скачать книгу бесплатно
“Don’t ‘of course’ me,” Vincent snapped. “I don’t take anything for granted anymore, not since your brother’s defection.”
Vivianne frowned. “Lucien didn’t ‘defect.’ You kidnapped his wife—”
“She wasn’t his wife at the time,” her father corrected, his tone harsh. “And don’t you dare defend him—or that woman. We kept you alive, Vivianne. The only reason you’re here is because of the trouble and risk your family went to in order to save your life.”
Zane’s eyebrows rose. Wow, that was harsh, coming from your old man. He could see what the patriarch was doing. He was trying to guilt his daughter into doing what he wanted. He glanced at Vivianne. It was like looking at a mask. No emotion. Strange. He guessed you could only guilt someone into doing something if they had the capacity to feel...guilt. He’d only ever seen her completely shut down her reactions with this man, but right at this moment, he wondered just exactly what Vivianne was capable of feeling. The woman sitting in the chair, her legs crossed, hands folded in her lap, was nothing like the warm, vibrant, voluptuous vixen he’d held in his arms—or dreamed he’d held in his arms. He tilted his head. Had he dreamed it? Or had it happened for real? Like, as real as it could get with a ghost? If it was just a dream, had he dreamed it, or had she? He shook his head from the never-ending round of questions bombarding his mind, and focused on the not-so-subtle power play.
Vivianne didn’t bother to address her father’s remark.
“I’ll ask you again,” she said, and her gaze was direct. “What is this campaign—bill,” she corrected, “and what do you want from me?”
“I want you to purchase that parcel of land on the western border of Summercliffe.”
“Why?”
“I’m your father. I don’t need to explain myself to you. Just do it.”
“And I’m your Prime,” she snapped, and Zane’s eyebrows rose. This was more than your average daddy-daughter issues, he suspected. “You’re a Reform Senator. You don’t control Nightwing anymore, Dad. I do.”
Zane folded his arms and sat on the corner of Vincent’s mahogany desk inside the expansive den of the cold and draughty Marchetta Manor. His gaze darted between the two vampires. Things were getting interesting. Reform senators had to renounce any familial or tribal associations, to avoid conflicts of interest. Vincent Marchetta had once been the Nightwing Vampire Prime, but had had to cede his position in order to run for politics.
Vincent’s gaze lowered, and Zane saw the old man’s fist clench. “I want to purchase that tract of land.”
“Why? It’s virtually bear country.”
“It’s also a thoroughfare for wolves between Woodland and Alpine.”
Zane frowned at the mention of those packs. His packs.
Vivianne sighed. “What do you plan to do? Shut down the thoroughfare to get back at the lycans?”
“Oh, no,” Vincent said, smiling. “In fact, I want the opposite. I want it used. A lot.”
Vivianne straightened in her chair, suspicion bright in her brown gaze. “Why?”
“Because I’m proposing a change to the territorial rights bill,” Vincent told her. “I want to adjust the jurisdiction for trespass.”
“Why?” she asked, frowning.
“Because I want the crime reclassified as a Class 1A crime.”
Vivianne’s frown deepened, and Zane saw her confusion creep through her mask.
“Why, Dad?”
Yeah, why? Currently trespassing was a Class 2 crime. When a trespasser was caught, there were two options. If it was interbreed, say, a werewolf trespassing on another pack’s land, there was the escort to the boundary. If it was cross-breed, say, a vampire trespassing on a pack’s land, then either hostage and negotiation for release, usually resulting in a boon for those being trespassed against, or an outright kill. Upgrading to a Class 1A crime meant the prime owner of the land could kill or imprison the trespasser indefinitely.
“Because I want to set up a new clinic on that parcel of land, and send any lycan trespassers over for testing.”
Zane gaped. That sounded...wrong. Like, weird wrong.
“Testing? Don’t you meant torturing?”
Vincent shrugged. “Semantics.”
Zane’s head whipped around to face Vivianne. “You can’t be serious,” he roared.
Chapter 5 (#u4fb094d4-fdea-5d5f-83aa-754f6e9ea428)
He’d overheard some of what that underground clinic had been used for, and it turned his stomach.
