Father’s gaze assessed me, but I didn’t feel judged. He simply wanted to know how damaged I was, and who was to blame.
“Tell me,” he repeated.
I heaved a breath. “I will. But first, how’s Mom? She in New York?”
“She was.” His dark eyes warmed like they always did at the mention of my mother. “She left for Baltimore earlier tonight.”
“She’s okay? She’s not worried about me? Or Rafe?”
“She’s fine. I told her you’d decided to extend your stay in Syria for a few weeks. She was disappointed, but she understood. And we told her that Rafe was away on syndicate business.”
“Good.” I swallowed thickly. “That’s good.”
My mom was all right. My brothers were all right.
And my faith in my father had been justified.
“Okay. So…” I looked up and to the right, not sure where to begin.
“Start in Paris,” he suggested. “We lost you after you reached Charles de Gaulle. I flew to Paris a few hours after I received the photo, but by then the trail had gone cold. I didn’t track you down until that weekend, and I suspect that was only because Moreau wanted me to find you.”
“He did,” Ridley confirmed.
“Okay,” I said again, and launched into the story, glossing over Ridley’s role in it—no sense in stirring up trouble—except the parts where she’d snuck me food and blood-wine, and later, how she’d let me drink her own blood when I was dying of silver poisoning.
Father turned that assessing stare on her.
My vampire stirred. Hopefully, her actions after I’d been kidnapped would tip the balance in her favor. If not, I’d make him accept her. The two of us were a package deal.
Father looked at me again. I held his gaze, making it clear that to get to her, he’d have to go through me first.
He gave a small nod, and I continued talking.
I’d reached the part where Moreau’s people had told me Father had been in Paris but had left without attempting to free me. I spoke calmly, but my anger must’ve been evident because he pressed his lips together.
“I couldn’t,” he said. “I had to let it play out. I wasn’t sure where Leo de Froulay stood in all this.”
“So this wasn’t one of your fucking tests?”
“No.” He looked at me like I had my head up my ass. “I had to let them show their hand. And by the time I was ready to make a move, you’d left Moreau’s lair.”
Behind me, Ridley stirred. “I can tell you that de Froulay had nothing to do with Zaq’s kidnapping. In fact, he hired me to spy on Moreau because he suspected something was up.”
“Ah,” said my dad. “That’s what I believed, but I wasn’t sure, especially when I almost got caught in Philippe’s trap.”
I looked at him, dumbfounded. “The sonuvabitch tried to trap you?”
“The second time I was in Paris, yes.” He gave a small, cool smile. “The men he sent are in their final graves.”
“Moreau wanted you to try and rescue Zaq,” said Ridley. “You would’ve been accused of entering his lair without permission.”
“That’s what I suspected,” Father said. “Philippe thinks he is so clever, but he’s wrong. In fact, he’s distressingly predictable.” He looked back at me. “I’m sorry, Zaquiel. I took too long, and then it was too late.”
I gulped. My father never apologized. Ever.
Ridley moved restively. “He almost died.”
Father exhaled. “I had faulty intel that sent me back to America. I was told that you’d escaped and were on your way back to New York. I returned to Paris as soon as I realized you must still be there, but by then, you’d left Moreau’s lair and the trail had gone cold. I had people watching for you at the airports, but they missed you.”
“Because I didn’t want them to see me,” I admitted.
“I’m sorry you didn’t trust me.” His tone was even, but I heard an undercurrent of hurt that stunned me. My father had always seemed too cold, too remote, to be hurt by anything I did.
I looked away. I hadn’t considered how Father would feel if he were innocent.
“I’m sorry, too. So fucking sorry.” I met his eyes so he’d see my sincerity. “But I couldn’t take the chance. Not with Gabriel and Rafe’s lives on the line.”
“We didn’t give him a choice,” said Ridley. “If he would’ve refused, he would’ve died in Moreau’s dungeon—or been sold as a blood slave. And after they captured Rafael, they threatened to sell him as a blood slave if Zaq didn’t slay you.”
Father inclined his head. “You made the right choice,” he told me. “If you’d come to me, I would’ve told you to protect them.”
“I pushed Zaq,” Ridley said. Taking all the blame on herself because that’s the kind of woman she was. “He refused to believe you were trying to kill him and his brothers. I don’t know where the story of the coup came from, though. That wasn’t SI.” She paused. “As far as I know, anyway.”
“I see,” Father said.
I turned on the couch so I could see her. “What she’s not saying is everything she did for me. In Paris, she hid me to give me time to recover. She even fed me her own blood when I was out of my mind with silver poisoning. And here in New York, she did everything she could to save me from SI.”
“Is this true?” Father asked her.
She nodded. “If Zaq didn’t stake you, my orders were to stake him. But if he did, not just his life would be saved, SI would call off the attacks on Gabriel and Rafael, too.”
“I see,” he said.
“But when it came down to it,” I added, “she couldn’t stake me. She helped me get away from her alpha.”
Ridley shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable, and changed the subject. “This faulty intel. Was it from Lieutenant Mraz?”
Father gave a heavy sigh. “You know?”
“So it’s the truth?” I asked. “He was working with SI to slay us?”
Father dipped his chin. “He said as much before he went to his final grave. He apparently disagreed with my decision to make you my heirs and prepare Gabriel to rule the syndicate after me. He learned his mistake.”
I shook my head. Tomas had always been there, my father’s friend and advisor. Yeah, he wasn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy guy, but it was hard to wrap my mind around the idea that he’d wanted me and my brothers dead.
