one quarter Elf?”
“Not just because of that,” Nico answered.
“Then . . . why?”
The Elf lifted a hand and brushed his fingers across Deven’s lips. There was a touch of humor in his eyes, but his voice was full of a sudden vulnerability that made Deven shake inside. “Is it not obvious?” he asked softly.
They stared at each other, so close together he could hear the Elf’s heart racing, and Deven almost, almost let himself sink into what he knew could very easily happen . . . but he shook his head, turning away from Nico, away from those damned eyes.
He felt it clearly: The Elf was hurt. “I am sorry,” Nico said.
“I can’t,” Deven told him, trying to keep the words gentle. “It isn’t you, it’s . . . all the memories you’ve stirred up seem to have one common denominator: I hurt people. I’ve done nothing but cause Jonathan pain for sixty years. He’ll say he doesn’t mind—and the truth is he probably doesn’t . . . but I mind. I have so many deaths and so much suffering on my conscience already.”
With a deep breath, Nico rose and stood silently until Deven looked up at him.
The Elf was smiling regretfully. “Well done,” he said.
“Well done?”
“I thought, after spending so much time in your mind, that you could not surprise me.” Nico reached down and touched Deven’s face, fingers slipping around to his lips before he withdrew the hand, stepped back, and bowed. “If you have no more need of me, my Lord, I shall retire.”
Deven nodded, not entirely trusting himself to speak, but before he had much time to consider any possible fallout of the last few minutes, he heard a familiar footfall approaching, and Jonathan called, “What happened?”
Dev had no idea what to say. The Consort joined him, his face concerned; his hazel eyes fell on the still-open door from the terrace into the guest suite, and Deven felt himself flushing with undeserved shame.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Jonathan said a bit sternly. “I was starting to freak out a little.”
Deven groped in his pockets and sighed. “I must have left it in the bedroom—I’m sorry, love.”
Jonathan leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and thankfully he didn’t push the issue. “Well, aside from that . . . you look like you’re feeling better. You look like you again.”
Deven nodded. “That’s why I texted, to tell you how well the magic was working. What were you doing in town, anyway?”
Jonathan frowned. “There was a . . . weird disturbance. Normally it would have been strictly an Elite matter, but they thought it was far enough from the ordinary that they called for one of us to evaluate the situation.”
“What situation?”
“Just after sunset two vampires, a couple, were walking down McMillan Boulevard and were attacked. One was killed; the other managed to escape and run for it until she found a patrol. The attackers followed her and went after the Elite as well. There was a pretty bloody battle, but we were lucky—none of ours was killed, though there were some significant injuries. Two of the attackers went down, but the rest got away.”
“So . . . was it a gang we know, or something new?”
“Oh, it was new, all right.” Jonathan looked like he could scarcely believe his own words, and after the next sentence it was clear why: “The attackers were human.”
Dev gave him a quizzical look. “Humans that could keep up with a vampire on the run and then take on an Elite patrol and live to tell the tale? How does that happen?”
“The Elite who fought them said they were way stronger and faster than humans are supposed to be—as fast as vampires.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It gets worse.”
“Of course it does.”
“The Elite patrol leader found these on the bodies.” Jonathan reached inside his jacket and took out a plastic baggie, handing it to Deven.
He stared down at the bag for a long minute before he said, “Get David
“Not just because of that,” Nico answered.
“Then . . . why?”
The Elf lifted a hand and brushed his fingers across Deven’s lips. There was a touch of humor in his eyes, but his voice was full of a sudden vulnerability that made Deven shake inside. “Is it not obvious?” he asked softly.
They stared at each other, so close together he could hear the Elf’s heart racing, and Deven almost, almost let himself sink into what he knew could very easily happen . . . but he shook his head, turning away from Nico, away from those damned eyes.
He felt it clearly: The Elf was hurt. “I am sorry,” Nico said.
“I can’t,” Deven told him, trying to keep the words gentle. “It isn’t you, it’s . . . all the memories you’ve stirred up seem to have one common denominator: I hurt people. I’ve done nothing but cause Jonathan pain for sixty years. He’ll say he doesn’t mind—and the truth is he probably doesn’t . . . but I mind. I have so many deaths and so much suffering on my conscience already.”
With a deep breath, Nico rose and stood silently until Deven looked up at him.
The Elf was smiling regretfully. “Well done,” he said.
“Well done?”
“I thought, after spending so much time in your mind, that you could not surprise me.” Nico reached down and touched Deven’s face, fingers slipping around to his lips before he withdrew the hand, stepped back, and bowed. “If you have no more need of me, my Lord, I shall retire.”
Deven nodded, not entirely trusting himself to speak, but before he had much time to consider any possible fallout of the last few minutes, he heard a familiar footfall approaching, and Jonathan called, “What happened?”
Dev had no idea what to say. The Consort joined him, his face concerned; his hazel eyes fell on the still-open door from the terrace into the guest suite, and Deven felt himself flushing with undeserved shame.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Jonathan said a bit sternly. “I was starting to freak out a little.”
Deven groped in his pockets and sighed. “I must have left it in the bedroom—I’m sorry, love.”
Jonathan leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and thankfully he didn’t push the issue. “Well, aside from that . . . you look like you’re feeling better. You look like you again.”
Deven nodded. “That’s why I texted, to tell you how well the magic was working. What were you doing in town, anyway?”
Jonathan frowned. “There was a . . . weird disturbance. Normally it would have been strictly an Elite matter, but they thought it was far enough from the ordinary that they called for one of us to evaluate the situation.”
“What situation?”
“Just after sunset two vampires, a couple, were walking down McMillan Boulevard and were attacked. One was killed; the other managed to escape and run for it until she found a patrol. The attackers followed her and went after the Elite as well. There was a pretty bloody battle, but we were lucky—none of ours was killed, though there were some significant injuries. Two of the attackers went down, but the rest got away.”
“So . . . was it a gang we know, or something new?”
“Oh, it was new, all right.” Jonathan looked like he could scarcely believe his own words, and after the next sentence it was clear why: “The attackers were human.”
Dev gave him a quizzical look. “Humans that could keep up with a vampire on the run and then take on an Elite patrol and live to tell the tale? How does that happen?”
“The Elite who fought them said they were way stronger and faster than humans are supposed to be—as fast as vampires.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It gets worse.”
“Of course it does.”
“The Elite patrol leader found these on the bodies.” Jonathan reached inside his jacket and took out a plastic baggie, handing it to Deven.
He stared down at the bag for a long minute before he said, “Get David
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