Emma stared at him. He expected her to reject the idea outright. She could tell by the careful way he’d suggested it, by the way he was looking at her right now, waiting for her to blow up at him. But she didn’t. She hated herself for it, but she seriously considered letting him take the whole thing away—the misplaced guilt, the fear that there was something wrong with her that she could kill a man in cold blood like that, even if he did deserve it.
“I might take you up on that someday,” she said finally. “But not yet.”
Duncan smiled in relief, his eyes going that warm brown that made him appear so human. “Whenever you’re ready.”
His phone rang, which was unexpected. It was Sunday evening and he’d decided that Sundays would be theirs alone. Miguel and the others had been told not to bother him unless it was something urgent. Emma frowned, but Duncan grinned, then leaned over and picked up his cell phone without even checking caller ID.
“Sire,” he said, his tone a mixture of warmth and respect. “We are well,” he continued, obviously answering the caller’s query. “No permanent house yet, but that’s coming along. And everyone there?” He laughed, his body language relaxed and easy. Emma rarely saw Duncan like that, except with her.
“So soon?” he asked now. “Well, that’s true enough.” He listened a while longer, then said, “She’ll be coming with me.” He laughed again and added, “It should be interesting.”
Emma eyed him narrowly, since clearly he was now talking about her. And what would be so damn interesting?
“I look forward to it, Sire. Until then.”
He disconnected and threw the phone back onto the table.
“What was that about?” she demanded.
“That was Raphael.”
She already knew that. There was only one person Duncan called by the honorific Sire, because there was only one Sire, for Duncan anyway. “I know that,” she told him. “What was he calling about?” And what was so damned funny? she wanted to add, but didn’t.
“There’s a Vampire Council meeting in two weeks,” Duncan said, giving her a brilliant smile. “We’re going to California.”
Epilogue
Lucas Donlon, Vampire Lord, ruler of a slice of North America that the vampires called the Plains Territory, scanned the conference room from behind his sunglasses. He didn’t need the glasses. Their host for this meeting was Raphael, and unlike that lunatic Krystof, who’d hosted the last meeting of North America’s Vampire Council, Raphael would never have anything as gauche as fluorescent lighting in his conference room. But Lucas kept the glasses on anyway. It made it easier to keep his thoughts to himself, among other things. There were too many nosey vamps among his fellow vampire lords, and since they’d all sworn off dipping into each other’s minds, they were reduced to looking for visual clues. What a laugh riot that was.
And what a cheery group they were, too. Eight vampires ranged around a conference table that could easily have seated four times that many, because they didn’t trust one another enough to sit any closer. Or maybe it was that they had no desire to get any closer. They met once a year to discuss matters of mutual interest, but they were hardly friends. Actually, they weren’t friends at all. Lucas himself counted only one of those seated at this table as a friend, and that was Duncan. Some of the others were friendly antagonists, while one was an avowed enemy, and two were so new to the Council that Lucas had no opinion. Rajmund he at least knew from the vamp’s long service as lieutenant to the finally dead Krystof—now there was a vampire who’d needed to be put down. But the newest member of their august circle, Sophia, he’d never even heard of until she popped up as Lord of the Canadian Territories. Not that he gave a damn either way. As long as she kept to her borders, he’d keep to his.
“Your vote, Lucas?” Raphael’s deep voice interrupted Lucas’s contemplation of his fellow lords. Lucas didn’t move from his slouched position at the oval table. He shifted his gaze to Raphael and lowered his glasses enough to look over them.
“Affirmative,” he said flatly, then raised the glasses to cover his eyes once again. Gods willing, the others would vote the same way and they could all get the hell out of here. Not that Malibu was a bad place to be. He just didn’t like the company much.
It seemed to take forever, and he had to endure, or ignore, more than one boring speech, but eventually the others all voted to affirm Duncan as Lord of the Capital Territory. It was the only territory that required such a vote, and only because of the unique demands imposed on its lord. They’d all agreed to the condition about a century ago, even Victor who’d laughed at the time, assuming it would never become an issue. Arrogant ass that he was, he’d never understood that he was the issue. The rest of them had been waiting ever since then for someone to take that bastard out. Thank God it had finally happened, and thank God it was Duncan who’d done it. Lucas didn’t think anyone else could have gotten approval from the full council.
