Macy’s eyes softened. Andy, sitting next to Charity, patted her knee.
“It’s likely he does know,” Macy said. “Vlad is a collector of information. All elder vampires are. He would want to trace your ancestry to figure this whole thing out. Why else would he visit your dad and charm information out of him? He must know by now.”
“Charm? More like use his vampire compulsion to wrestle the information out,” Rod said.
“He said his people were watching her,” Yasmine added from her position in the corner. “He isn’t taking an active role. That doesn’t seem like him. Before the battle at the alpha’s house, he was very hands-on.”
“Understatement,” Andy murmured. Rod nodded.
Silence fell around the room, interrupted by Charity’s hand spasming and accidentally crinkling the note.
“Why couldn’t Vlad use his people to escort her to the Realm?” Dillon asked. “He’s good at tiptoeing around the elves, he’s got a ton of people on his payroll, he clearly has spies in our organization. There’s no reason for him to take a back seat and depend on a hope and a prayer to draw her out.”
“Yeah,” Andy said, his brow lowered. “That’s a good point. Given what we know of him, if he thought she had to go to the Flush, he’d want to get the credit for taking her himself, wouldn’t he?”
“Stupid,” Devon said softly, threading around the others to cross the cramped room. “The hotels downtown said they were booked because of a convention, but did any of you see people wandering around with nametags, looking out of place? I sure as hell didn’t. If anyone has the money to buy out all the rooms in a small town like this—in any town—it’s Vlad.”
Dale rose slowly with a scowl. A knowing gleam lit Macy’s and Dillon’s eyes, followed by their brows creasing.
“Vlad might’ve put that note in Charity’s desk as a fail-safe,” Devon said, “but yes, he’s always been hands-on. And he’s always been one step ahead.”
“A couple of hotels on the outskirts of town had vacancies,” Dale argued. “He couldn’t possibly pinpoint which we would choose.”
“Who cares?” Devon reached the window. Cole stepped up next to him. “Vampires move fast, and all the hotels we had to choose from had plenty of dead space around them. Right now, we’re easy pickin’s.”
The air left Devon’s body and Cole swore under his breath. Or he probably thought it was under his breath.
They were looking at something—no, someone—in the parking lot.
“It’s just one, though,” Cole said as Dillon joined them. “And it isn’t Vlad.”
A feeling of unease tingled across Charity’s skin, and not just because the vampires were again trying to nab her. For one heart-stopping moment, she’d hoped it was Vlad. She was desperate to ask him about her mother. If her mom was nearby, surely Charity could spare a day or two to visit her. See her face again. Hear her voice.
Ask her why she’d left her daughter behind.
“Awful cheeky, standing there in the light, looking up at this window,” Cole said. “Aw-ful cheeky.”
“It’s Vlad’s underling,” Devon growled. “I remember its face from the grocery store parking lot where they tried to grab Charity.”
“Vlad doesn’t want to get barbecued again,” Andy said. “He’s probably around here somewhere, though, running the show from the shadows.”
“Most likely.” Devon turned from the window, and his gaze burned into Charity. He yanked his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. “Everyone, get ready to move. Prepare to fight your way out of here.”Chapter Eight“Roger, we have a problem,” Devon said into the phone as a metallic click caught Charity’s attention. Barbara, standing closest to the door, cocked her head. She must’ve heard it as well, but didn’t know the origin.
Charity did.
“The door.” She pushed herself to standing amid a wave of dizziness. “The lock on the door!”
Barbara darted forward as the handle turned. She cranked the deadbolt back over but didn’t bother with the chain. Why would she? A vampire could shoulder through that in a moment.
“What’s the ETA?” Devon shouted into the phone, darting into the connected bedroom. A moment later, Charity’s long black bag came flying into the room. Metal clanked within it, her weapons riding atop her clothes.
“Time to get angry, Charity.” Andy hurried to the duffel and pulled back the zipper. He extracted a finely wrought sword with a deep crimson blade. “I realize you’re not feeling your best, but being tired has got to be better than being a vampire’s food source.”
The lock clicked over again, and Barbara flicked it back. “What’s the plan?” she yelled.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” came a musical voice through the door.
“Well, you know where we are.” Andy brought the sword to Charity. “Take a hint.”
“Smells like an upper-mid-level,” Barbara said. Still not Vlad.
Charity hated the small twinge of disappointment. She squeezed the familiar handle of her sword. Strength seeped into her, though not enough to counteract the fatigue.