Chapter 11
S
imone Brightston’s New York penthouse screamed sensuality in tones of deep red and purple—much like Moira’s, but without the touches of whimsy. Soft light filtered around the apartment, and twinkling lights from the city below filled the sweeping windows. Nighttime had fallen and Moira’s senses whispered the moon would be full. She shifted on the velvet couch, hiding a wince at newly discovered intimate muscles.
The council should’ve sent all three enforcers to retrieve Simone from New York. But no, Moira was facing her cranky cousin all on her own. “What do you mean you’re not sure you should leave?”
A delicate shrug lifted Simone’s bare shoulder. Her wide sweater slid down both arms. “I have a winter holiday planned. I can still be reached via the net, however.”
Moira kept her focus on Simone, ignoring the heat pouring off the vampire sitting next to her. “The Nine has requested your presence at headquarters, and I’ve been ordered to escort you.”
Simone arched a dark eyebrow, pushing thick black hair back. “I’m part of the Nine.”
“I understand your job, cousin.” What in the hell was going on? The painting behind the couch caught Moira’s eye; an early watercolor from Brenna—painted during her teenage years.
Simone followed her gaze, a pretty flush scattering across her face. “I like the colors.”
The soft palette contrasted with the rich tones of the rest of the room
.
Not Simone’s taste, but the work held a place of honor.
Interesting.
Running water echoed in the distance and Moira sighed. “You have company?”
“Yes.” Not by a tick did Simone’s smooth face change. The blush receded. “I’m not vacationing alone.”
“Your mother—”
“Irrelevant.” Simone’s black eyes flashed. “As part of the Nine, I make my own decisions, Moira. A fact you’d understand better if you accepted the invitation to join.”
Moira lifted her chin. She doubted Simone would appreciate sitting next to her behind the wide stone bench. “Unlike you, I’m not convinced the missing members are dead. Unless I issue a challenge, there isn’t an opening.”
“I always thought you’d challenge me.” Simone shifted her gaze toward the hallway when the water cut off, returning her focus to Moira with a slight tilt of her head. The words sat as a statement, but the tiniest hint of question hung heavy in the room.
“No.” Moira hoped the current beau remained unaware of their world. That’s all she needed, more people learning the witches had problems. She hoped the man was a human, one on his way out the door. “We’re family, Simone.”
“So?”
A fluffy stuffed elephant sat on a cushion by the fireplace—old, yet in excellent condition—a prize they’d won together in a three-legged race during a family festival, decades ago. They’d drawn names, and had done surprisingly well together.
“So, I’m starting to think family holds more meaning than you’ve let on.” Moira wondered how well she knew her cousin.
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Simone brushed raven dark hair away from her face, her eyes veiled.
Enough of this crap. “I thought you didn’t like me.” A sad fact Moira had come to terms with years ago, it was one she might reconsider. Simone had always been critical, and downright snotty sometimes. But in New York, she had surrounded herself with reminders of family.
“I’m not sure why. Even so, I wouldn’t challenge you for a seat.” Moira stared at her cousin. Once challenged, the member could conceded the position or fight for it. Unfortunately, a fight meant one of them would lose all ability to control the elements—to practice magic.
Conn shifted in his seat to look at Moira. “Since your laws are so damn secret, I don’t comprehend the protocol here. Do we make her go?”
Simone’s smile flashed white teeth in pure warning. “Careful, Kayrs. I might turn you into a chipmunk.”
Moira bit her lip against a smile. “This is unprecedented. When the head of the council requests someone’s presence, they go. Especially if that head is someone’s
mother
.” She emphasized the last word with a glare at Simone.
Simone rolled her eyes. “So you’re going to tell my mother on me?”
“I’m sure Aunt Viv will notice you’re not in Ireland, dumbass.”
“You know”—Simone crossed long legs under a filmy black skirt—“that temper of yours might keep you from being an effective member of the Nine.”
“Yeah, because us witches are so famous for being coolheaded,” Moira retorted.
Conn snorted. “Right. Okay, so we’re off, then?”
“No, Conn. We’re not off.” Moira had a job to do, though she couldn’t force a member of the Nine to do something they didn’t want to do. The heavy scent of patchouli oil choked the air, making her twitchy.
Simone focused on Conn. “How’s your brother?” She had dated the king eons ago. Things had not worked out, and the relationship had ended badly.
“Ah, fine.” Conn cut his eyes toward Moira.
She shrugged. Let him deal with that quagmire.
“Good to know.” Simone’s jaw hardened.
Moira scrambled for a kind thought. “It’s nice you’ve remained friends with Dage, Simone.”
They hadn’t remained friends. The king had recently taken a mate he appeared to adore.
“Right.” Simone’s crimson painted lip curled in almost a smile. Light footsteps echoed on the marble tile in the hallway, and she turned toward the sound.
Only long-learned practice kept Moira’s jaw from dropping at the man who entered the living room. “Trevan.” A member of the Nine for the last five hundred years. “Kellach is looking for you in Greece, as we speak.”
“Maybe he should have called first.” Trevan smiled, even teeth in an aristocratic face. His dark silk shirt and pants emphasized a long and lean body. His tapered fingers brushed down Simone’s hair as he strolled by to take the overstuffed chair next to hers. The scent of expensive cologne permeated the room in layers of lime and ancient wood. “I assume Viv issued the order after communications cut off?”
A blush of pleasure exploded across Simone’s high cheekbones from his caress.
“Yes.” Moira fought the urge to squirm. Unease tickled her nape, and the vampire stiffening to attention next to her didn’t help.
Trevan steepled his fingers under his chin, his onyx ring flashing in the dim light. “I do wonder about such faulty equipment. In this day and age.”