Vivianne flinched slightly, but masked the move by skimming her hands over her skirt, as though straightening the fabric over her curves. Yeah, she’d heard him. She could try to ignore him all she liked, but he was going to make sure she heard him, on this topic at least.
“I know you want to resume your project—” she began, but halted when her father leaned forward in his chair.
“My project?” he repeated in a low voice. “Don’t you mean our project?” Zane’s eyes widened, and he glared in accusation at Vivianne. She’d been part of it? Had she condoned what her father had done at that clinic? He’d heard the whispers, the stories of those who’d been abused, but who’d escaped just before the clinic was destroyed. He’d also heard the cries of pain, the moans and screams of the other “patients,” just before her brother, Lucien, had unleashed on his father. He folded his arms as he glared down at the senator. The man was a monster.
Vivianne’s father tapped the top of his desk with his forefinger. “Those experiments are designed to create weapons we can use against the werewolves.” Vincent Marchetta shook his head. “We were so close, with that Segova woman—”
“You mean Natalie, your daughter-in-law,” Vivianne interrupted. “She’s family now, Dad. And there was no ‘we’—neither Lucien nor I knew anything about this clinic of yours.”
Her eyes met Zane’s briefly, and he relaxed a little at her pointed message. She hadn’t been involved in that madness, and she wanted him to know that.
Vincent nodded. “And that was my mistake. That’s why I want you involved, from the ground up, this time, Vivianne. After what they’ve done to our family—what they did to you—I think you’d jump at the chance to eradicate the wolves.”
Zane watched as Vivianne’s eyes rounded, just a little. “You—you want us to work together?” She was blinking, as though trying to hide her shock, her...was that hope he saw flare in her eyes? His brows drew into a deeper V. Did she want to hurt the wolves? Him?
“Think about it, Vivianne. The only advantage lycans have over vampires is that their bite is lethal. Otherwise, strength, speed, agility, etc.—we’re evenly matched.” Vincent’s eyes sparked with anticipation. “If we could create some sort of inoculation, some defense that would render a lycan’s bite harmless—imagine what that would mean for us?”
“It would definitely give us an advantage,” Vivianne admitted, and Zane’s heart sank at her words. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. He’d learned she was quick to assess the benefits and pitfalls of a project, to think several jumps ahead of those around her, and in this situation, she didn’t disappoint. “It would also position us as the strongest colony among the vampires. Maybe open up some trade potential.”
“You’re talking about conducting mad science experiments on werewolves,” Zane hissed at her. Her eyes glinted with steely determination before she looked at the man sitting on the other side of the desk.
“It’s not legal,” she told her father gently.
“It’s not ethical! It’s not right!” Zane exclaimed.
“We can get around it,” Vincent told her, “once this bill is passed. But I want that tract of land for when it does.”
“I’ll think about it,” Vivianne said, then rose from her seat and gathered her handbag.
“Tell him no,” Zane said forcefully.
“You do that.” Vincent watched as his daughter prepared to leave.
Zane glared between the two, then shook his fist in the senator’s face. “If you come anywhere near my pack, old man, I will rip you limb from limb.” The old man didn’t even blink. Zane twisted to face Vivianne, not trying to hide his anger as he clenched both hands into tight fists. He wanted to yell, he wanted to punch—he wanted to stop Vincent’s plan, but most of all, he wanted Vivianne to stop it, and he was so damn useless. The fact that she seemed to entertain the idea infuriated him, disappointed him...hurt him. He growled, and the fog whirled up around him, blocking her from his view.
Vivianne hesitated briefly as Zane disappeared in a virulent mist, then adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and left the room.
* * *
Vivianne looked out of her car window, her gaze resolutely fixed forward as her driver turned onto the ramp leading to an underground car park. Rock music was thumping through the earbuds in her ears. She’d had to resort to that tactic to drown out the six-foot-three werewolf who had argued with her ever since her father had dropped his little bomb back at the family home that evening. Even now, with the moon rising, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, sitting next to her on the back seat, hands gesticulating wildly, his expression dark and fierce as he protested her family’s plans.
As if he thought she could stop Vincent Marchetta.
