“In that case, we appreciate the offer.”
“Do we have to ride in that orange disaster?” Damien asked.
“I call it the Orangesplosion,” I told him.
His lip curled with distaste.
“It’s a good vehicle,” Gabriel said. “And now it’s got four inflated tires.”
I gave him a wide grin. “You’re really handy in vampire cult and ancient feud tire emergencies.”
“It’s a narrow field,” Gabriel said, rising from his stool and towering over me. “But an important one. And watch the flirting. Ethan’s right there.”
“No worries,” Ethan said, without a hint of irony. “I’ve ruined her for other men.”
Given the fire in his eyes, I had no plans to test that theory.
***
Ethan took the wheel of Orangesplosion, and I took the passenger seat. Damien folded his long frame into the backseat.
“How’s Boo?” I asked, when we climbed into the car.
Boo Garza was Damien’s pet, a kitten he’d saved during a previous magical misadventure.
“He’s good,” Damien said, grabbing the vehicle’s grip handle as we bumped from driveway to road, and bracing his other hand against the ceiling to keep his head from smashing against it. “Smart. Opinionated. Cute as hell.”
“And how’s Emma?”
Emma was Tanya Keene’s younger sister, a lovely brunette who obviously had eyes for Damien. I didn’t know either Damien or Emma very well, but the few moments I’d seen them together hinted at something sweet and growing between them.
Really, Sentinel? Ethan asked, his grin mismatched against intense eyes focused on keeping Orangesplosion on the road in the pitch-black night. Is this the most appropriate venue to quiz the man on his relationship?
You just told a house full of shifters that you’d ‘ruined me for other men.’ The bar’s pretty low. Also, I was nosey.
“She’s got a boyfriend,” Damien said. “He keeps her pretty busy.”
I was glad he was in the backseat and couldn’t see my reaction to that answer. I’d seen Emma’s eyes when she watched Damien. There was more than casual interest there. Lust would have been understandable, but it wasn’t just that. There was respect. Awe. Appreciation. Love, maybe, or at least the beginnings of it, and I’d seen reciprocal emotions in Damien’s eyes. I couldn’t imagine she’d have taken on anyone else.
“Huh,” was all I could think to say. “And will I get in trouble if I say she’s being dumb?”
A corner of his mouth lifted, but only slightly, and he kept his gaze on the road through the side window. “Probably.”
“Can I sit her down and give her a talking-to?”
His smile widened, with something a little bit bashful at the edges. “No.”
I humphed but turned back to the front again. “All right. But you decide you’re ready for that heart-to-heart, and I’m all over it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
***
Orangesplosion may have had new tires, but that didn’t make the drive any smoother over the pitted gravel road. Fortunately, the Clan wasn’t far from Ravenswood. I bounced in the seat for ten minutes before we pulled onto a long, paved road that curved through a stand of pole-straight pine trees stretching into the dark sky. We emerged into a flat clearing empty of trees but littered with residual pine needles.
The clearing held an enormous building in two parts—a circular component, the outside covered in curved wooden planks, and a straight component made of stone that intersected the circle like a spear.
The wood and stone were heavy and dark, the few pops of color all oranges and ochres. It had a 1970s feel and a UFO vibe.
“Interesting architecture,” Ethan said, pulling the car to a stop. We climbed out, took a moment to look over the building, the surroundings.
“Thoughts?” Damien asked, hands on his hips as he surveyed the property with a careful eye.
“I don’t know much about them,” Ethan said, “so they’re hard to handicap. I suspect Vincent controls them, emotionally or otherwise. They’re vampires, so they’ll act accordingly.”
“With strategy and manipulation?”
I bit back a snicker, but even Ethan didn’t disagree. “All things considered, yes.”
We walked together to the portico situated in the junction between the compound’s circular and linear buildings.
Astrid opened the door before we reached it, her lean body draped in tented linen that flowed to her ankles. She smiled, opened her mouth to greet us, and then caught sight of Damien. Her eyes silvered immediately, and she bared her fangs and hissed.
Damien, unflappable, watched the reaction with flat eyes.
“Astrid Marchand,” Ethan said calmly, “meet Damien Garza, a member of the North American Central Pack. He is here on behalf of Gabriel Keene, the Pack Apex, as an emissary of diplomacy.”
Astrid, one hand on the doorjamb, was obviously flustered and not entirely sure she should allow a shifter over her threshold. She paused, eyes fixed on Damien for a silent moment, probably seeking permission from Vincent to let us in.
“Come in,” she finally said, and stepped back.
“Emissary of diplomacy?” Damien murmured as we stepped inside.
“It got us in the door,” Ethan pointed out.
The retreat’s interior was as unique as the exterior. The first room, a large foyer, had a Spanish tile floor, paneled walls in alternating shades of avocado green, orange, butter yellow. The walls bowed in front of us, the sides disappearing from view into hallways to other parts of the building. The rectangular portion of the building was a long lobby space, dotted with potted trees and backless leather benches in primary shapes. A circle and triangle here, a circle and square there.