“Hopefully,” Father added, “that is the end of this nonsense. The slayers, of course, are another story.”
Ridley’s spine went ramrod straight. Dislike emanated from her. Dislike, and fear.
Father returned her scrutiny with the air of a scientist studying a particularly interesting insect.
I didn’t like knowing Ridley was afraid. She could dislike my dad—Lord knows she wouldn’t be the only one—but I wanted her to feel safe. And I wanted him to accept her.
Before it turned into a staring match, I rose and asked my father if he’d like a glass of wine.
He took his gaze from Ridley to accept. “I would, thank you.”
“I’ll be right back.” I went into the kitchen, Ridley on my heels.
While I opened the bottle, she shifted her blades to one hand, and with the other got three glasses from the cabinet. The whole time she kept a wary eye on my dad, who stared into the unlit fireplace, his profile to us.
“Put those blades away, would you?” I muttered. “This is a negotiation; he wouldn’t be here otherwise. He would’ve sent men to drag us to headquarters.”
She glanced at my dad. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said as I filled the glasses. “He came alone, didn’t he?”
She grunted, but retracted the switchblades and returned them to her pockets.
Back in the living room, Father came to his feet and accepted the glass I held out to him. His eyes warmed.
“Welcome home, Zaquiel,” he said, touching the glass to mine.
I smiled back. “Thank you, sir. It’s good to be here.”
Then it was Ridley’s turn. He raised his glass to her, unsmiling. “And welcome to New York, Miss Crawford.”
She stilled in the act of touching her glass to his. Dismay flickered across her face. “How do you know my name?” She glanced at me.
I shook my head; I hadn’t told him.
“You kidnapped my son,” was his reply. “Did you think I wouldn’t do everything I could to find out exactly who you were?”
Ridley took a small sip of her wine and set the glass down. She lifted her chin. “So now what?”
“That depends,” he said. “I’d like some answers first, starting with everything you know about this plan to kill me and my sons. But first, sit.”
Ridley looked at me. I gave her a small nod, and this time, she sat next to me on the couch. I took her hand, underlining that despite having kidnapped me, she’d earned my loyalty and trust.
Her fingers were cold. I curled my hand around them, trying to warm them.
Father noticed, of course. But he didn’t say anything, simply retook his seat. He leaned back in the leather chair, eyeing Ridley. A trick he used to make underlings uncomfortable.
Ridley eyed him back. Nothing betrayed that she was nervous or upset—not her heart rate nor her breath nor even her expression.
But I knew she was. Even if I hadn’t been able to feel it through our link, I’d have known. The more emotionless Ridley Crawford got, the more she was feeling.
I wanted to pull her into my arms, but I settled for squeezing her hand.
Father arched a brow. “Talk, slayer.”
All the fight went out of her. Her shoulders slumped. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a slayer. Not anymore.”
Father frowned. “So you’re not the Reaper?”
“No, that much is true. I was known as Reaper. It’s because I’m a rogue.” Her voice was toneless, but I felt the pain underlying her statement.
“Because of me,” I inserted. “She wouldn’t give me up to her alpha. Two nights ago, her alpha took her off the operation and demanded to know where I was. But Ridley wouldn’t tell her.”
Father pursed his lips. “Indeed.”
Ridley took a deep breath, let it out.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” she told me. She looked at my dad and seemed to come to a decision. “I don’t know the whole of it,” she said, “but SI has declared war on you. The plan is to take out you and your sons. It’s called Operation Angel. Op A, for short. You know a slayer was sent after Gabriel.”
Father nodded, and Ridley continued, explaining that the plan had been to slay Gabriel and Rafe while kidnapping me. I would’ve been staked eventually, but first, I was to be used as bait.
“At first all we intended was to use Zaq to draw you out of New York. The end game was always to get to you. Even in Paris, the only reason they let Zaq go was because I convinced them it was the smartest way to get to you.”
“I see.” Father steepled his fingers and brought them to his mouth. “I can’t say I’m surprised. This is why the syndicates need an ally on SI’s Board. SI has changed from the early days. The work you slayers do is necessary—the vampire world can’t always be trusted to police itself—but there are some bad actors using SI for their own ends, like Prima Victorine and my own lieutenant.”
“I’m afraid you may be right.” Ridley rolled in her lips like it pained her to admit it. “I believe in what we do. But this vendetta against your family—it’s personal. And it’s wrong.”
Father tapped his steepled fingers against his lips. “You will tell your story to my allies? Verify that this Operation Angel was implemented to take out me and my sons?”
Ridley’s eyelids fluttered. She slid her free hand into her pocket, and I knew she was fingering a switchblade.
My father tensed and brought his hands back down. I gave a little shake of my head and he settled back.
My heart hurt for her. I released her hand so I could rub her lower back.
She might be a rogue, but she was still about to betray the organization that had given her a home, a purpose, a reason for living. SI wasn’t a job to her; it was her surrogate family.
“Tell me something first,” she said. “In fact, I want your word on it. The only thing you’ve requested is a voice on SI’s Board, is that right? You’re not spreading lies about us and demanding the organization be dismantled.”
My father looked taken aback. “No. Absolutely not. As I said, the vampire world needs you slayers. I agreed to that back when SI was first incorporated.”
“I see.” Pain flashed across Ridley’s face. She took her hand from her pocket. Released a noisy breath. “Then yes,” she said. “I will tell your allies everything I know about Op A.”