Vivianne looked up at the building to the left of her. It was an architectural masterpiece, with glass corridors leading off to the left and the right, allowing plenty of moonlight into the interior of the building. There were two wings leading off the central block, with an abundance of balconies that suggested access to the outside, but also privacy from each other. Each window, though, and each balcony door, held the same darker glass she had at her own home and office building, as well as her vehicle. Tempered glass. It allowed in light, but blocked UV rays, so that vampires could function in daylight hours without burning to a crisp.
All except for one end of the building that was completely constructed of glass—but this glass was designed to let in the sunlight. Probably to feed the light warriors who had now revealed their existence to the world. She shook her head, not bothering to hide her amazement. She’d had no idea Arthur Armstrong and his sons were light warriors. Everyone thought they’d died out during the time of The Troubles. Her eyes narrowed. They’d managed to hide their existence for centuries. That showed a shrewd calculation and patience that she’d do well to remember when dealing with the Galen brothers.
The Galen brothers, who were apparently doing very well, going by the new state-of-the-art clinic they’d set up.
She leaned back into her seat as the car entered the dim car park. The Galens seemed to think of everything, providing not only a discrete entrance for those who didn’t want to be seen visiting them, but also a UV-free access for vampires.
Her car pulled up at the portico and a tall man with dark hair emerged from the doorway, his arms folded.
Ryder Galen.
Vivianne’s driver hurried around to open her door, and she gave him an intent look. Harris had been her driver for several years, and she trusted him implicitly. She hoped nothing had changed during her coma. She didn’t want word of this visit to get back to anyone in her colony, and especially not her father.
Harris winked, and she gave him a small smile. She hoped some things never changed, namely his ability to keep her secrets. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said quietly.
“Thanks, Harris.” She saw Zane also emerge from the car, and sighed. He looked furious, but the curiosity at their location was winning over as he glanced around, and his features relaxed when he saw Ryder.
She strode up to the doorway, and met Ryder’s gaze directly. The man eyed her, his bright blue eyes keen with interest.
“Do you personally greet all of the patients for this clinic?” she asked, slowly removing her earbuds.
He raised an eyebrow at the rock music that could still be heard blaring from the earbuds, and she switched the music off on her phone app.
“Only the interesting ones,” he responded, his brow dipping slightly in curiosity. “I was surprised to see your name pop up on my schedule.” He gestured to the doorway, and she preceded him into the clinic.
“Thank you for seeing me so quickly.”
“You didn’t really give me much choice,” he told her dryly as he guided her toward the lifts. She gazed around with interest. Instead of the linoleum she’d come to expect in hospitals, the hallway was lined with timber floors. Clean, crisp, but with a warmer, softer tone than she’d expected. The walls were tastefully painted in a soft gray that was both calming and restful, and not in the least depressing.
Zane let out a low whistle as they stepped into the elevator. “Things are looking good for the Galens.”
“You’ve made quite a few changes since your father died,” Vivianne said, looking over at Ryder. “Do you miss him?” She knew there’d been a rift between them, but she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone who was such a key part of your life for so long...
Ryder dipped his head for a moment. “Like a migraine. We can choose our friends, but we can’t choose our family, can we? How is your father?” He looked at her just as closely.
“Oh, he’s peachy,” Zane muttered. “Happily plotting the extermination of the werewolf breed at this very moment.”
“He’s fine,” Vivianne said, keeping her gaze on Ryder. “How is Vassi?” Her voice softened unintentionally, and she cleared her throat. She would never admit it, but she’d come to admire and respect his wife, Vassiliki Verity. As a lawyer, she was exceptional at her work. As a person, she’d be challenged to find someone with a stronger code of personal ethics, and a love for truth and honor. They’d had several arguments about the direction of the Marchetta businesses, and certain decisions that Vivianne considered “gray,” whereas Vassi deemed them “downright dodgy.” Vivianne had enjoyed their heated debates. She would have to see what she could do to tempt the lady lawyer back. First, she’d have to find out why Vassi had left in the first place. What had occurred between Vassi and her father to make her leave the company?
“Vassi is good,” Ryder said, his face softening into a smile, and there was no hiding the warm pride in his eyes. “We’re setting up a second clinic location, and she’s working on the permits and negotiating access.”
