Chapter 16

From her balcony, Caro watched Eric flag a cab and drive away. Okay, yes, emergencies happened. Okay, yes, he had been completely apologetic. Okay, yes, when he left, he had given her a kiss that had her leaning on the doorframe because her knees were weak.

Then he was gone. She wasn’t sure if she should blame the masquerada part, or the man part, but right then she kind of hated both sides of him. It was irrational, but he’d left her in such a state that reasonable thought no longer applied. Moving back into the apartment, she threw herself down on the couch. Stupid technology. She should have hurled that phone out the window.

Then she sighed and tucked her arms behind her head. Realistically, this was the best thing that could happen. Eric was not a good choice for her. She needed one of two things: to be left alone, or to meet a stable, trustworthy man she could count on. Eric was clearly not that. He was simply jaw-droppingly hot, mind-numbingly sexy, and the most intriguing man she’d ever met. Or would probably ever meet.

Well, she could sit here and mope in a sea of her own throbbing hormones or she could do some grocery shopping or an equally mundane task to provide some productive distraction. Caro glanced down at her casual seductress outfit and made a face. Better change before she left. At least put on some panties. There had been a call for afternoon rain on the news, so Caro went out to the balcony to check to see if she needed an umbrella. A dark cloud covered the western sky, but she figured she’d have enough time to get to the store and back.

As usual, a few people strolled the sidewalk and she propped her elbows on the rail, watching them for a minute to rest her mind. As she was about to go in, a figure caught her attention; a man, sauntering leisurely past her building and glancing up casually at the balconies. He was familiar, but how? Caro scowled, annoyed that this weird déjà vu was happening again. Then her blood ran cold. It was happening again because it was the same man she’d seen at the Last Temptation.

Without thinking and knowing she was overreacting, she ducked down to the floor of the balcony and crawled back into the apartment, where she sat on the floor with her back to the wall. It’s a coincidence. The restaurant where I met Estelle is walking distance from here. It’s more surprising that you haven’t seen him around more.

That man gave her the creeps. Utterly bona fide creeps that made her hair feel as though it was standing on end. Through no fault of his own, the poor guy reminded her of Iverson. He was probably some frazzled young dad trying to get a few minutes of precious alone time, she chided herself. Here you are, frightened out of your skull because of how he walks.

Maybe he was, but she couldn’t help how she felt, and right now the sight of him made her sick to her stomach.

You’re still hurting from that fall on the boardwalk. Groceries can wait. Get some rest.

Shivering, she rose to her feet and stumbled down the hall to the bedroom. She lay for a long time tucked up with her blankets to her chin, staring at the ceiling with her fingers lightly tracing the scars that lined her stomach.

* * * *

Eric arrived in the library to find Stephan pacing. “What’s going on?”

“This,” Stephan said with distaste, waving something in the air.

“What is it?” Then he squinted. “Jesus. Are you holding a scroll? Have you been down in the archives?” If they’d called him away from Caro to show him some dusty artifact, he was going to be royally pissed.

“It’s a new scroll.”

Although he knew he should be concerned—probably very concerned—about what was written on that long sheet, Eric was instead aware of a thrill of excitement. It was something new, and anything new was a weapon he could use to distract himself from his possible inability to shift. Although, with Caro, he’d completely forgotten about that great emptiness.

“Give it to me.” Eric unrolled it carefully, admiring the gorgeous calligraphy that covered the page before actually reading it. Then he read it again.

Smiled.

“Eric?”

“It’s a defie from Iverson.” He said it with relish.

Stephan, on the other hand, went still. “Are you joking? A formal challenge for the throne?”

“It is.” Eric checked over the details. “All correct. Witnessed and signed by one of his bootlickers. Dated. As the challenged one, I can choose the weapons and the venue.”

“Generous,” Stephan said drily. “Why is he doing this? That phone call the other day. Was he sounding you out?”

“He’s trying to make this authentic.” Eric continued to scan the scroll. “He wants the throne but he’s also trying to impress the old lineages. He needs to do it like this to make it legitimate.”

“Makes sense. Masquerada respect tradition, and that piece of shit worships it.” The phone rang before Stephan could continue his thought and he picked it up. “Yes? Yes, we have it.” A long pause, then Stephan tried to answer. He stopped after a single word and his lips thinned. Another long pause. Finally he nodded. “Understandable. One moment.”

Stephan muted the phone and held it out to Eric. “The Council wants to talk to you.”

“Michaela?” Eric asked absently, running his fingers along the rough paper of the scroll.

