After a few agonising hours at the last meeting, they knew most of the details of my exchanges with Kyros—everything except for one tiny thing.
They had no idea Kyros was anything other than an evil tyrant who controlled my mind. I just couldn’t bear to tell them I was considered his true mate or to see the horror and disappointment on their faces.
Whatever I saw on their faces would be what I would’ve seen on Grandmother’s face.
Dame Burke placed a stack of papers in front of me, next to the file I’d brought along for reference. It contained details of their compulsions.
Lalitta compelled Dame Burke thirty-five years ago. Not tightly—which was such a Lalitta thing to do.
I flicked my eyes over the first page.
“This is all the correspondence and rejections for his development approval request for the last ten years. You’ll notice the main issue was the concern of necessary agricultural land being re-zoned and lost to residential land. He spent an arm and a leg trying to win approval. Idiotic if you ask me.”
Which is why I believed the answer rested here. Fyrlia wasn’t new to this game and neither was Sundulus. But neither of them were human. It was a desperate hope, but all I had to bank on right now.
I skimmed through the pile and passed it to Mr Dithis on my left. He was controlled by Gina, but he was able to converse about anything Vissimo-related in metaphor. How he’d even figured that out was anyone’s guess.
“Did you spot anything amiss, Lady Treena?” I asked, consulting my other file.
Lady Treena was controlled by King Mikael himself. Her compulsion was nearly as bad as mine except she could nod and shake her head in answer to direct questions. He usually contacted her for information on council affairs via his minions, and contact had dwindled considerably after her retirement. She’d been compelled for as long as Sir Olythieu.
“No,” she replied. “And I went through it thoroughly.”
Mr Dithis passed the stack to Mr Hothen.
Mr Hothen belonged to Francesca and discovered Vissimo and Ingenium fifteen years ago. He could say pretty much anything if he was vague enough, something I attributed to Francesca’s youth.
“Sandra Hoyt was the town planner in charge of this deal?” he asked.
“Why?” Sir Olythieu asked drily. “You know her?”
He belonged to King Julius, and his compulsion was as tight as mine. Like father, like son, I supposed.
Mr Hothen smirked. “For a while.”
Which surprised no one. He had the silver fox look down to a T and knew it. The ladies flocked, and his only rule was twenty-five plus and highly educated.
Mrs Syrre made a small sound in the back of her throat. It was strange to think that Neelan drank the genteel woman’s blood while compelling her.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You dumped her via letter.”
Was that the original dumping via text move?
“Actually, no,” Mr Hothen said, frowning. “She moved to Frankton Gorge and ended things.”
I stilled.
Sir Olythieu beat me to asking, “How long ago did she move to Frankton Gorge?”
Lady Treena snatched the stack away, pacing the room as she scanned the pages.
“I should cut you out of shares in my new plaza for that,” Mr Hothen said to her, leaning back.
She eyed him briefly. “Empty threats are for the lower class.”
I snorted with the others.
“It’s possible I missed something,” she announced, setting two papers before me.
Dame Burke whispered under her breath, “Never thought I’d hear the day.”
“It seems that Sandra Hoyt managed this case until three months ago when there was a change to Julia Dinh.”
That name rang a bell. But I was certain Julia Dinh was under Sundulus control.
“She might have just moved away,” I said slowly, my gut already telling me that wasn’t so.
Mrs Syrre countered. “She might have run for her life. Or been forced to relocate.”
Exactly.
“I’ll track down her current address,” Dame Burke said, jotting a note in a diary.
I smiled tightly. “Let’s hope this is a lead. If I can take proof of a shady deal to them, they’ll be locked in battle again.” An impartial clan would rule the development deal as void—at the minimum—according to Kyros’s seconds.
Mr Hothen leaned back. “Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to let someone win.”
I located the F on the table. “Not these ones,” I said, holding it up and thinking of the kiss Kyros gave me that morning. “They’re worse.”
“They’re as bad as each other,” Sir Olythieu spat.
Shaking my head, I swept back my heavy braid to show them the red scar. Then I stood to show them the nearly gone bruises on my stomach.
Murder was etched on each of their faces when I resumed my seat.
I held up F again. “Believe me. I know.”
Maybe I thought the same for a while, but having met both royal families, having been questioned by both, I could say with certainty there was a difference.
Fyrlia wasn’t wholly bad, but the bad parts were evil to the core.
“What can you tell us about the clans, dear?” Dame Burke asked.
I focused on sunflowers. “S is scared.”
Man, focusing so hard made me sweat.
“They would be. From what I understand, only one flock of eagles can fly the skies,” Mr Dithis said.
The royal family of the enemy survived. Yes. “Two from S survive. Kyros and Titania.”
Mr Hothen’s expression darkened. “It’s a shame the lot of them won’t die. Good riddance.”
I withheld a retort, my guilt soaring. If they knew I was sleeping in the same bed as a vampire each night, they’d never look at me the same.
I should tell them. Maybe I could convince them it didn’t mean anything. They’d have ideas on how to turn the development to our advantage.
But maybe that’s why I hadn’t told them.
If they knew, they’d expect me to use Kyros. If I didn’t do that, they’d know my dirty secret.
That I didn’t want to hurt Kyros anymore.
Yet disappointing my grandmother’s memory and her friends? I couldn’t do that either.
I’d landed myself firmly in the middle of a battle I could never win.
8
Only Jessica Alba could wear black leather. In Dark Angel, specifically.
I’d broken my rule twice.
White leather didn’t count. Right? Why did I get the feeling my standards were crumbling? How long until I wore black leather and felt no remorse?
It was a slippery slope.
“Will you require me to pick you up later, Miss Le Spyre?” Fred asked from the front seat.
My new club wasn’t far from Kyros Sky. “No, thanks. I’ll be back at the estate by 4:00 a.m. or so.”
“As you say, miss.” He glanced out the window. “I better help you into the club.”
I eyed the stack of camera fuckers either side of the red carpet. They could get brusque. And nothing cried rich woman like a bodyguard. “I’d appreciate that.”
Of course, if no one had shown up—or showed up later—the headlines tonight and tomorrow would ruin the club. I’d made the Indebted feel vulnerable, and now it was my turn.