“The resolution passes,” Raphael said, stating the obvious. He stood almost immediately, seeming as eager as the rest of them to get the meeting over with. Probably more so, since it was his home that had been invaded by the lords and their security details.
Lucas unfolded himself from the chair, pushing it back from the table with the same motion. He waited while the others hurried out the door, a few stopping to congratulate Duncan, including Raj, who paused long enough to shake hands. Raj and Duncan had been lieutenants to their respective lords a very long time. Lucas supposed that created a certain familiarity with one another. And their territories shared a border, so it couldn’t hurt that they were at least friendly. Of course, his own friendship with Duncan went back much further than that.
Raphael was the last to leave, his black eyes holding Lucas’s gaze for a long moment despite the glasses until, finally, he murmured something to Duncan and disappeared between the big double doors. Duncan grinned at Lucas as he made his way around the table.
“Duncan,” Lucas said warmly. “Congratulations.”
Duncan shook the proffered hand. “You can take the damn glasses off now.”
Lucas laughed and slipped the unnecessary glasses into the pocket of his suit jacket. “I only wear them to piss off Raphael. Somebody’s gotta keep the big guy humble.”
“Too late, my friend. That ship sailed long ago.”
“Yeah, well, I do what I can. You leaving right away?”
“Tomorrow. We’ll spend the night, but there’s too much to do back in D.C. to remain any longer.”
“We, is it? I’d heard you found yourself a honey back there.”
“I could as easily have been referring to Miguel and Louis,” Duncan said mildly.
“But you weren’t. It’s all in the we, my friend. So, is she a sweet, old-fashioned Southern girl then? Someone to rub your feet and wash your socks?”
Duncan laughed. “Hardly, though Emma is Southern—and sweet when she chooses. She’s around somewhere. Drinking wine with Raphael’s mate Cynthia, I believe, though I should probably track her down. One shudders to think what trouble those two could get into.”
Lucas accepted Duncan’s statement for what it was—a polite way of acknowledging that he knew Raphael was waiting to meet with Lucas. Duncan had been Raphael’s lieutenant and confidante for almost a hundred and fifty years, and while his assumption of the Capital lordship took him away from Raphael’s day-to-day operations, it changed nothing about their friendship. Just as Duncan’s new lordship changed nothing about the friendship he shared with Lucas.
They walked out together, going their separate ways after shaking hands once more and promising to stay in touch. Duncan turned for the stairs, while Lucas started down the long hallway, heading for Raphael’s office in the other wing. He’d left his security downstairs, not wanting any more witnesses than necessary to this meeting. He trusted his people, for the most part, but he was in no danger from anyone within Raphael’s estate, so there was no reason to take a chance.
The black, carved doors opened upon his approach, and he considered putting the sunglasses back on. He discarded the idea almost immediately, however. They had business to discuss, and Raphael had never appreciated Lucas’s irreverent approach to serious matters.
Raphael looked up from behind his desk as Lucas strolled into the room. The doors closed right behind him with a whoosh of air, barely clearing his ass. Lucas grinned briefly, but approached the desk and gave a sincerely respectful bow from the waist.
“Sire,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me.”
Raphael studied him for a suspicious moment, then gestured at the two comfortable chairs in front of the desk. “Sit down, Lucas. Where are your sunglasses?”
Lucas laughed then. “Duncan told me not to wear them.”
Raphael permitted a smile to edge around his mouth. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“It’s Klemens,” Lucas said referring to the Midwestern Vampire Lord who’d been glaring at him across the table moments before. “He’s pecking away at my eastern border. I held off until Duncan was confirmed, because you asked me, too, and because it was something we both wanted. But I can’t put up with it any longer. My own people are starting to doubt that I have the will to hold on to my territory.”
“Son of a bitch,” Raphael swore. “What does he want?”
Lucas shrugged. “I suspect he wants my entire Plains territory to combine with his own. It’s always ground at him that yours is bigger than his.” He punctuated this statement with an irreverent wink, which Raphael ignored. “He’ll settle for anything he can chip off, though,” Lucas continued. “And I won’t let that happen.”
“No,” Raphael agreed. “So, what will you do?”
“Nothing until after next week.”
“Why next week?”