“Copies were sent to them and arrived a few minutes ago. They’re waiting for your response, and may I say, are not pleased you didn’t keep them in the loop about Iverson.”

Eric reached for the phone. “Hello, Michaela. How’s San Diego?”

“What in God’s name is going on up there, Eric?” The Councilor’s lovely rich voice was furious.

“Stephan said you got the defie. I think it’s fairly clear.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“There was nothing to tell. We’re taking care of it.”

“Have you told the other Hierarchs?”

He laughed. “When I didn’t even tell my own High Council? What do you think?”

Michaela gave an exasperated sigh. “Eric. You cannot fight him.”

“I have no choice and you know it.”

“There is always a choice. Also, how can he challenge you if he’s in jail?”

“He’s not.” Eric filled her in on what Iverson was doing in Toronto. "He got past us."

There was a brief silence as Michaela processed that. Eric glanced around the room, still holding the scroll. He liked Michaela, who was one of the most respected members of his Council and a strong ally. Over a century older than he was, she was an influential masquerada from an ancient lineage and a strategic genius. When Michaela spoke, people listened.

Eric listened now.

“Look, you know what our situation here is,” she said. “You have a split Council. We’ve been making good—actually, excellent—progress with convincing people the Law is still in our best interests. The ones who are more extreme in their views have become quieter in our discussions.”

“Keep an eye on them.” Eric threw the scroll on a chair and paced around the room, thinking. “They may have decided to cast their lots in with Iverson.”

“They’ve stopped engaging.” Michaela paused. “I thought of that as well. I’m having some inquiries made.”

“Has this been since Washington?”

“It has, yes. That wasn’t a popular judgment, Eric. Many thought it was an insult to all masquerada when Iverson went to a human prison.”

“It didn’t have to be popular. It was right.”

“I agree,” she said mildly. “But we’re now seeing the consequences. Do you have a plan?”

“Yes.” Eric didn’t elaborate.

“Good. What should I tell the rest of the Council about the challenge?”

“Tell them I’ve accepted.” Eric didn’t even hesitate. How could he? There were only two options: to fight himself, or get a defien, someone to stand in his stead. Denying the challenge wasn’t even a possibility—to do so meant forfeiting all rights to rule.

He ended the call and turned to see Stephan sink to one knee on the floor, a ceremonial gesture that Eric hadn’t seen since his lieutenant’s vow of allegiance those many years ago. “Sire. He’s not worth it. I offer myself as defien.”

Eric walked over quickly and put his hands on Stephan’s shoulders. “You honor me.”

“Then allow me to do this.”

Eric’s chest constricted. “I can’t.”

“Eric.”

“No, Stephan. Thank you, but no.”

Stephan came to his feet, looking resigned. “It was worth a try. You might have said yes. How will you fight?”

“Good question.” Eric pondered. There weren’t many choices for a defie, only knives, swords, staves, or hand-to-hand combat. No masquing was allowed during the battle. The form chosen before the battle was the form one was committed to. He looked down at his hands, which had suddenly turned cold. If he couldn’t get past this mental block against masquing, he would have to fight as himself. Iverson would no doubt pick some seven-foot giant.

That would be a problem.

Tom burst into the room. “Is it true?” He caught sight of the unrolled scroll on the chair and frowned, his face enraged. “That rat.”

Eric tried not to laugh at Tom’s old-fashioned phrase. “Rat or not, he has a right to challenge me and he has.”

Tom, too, sank to his knee. “Sire. As your security chief, it’s my duty to protect you. I will be your defien.”

“This is my fight, Tom. Thank you.” Eric’s heart constricted at their loyalty, but he couldn’t let anyone do this for him. It was his responsibility, and only his.

“Yes, sire. The offer stands. Always.” Tom rose to his feet and all three men regarded the scroll.

“I don’t like this timing,” Tom finally said. “The challenge has to occur within a week of the defie being issued. He must know that we’re planning to move against him. He’s trying to protect his power base.”

“Analysis?” Eric pulled down a map of North America, shaded for the density of the masquerada population and crosshatched for loyalty.

“We’re going to have to plan creatively.” Tom didn’t look happy. “His forces are now close to ours in strength, and they’re riled up with their xenophobia. It’s going to be a hard fight.”

Eric wasn’t surprised, having long ago accepted that life enjoyed fucking him over more than it enjoyed giving him pleasant times. “We’re going ahead with the push,” he said firmly. “No matter what. Contract our schedule to time it for the challenge. They’ll be distracted. A small advantage, but an advantage.”

“Understood.” Tom and Stephan sounded like a chorus of linebackers.