Moira frowned. Surely he wasn’t suggesting the members in Ireland left him out on purpose.
Conn cleared his throat. “I find your presence here interesting, Demidov”—although congenial, a thread of warning edged his tone—“considering you failed to mention your location to the Nine during the conference call yesterday.”
Trevan’s smile didn’t reach his dark eyes. “They didn’t ask, now did they?”
Moira stilled. Conn was right. Trevan
hadn’t
mentioned his location during the meeting. More important was why the council members hadn’t zeroed in on his status. Or had they?
Simone plucked an invisible thread off a jeweled pillow. “I thought it prudent to keep my life private, Conn.”
Moira’s shoulders relaxed. Good explanation. “I understand.”
No way would her aunt Viv appreciate her daughter dating Trevan. The guy was five hundred years old, a scholar, not a warrior. He was a genius, but a researcher kept in the back room. One who’d produce excellent results, but lacked social skills—a bit of a wimp.
“Thought you might.” Simone smirked, eyeing Conn like a cat with cream. “The world has been privy to your business for far too long.”
Wasn’t that the freaking truth? Moira plastered on her most sincere smile. While she had no doubt Simone could take care of herself, women in love made mistakes. Even Simone. “This is convenient. We can escort you both to Ireland so the Nine can consolidate and plan.”
“I’ve read your reports with curiosity these last years.” Trevan’s gaze swept her with interest. “The Seventh as an enforcer. You’ve grown up quite nicely, little Moira.”
Conn showed his teeth. “I have no problem beating the crap out of you, Demidov.” Anticipation lit his eyes. “In fact, perhaps I’ve just discovered our solution. We fight, you lose, and I drop your ass in Ireland before heading home.”
Moira hid a smile. What Conn lacked in finesse, he more than made up for in honest threat. A fact Trevan had understood well before goading the vampire.
Interest tipped Trevan’s lips. “I would enjoy the fight, Prince.” He reached an elegant hand out to cover Simone’s, who all but preened in response. “Of course you must promise the king won’t retaliate when I burn the skin from your bones with a mere thought.” Condescension dripped from each word.
Tempting. Moira fought the thought of allowing the men to actually fight, to let Conn to use his new ability with magic to teach the smug witch a lesson. She cleared her throat. “I hardly think this situation needs to descend to a place of violence, gentlemen.” Unless she decided to smack their heads together, of course.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Simone tapped the three-inch heel of her boot on the tile. “I love a good battle between strong men.”
The woman was about to get a good battle between two strong women. Moira drew in air, forcing tension from her body. “We have enough battles going on right now. Our allies should probably keep from turning each other bloody.” When in the hell had she become the voice of reason? The mere thought sent irritation shafting down her spine. She was the one with the bad temper. The whole mate business was taking too much work.
Trevan narrowed his gaze. “You think we’re still allies with the Realm, Moira? From my perspective, withdrawal seems imminent.”
“That would be a bad move.” Conn leaned back, tossing a casual arm around Moira. “If you withdraw, the demons will show up immediately at your door.”
“As allies,” Simone purred.
Conn chuckled, toying with Moira’s curls across her shoulders. “If you truly believe such nonsense, you need serious help. The demons would do anything to harness your power to combine with their mind warfare. Without your consent.”
So true. The demons held a serious edge with mind invasion and fought dirty.
Moira tugged a curl free. “Conn’s right. They wouldn’t work with us; they’d exploit us in a second.”
The demons had remained neutralized for the last four hundred years because of the treaty with the Realm. The moment the agreement disintegrated, the witches would enter a new era of danger. While her people had the ability to control brain waves, or what rolled from the body in order to slightly alter perception, the demons attacked the actual minds of enemies—putting in devastating images and misfiring the neurons.
Simone crossed long legs under her tight skirt. “Your basic assumption is incorrect. We’re more powerful than the demons.” Her eyes glittered a sharp light. “We’d use them.”
Conn shifted his substantial weight. “You think you’re powerful enough to fight the Realm and the demons, Simone ?”
“Yes.” Conviction sharpened her gaze.
Moira flashed back to another family picnic where they’d competed in an archery contest. Simone’s focus had been absolute. She’d won, even over Daire and Kell.
Trevan leaned forward, his hand still on Simone’s. “Of course, we haven’t withdrawn from the Realm. So this discussion is premature. Maybe we should centralize our location and go to Ireland, considering the threats we’re dealing with.”
Conn nodded. “Good thinking. Speaking of threats, you wouldn’t know anything about this odd abyss yanking witches out of their lives, now do you?”
“Of course not,” Trevan said. “I assure you, if there’s magic involved, we’ll solve the problem.”
Conn’s smile lacked civility. “Until the mystery is solved, watch out for swirling holes trying to eat you, Demidov. I’d hate for you to disappear.”
“Right back at you, Prince.”
The doorbell rang. Simone frowned. “So much for enjoying my solitude. If a human is selling something, I’m turning him into an ass.” With a swish of her skirt, she stood and nearly stomped across the tile.
Conn slowly turned his head toward the door, a frown deepening between his eyes.
The hair on the back of Moira’s neck rose.
Simone opened the door. A gasp escaped her. She stumbled back, the color deserting her face.
In a rush of power, Conn leaped over the back of the couch, planting himself between Simone and ... a demon?
Even in the waning light, the nearly white blond of his hair shone. As tall as Conn, nearly as broad, the demon kept his hands in his pockets, his stance relaxed. Gray eyes peered past Conn. “Simone. Good to see you again.” Rough and gravelly, his voice was a sign of the distressed vocal cords of a full-breed demon.
Moira jumped to her feet. Conn held up a hand to stop her. “Stay there.”