Zane tilted his head. “I don’t think I’ve met Vassi,” he said. “She worked for you, right?”
Vivianne stared at Ryder for a moment, trying to ignore Zane’s presence. Ryder’s respect and delight in his partner was almost tangible. When had anyone spoken about her like that? Certainly not her father. She and her brother were working on their relationship, but they argued, just like any normal siblings. She smiled briefly, dropping her gaze. She was a Vampire Prime, she reminded herself. She didn’t need anyone to be proud of her. She didn’t need those other softer emotions. She needed to ensure her colony were safe and thriving. Period.
The doors opened, and she followed Ryder out into a hallway. This one had carpet, with tasteful art lining the warmer-colored cream walls. Wall sconces with—wow, with real candles—were sporadically placed, creating a soft ambience as Ryder led her to a door with his name on it.
He stepped inside, then halted. “Dude, that’s my desk!”
Vivianne peered around him. A man with dark hair and dark eyes peered with annoyance over his shoulder. The stunning redhead in his arms hastily rearranged her top into a more presentable appearance, and she slid off the desk.
“I was just saying hi to my wife,” the man said, then grinned. “Besides, you know that saying, never let a good desk go to waste,” the man said, as he reluctantly let the redhead step away from him.
“That’s not a saying,” the woman said, trying to hide her smile. She faltered when she saw Vivianne.
“A vamp?” Her nose wrinkled with distaste, and her fingers curled. Sparks of lightning arced between her fingertips.
Vivianne’s eyes narrowed as Zane chuckled next to her. “A witch?” Her tone was just as frosty.
“A vamp, a witch and a light warrior walked into a bar,” the man at the desk quipped, then placed his hands over the redhead’s fists. “Easy, Mel. Remember, we’re being more accepting...” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
The red-haired witch curled her fingers into a fist, extinguishing the arcs of power. “Acceptance sucks,” she muttered, then pasted a bright smile on her face as she strode toward the door. “Besides, I have a client to see.” She paused next to Vivianne, her green eyes brittle. “Something about a silver glove,” she said nonchalantly. She looked over her shoulder at the man with the dark hair. “See you tonight.”
Vivianne’s lips pursed as the witch left the room. Silver. She hated silver. Every vamp hated silver. Lycans, silver, witches, were all at the top of her “things to despise” list. Zane shuddered next to her. Silver was just as toxic to werewolves as it was to vampires.
“Feisty,” he muttered.
Ryder sighed as he turned to Vivianne. “I’m not sure if you’ve had the pleasure, yet, but this is my brother, Hunter. Hunter, this is Vivianne Marchetta.”
Hunter strolled forward, his brown gaze touring over her. “So, you’re the vampire prime that gave my father so much trouble.” He frowned. “You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”
“Don’t be deceived,” Zane muttered. “She might be short, but she can be vicious.”
Vivianne’s gaze slid briefly to glare at the werewolf by her side, then she smiled at Hunter. “I prefer to avoid making assumptions,” she told him sweetly.
Ryder closed the office door, then gestured to a comfortable-looking wingback chair. “Please take a seat. As you can see, we’ve delivered on your special requests.”
“Demands,” interjected Hunter as he leaned against the bookcase lining one wall.
“I’m sure you can appreciate my need for discretion,” she said quietly as she sank into the chair.
“Why are we here?” Zane asked, and leaned an arm along the ridge of the wingback above her head. She glanced up briefly. He was close, leaning his hip against the side of her chair as his brown enquiring gaze found hers.
She turned back to the Galen brothers, both of whom were watching her closely. “You’ve probably heard of my recent...break.”
Ryder’s eyebrow rose. “Break? I was there, Vivianne, when Lucien brought you into Woodland. I saw your injuries with my own eyes.” He shook his head. “The fact that you’re sitting here, talking, it’s nothing short of miraculous.”
Hunter snorted. “I don’t believe in miracles. But, if it was so miraculous, Ms. Marchetta wouldn’t be here visiting us. So, what gives?”
“Anything I say here is treated as confidential, correct?”
“Of course,” Ryder responded. “All our patients’ records are confidential.”