There was a long silence. “I think swords,” Tom said thoughtfully. “If you were considering your weapon.”

The next half hour was spent in a technical discussion of the pros and cons of the various weapons before agreeing swords were in fact Eric’s best chance if he wanted to win. He’d told them that he was planning to fight as he was—positioning it as a statement of power even as he hid the weakness it was. They’d argued, then reluctantly agreed.

Tom put away the notes he had taken on possible strategies. “You’re certain that you will not shift?”

Eric hid the shudder that seemed to come from his soul at the thought of facing that diamond wall. There was no way he could tell them that, so he said, “Yes. It will show confidence.”

“If you were masqued, I’d have no doubt you’d pound that bastard with any weapon,” Tom said. “Since you’re not planning to be, you need something with reach and speed.” He thought to himself and nodded. “Yeah, definitely swords.”

Stephan didn’t look happy. “Tom and I will research some old fighting techniques that might surprise Iverson.”

Eric was hugely relieved that neither seemed to suspect his real reason for not masquing. He couldn’t tell them he couldn’t manage to even keep a masque in his mind without feeling the dread of that diamond wall. No one could know, ever.

He messed with his hair to unobtrusively wipe the sweat off from where it had broken out along his hairline. “Sounds good.”

The venue was a given. Although Eric was free to move it, challenges to the Hierarch were traditionally held in the throne room. Stephan called Cynthia and asked her to work with the Council team to have it cleaned and prepared. Eric heard her grumble something uncomplimentary about Iverson through the phone.

“Better move out the furniture,” Tom added practically. “You don’t want it to look crowded. Too distracting.”

“Right.” Stephan relayed that to Cynthia.

Tom glanced at his watch. “I want you down in the training room in one hour,” he said. “I’ll get the swords. It’s not too early to start practicing.”

Exercise would be a release. Eric listened as the others lingered to confirm some operational details. I wish Caro were here. The thought floored him. He hadn’t wished for a woman companion in decades. Perhaps centuries. It had been enough for him to have his staff and friends, and the occasional bedmate. But Caro? He wanted to be with her, to be soothed by her golden presence. Not to mention that she’d probably have some good ideas. Her quick intelligence was incredibly alluring.

At the window, he paused to gaze out. Small signs of Tom’s increased security screamed out at him. Most of the alternative exits were shut down, leaving only one heavily guarded back door for emergency escapes. One of the snipers, probably Mai, would be on the roof opposite, although he knew he wouldn’t be able to see even a glint of sunlight on her sights. She was as close to invisible as she could be. The office in the warehouse would be locked. He wondered grimly if he should do a headcount of all his staff.

Jesus, what if they knew about Caro? His blood ran cold. “Tom.”

“Yeah?”

“Send Kylie and Amit to scout around Caro’s place. They’re not to notify her or interfere. I want to know if they see any of Iverson’s people around there.”

Tom didn’t change expression. “Got it. I’ll have them make a few stops in case they’re being followed.”

“Good.” It was the best he could do without panicking her. It was doubtful Iverson would do anything. He paused. If he thought it, Iverson was capable of it. “Wait, better have them set up there until further notice. I ran into Caro near the lake today and took her home. Iverson may have had someone watching.”

“You shouldn’t go out without an escort.” Tom’s voice was exasperated. “Not with Iverson in the city, and especially with her.”

“Why not Caro?” Eric didn’t bother to address the escort comment. He wasn’t a child, to be held by the hand wherever he went.

“I don’t trust her,” Tom said bluntly.

“No?”

“She lied about being a masquerada. I can’t find out anything about her past.”

“Both of which can be attributed to her liking her privacy.”

“Perhaps.” Tom sounded unconvinced. “It doesn’t matter. We’re in a war and she’s now part of it. I’m going to find out eventually.”

“Don’t waste your time chasing shadows,” Eric warned. “I also want you to stress to your teams that she is not, and I repeat not, to be harmed or frightened in any way.”

“Yes, sire.” Tom left the room, already punching numbers into his cell.

Stephan looked thoughtful. “Tom has good instincts.”

“So do I. Caro is fine. We are not to put her in danger.”

“It might be better to move her here,” Stephan suggested.

Eric pictured the discussion. Hey Caro, a masquerada psychopath wants to take over the throne, which means killing me. By the way, he might want to kill you while he’s at it. No biggie. Want to come over and stay, say, indefinitely? He was sure she wasn’t going to be whistling while she packed her overnight bag. “Not until we have some confirmation that he even knows about her. If we move her, he’ll know for sure.”

This wasn’t her fight, and damned if he would let Iverson interfere with a hair on her head.