XAVIER’S HEAD SHOT up when the door opened, a furious command on his lips. He needed solitude in this moment. Needed to grieve for the loss of a good man who’d fought at his side for more than a century. He needed . . .
“Layla.”
She came directly to his side, her face creased in concern, her emotions as tangled as his own when she took him in her arms. “Baby, what happened? What is it?”
Baby, he thought. Had any woman ever called him that before? “We spoke of a spy, someone who betrayed our plans to that filthy sorcerer.”
“Did you find who it was? Was it someone . . . close?”
Tears fell then, warm tracks of wet heat on his cheeks. “Joaquim.” There was disbelief in his voice still.
“Joaquim, but . . . he called me. He’s the reason we were there to save you.”
“Regret at the last moment,” he said. His voice hardened. “That does not erase his treachery.”
“It sure as hell doesn’t,” she snapped. “What the fuck? Why?”
He held onto her, soaking in concern along with the staunch outrage on his behalf. His Layla was a warrior. She understood the magnitude of his loss. The pain.
He would have dropped to the floor then, had she not held him as he stood, not guided him to a chair and settled on his lap, her arms strong around him. “Fuck him,” she growled. “I don’t care why he did it. It doesn’t matter.” Her head turned. “Is that . . . him?”
Xavier saw her staring at the pile of dust that was, in fact, him. “Yes.”
“Good call on moving to a different conference room. Can you get someone in to . . . vacuum?”
He surprised himself by smiling. “Yes, cariño. It will be done.”
“Did he know where the bastard is hiding, by any chance?”
“France. I was right about that, at least.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“Apparently making excellent use of his and others’ talents in pursuit of criminal activities, most of which are aimed at building his fortune. He hasn’t drawn much attention to himself, which is why I assumed he was long dead. Unfortunately, it’s easy to hide in France, because it’s in such disarray. Their current lord has been in power less than a year, and the two before him were both executed by Raphael, who’s the very powerful vampire lord over the Western United States. You may have heard his name, seen his picture. He’s quite the media star, though not by his choosing, I’m sure.”
“If he’s American, why did he kill vampires from France?”
“Because they tried to kill him first, the fools. It’s a long story that I’ll tell you some night when we’re lying in bed exhausted from hours of sex.”
“Hours?” she asked skeptically.
“Vampires have extraordinary stamina. Did no one ever tell you that?”
She laughed and squeezed him tightly. “I love you.”
He stared at her. “I know that, but I never expected to hear it.”
“Oh, well. Don’t get too excited. This might be the only time.”
He shifted his hold, so that he was the one doing the squeezing. “I love you, Layla mine.”
She tipped her head to his, but said, “No mushy stuff during war councils.” Then she kissed him, long and lingering. “You ready to go be a vampire lord?”
“I am a vampire lord.”
“Annnd he’s back. Come on, let’s go kick some fucking sorcerer ass.”
They walked together down the hall to the larger conference room, where the others were already gathered. Layla’s stride was strong and confident by his side, where she belonged. Her heartbeat was a drum in his soul, the scent of her blood inside him, pulsing in time to his own heart. He’d worried for nothing about the strength of their connection. She was already a part of him and they weren’t even truly mated yet.
They reached the open door to the conference room and she paused, indicating he should go first. “My lord.” Her smile was amused, but in her eyes, he saw his own pain reflected. She was putting on a show for the others, but she knew his heart still ached with loss.
He nodded and strode into the room. “Let us begin,” he said, then pointed to the chair next to him. “Sit.” The last was more of an order than a suggestion. Her very presence was a temptation, but today, he needed her close.
She sat without a word, which anyone who knew her would know said more than any words how concerned she was about him. But now, it was time for war. Setting aside his grief, he reminded himself who, and what, he was and faced his military commanders. “As some of you know by now, just before dawn this morning Chuy and I set out to ambush Sakal in his own lair, and found ourselves ambushed instead.”
His military staff, who were hearing this for the first time, reacted with concern tempered by the certain knowledge that he was well and whole, and plotting revenge.
“We had verified intel that Sakal was still at his nearby compound when we arrived at the lair to set up our ambush, so imagine my surprise,” he added wryly.
“Was it magic, Sire?” one of his vamps asked.
“No. Sakal is a strong sorcerer, but even he cannot whisk himself from place to place in the blink of an eye. I’ve heard that there are at least two sorcerers capable of such magic, but they’re living in North America. So they’re Raphael’s problem, not ours.”
Every vampire present chuckled at that, though the humans didn’t seem to get the joke. Probably because they didn’t pay much attention to vampire politics and conflict that didn’t affect them. Layla had spent considerable time in the United States or fighting abroad on their behalf, so maybe he’d explain it to her later.
“The answer was much simpler, as it usually is. Sakal has a brother who is virtually identical in appearance, and also a pathetically weak vampire. But unlike Sakal, he has no magic of his own. If Sakal is to be believed, it’s the brother who’s been most active in recruiting followers, although it was obviously Sakal’s magic that permitted his fighters to approach undetected and seem to disappear when they left. And it was very much Sakal who attempted to kill Chuy and me this morning. I say ‘attempted’ because he obviously failed, and has now fled.”
“Do we know his location, Sire? Is he still in Spain?”