Page 85 of Thirst
I eased my Ferrari into the courtyard, convertible top down, its gleaming black frame catching the moonlight. As I aimed toward the portcullis, Talon stepped out of the darkness, silent as one of the wolfdogs that patrolled the castle grounds.
He laid a hand on the passenger door. “Want some company?”
“You have to ask? Get in, mofo.”
He slung a leg over the door, sliding into the seat with an easy grace. “So, where’re we going?”
“Baker’s house. Valente’s on my case about it standing empty.”
I hit the remote clipped to my visor. The portcullis groaned and slid upward, the metal grille parting like the top half of a jaw. I pressed the gas, and we shot out of the courtyard, tires biting into the cobblestone.
“Why were you at that meeting, anyway?” I asked, steering us along the cliffside road. “Aren’t you supposed to be on parental leave?”
“You needed backup.”
I grimaced because he wasn’t wrong. “I appreciate it, but Eden and the little guy need you more. Which reminds me—why the hell are you out here with me?”
“They’re fine. Eden’s got half the castle waiting on her like she’s a damn queen, including Twilight’s halmoni—and you know that woman is scary.”
My lips twitched. “True.”
Twilight’s grandmother was a former slayer herself. She’d moved in and taken over, running the castle’s domestic operations along with Kerry, the official housekeeper.
“If you’re sure?—”
“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
I whipped the sportscar around a curve, hugging the cliff edge. The wind off the Atlantic slapped our faces, ice-cold and laced with salt.
Beside me, Talon drew a slow inhale, looking out over the ocean. “It’s good to be out.”
“Yeah,” I said.
We drove in silence for a few minutes, then Talon said, “So Valente knows about Baker?”
He knew I’d offed the SOB, of course. I’d told both him and Brien that night.
“Yeah. They found him—enough to ID him, anyway.”
“Valente gonna be trouble?”
“Nah. Man just wants me to do something with Baker’s house. He didn’t make a will, and apparently Valente’s elected me the heir.” I swung left. “And here’s the turn.”
We bumped down a teeth-rattling driveway that would probably land the Ferrari in the shop for the next month and halted in front of the empty farmhouse. I cut the engine, the old, familiar unworthiness creeping up my nape, tightening my skin.
Talon got out first, looking up at the broken window, the one I’d tossed Baker out of.
“You should’ve brought me with you that night,” he said when I joined him on the gravel.
“I handled it.”
“But you didn’t have to. Not by yourself.”
“I know, but—” I lifted a shoulder, let it drop.
How could I explain that final confrontation needed to be just me and Baker? Maybe I’d wanted to prove to myself that he didn’t scare me anymore. That he was just a bitter, broken bully who no longer had any power over me.
Our eyes met, and Talon gave a slow nod. He’d been there for most of it, after all.
