it, squinting at the tiny notches where it would lock into the other pieces. “See here—the grooves. They aren’t just practical. There’s enchantment woven into the joints. It suggests a deliberate alignment, not merely a physical assembly.”
Julian stopped typing long enough to push his glasses up and glance over. “I’ve already set up the imaging machine. If we scan it, we might pick up residual energy patterns—something that could point toward a matching fragment.”
Manu carefully lifted the piece, holding it up like a priest would a relic, then set it onto the padded tray Julian slid across the table.
As the machine powered on with a soft hum, the air in the room seemed to tighten.
For the first time since I’d found it, I realized the Pentacoris wasn’t just an artifact.
It was alive with secrets, and we were about to peel back its first layer.
The machine whirred as Julian adjusted the settings, the glow from the screen casting a pale wash over the table. Manu leaned in, murmuring something about resonance while I folded my arms, watching.
At first, nothing happened. The fragment sat silent in its padded cradle, etched lines glinting under the fluorescent light.
Then it pulsed.
A low thrum vibrated through the air, and sparks jumped from the machine’s edges. Blue-white arcs snapped across the casing, and the screen flickered violently before cutting to black.
The smell of ozone filled the room.
“Shit,” Julian breathed, pushing back in his chair. “That’s not supposed to happen.” He tapped a few keys, then shook the mouse. Nothing. The machine was dead. “The power surge fried the whole system.”
Manu pulled the fragment back with surprising care, his lips pressed into a hard line.
Julian ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting between us. “It—it overloaded the imaging array. Theoretically, if the fragment is charged with an energy signature beyond our grid capacity, the machine could have tried to compensate and… well, blew itself out.”
“In English,” I said.
He swallowed. “It was too powerful. We can’t scan it with human tech.”
I arched a brow. “Or maybe it’s not tech at all. Maybe it’s magic.”
Manu sighed, closing his tome with a decisive thud. “She’s right. If this artifact was hidden for over a thousand years, wards and enchantments would have been woven into every piece. Science won’t unravel it.”
“Which means,” I said, shoving my hands onto my hips, “we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
Constantine’s golden gaze flicked toward me in agreement, and he inclined his head.
The door creaked open before we could say more. Rene entered, his posture straighter than earlier, though his color hadn’t fully returned. He looked better, but not a hundred percent. The faint lines at the corners of his mouth betrayed his strain.
