Lothaire

He could go there now, seeking Chase.

Yet if Lothaire had these plans, then others might as well. Immortals from all over the Lore would want a piece of Declan Chase, the bogeyman who’d crept through the night, abducting scores of them and their loved ones for ghastly experiments.

But I get him first.

Especially since Lothaire would get to him first. . . .

12

“Are you an extra sentry, then?” Lothaire asked Thaddeus Brayden, one of his fellow prison escapees. The young man had been pacing outside the Valkyries’ antebellum mansion, marching in and out of the fog banks stirring from the nearby bayou.

Thaddeus twisted around, his fierce expression relaxing instantly—far from Lothaire’s customary reception. “Guess I am, Mr. Lothaire! We’re kind of under siege,” he said with a marked Texas drawl. He wore faded jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots, looking ridiculously human.

Though Thaddeus was new to the Lore, having only discovered he wasn’t mortal a month ago, the boy could be useful tonight.

“How’d you get through Val Hall’s boundary?” He gazed past Lothaire. “When no one else can?”

Lothaire smirked over his shoulder at the immortal lynch mob congregating at the front gates, kept from their vengeance by a Wiccan’s enclosure spell. It was similar—but inferior—to his own druidic barrier. Easy for me to breach.

As predicted, all those Loreans wanted revenge on Chase. What they didn’t realize was that the Blademan had been only the muscle behind the Order, had been brainwashed from the time he was a lad by the true leader —Commander Webb.

Webb, the mortal who’d taken Lothaire’s ring off the prison island, had a secret hideout.

Chase would know where it was.

Lothaire wished all the best to the bloodthirsty mob, but knew they’d never get past the boundary—much less the Valkyries’ second line of defense.

The wraiths.

Garbed in tattered red robes, those ghostly echoes of deceased female warriors swarmed the mansion in a whirlwind, a skeletal face peeking out occasionally.

The Valkyries had hired the Ancient Scourge—with their supposedly impenetrable guard—to protect the manor after a recent vampire incursion.

Hadn’t Lothaire been a part of that? Ah, yes. That was I.

“I’ve told you, Thaddeus, I have powers that others cannot begin to fathom. And you can too, paren’. Merely drink from choice prey.”

Thaddeus laughed, though Lothaire was in earnest. Ages ago, he’d consumed a sorcerer who knew how to neutralize Wiccan spells. Lothaire still remembered the taste of his blood, still remembered the unlikely ally who’d helped him seize it. . . .

Thaddeus rushed forward, hand outstretched. “In any case, it’s good to see you.”

Lothaire gave his hand a withering glare until the boy dropped it with a grin. No matter how unpleasant he was to the young immortal, Thaddeus still thought the best of him.

In their first encounter, Lothaire had been starving from his captivity and singled Thaddeus out to drink. Young, not so many memories, preferred. The boy lived only because he was part vampire.

“I guess you’re here to check on Chase, huh? I could ask the Valks if they’ll let you past the wraiths, but”—he shuffled his snakeskin boots, discomfited—“they don’t seem to care for you much.”

“I do not ask for anything—I take it. If I wanted in badly enough, even the wraiths couldn’t stop me.” Had I packed appropriately . . .

But he didn’t need to be inside, just nearby Chase.

Thaddeus raised his brows at that but knew better than to disbelieve. Lothaire’s feats on the island had mind-boggled the lad. “Chase is hanging in there—barely—but still unconscious.”

The man had been gutted with a sword. “To be expected, Thaddeus.”

“My friends call me Thad.”

The Enemy of Old conversing with a teenage football-playing Eagle Scout named Thad? A vampire/phantom halfling named Thaddeus was more palatable.

In any case . . .“We are not friends,” Lothaire said, then frowned. The words had made his throat burn, almost as if they were a lie.

How could that be? Thaddeus was everything he wasn’t: a good and decent virgin devoted to his loved ones and friends. Other than the fact that he and Thaddeus were both considered remarkably attractive—Lothaire much more so, of course—they couldn’t be more dissimilar.

“I gotta tell you, Regin’s still really pee-ohed at you for screwing all of us over.” He kicked a stone in the path.

Regin the Radiant was a warmongering Valkyrie. Along with Lothaire, Thaddeus, and eventually Chase himself, she’d been part of a group of six allying solely to escape the island, a not-so-merry band. Lothaire had saved their lives in exchange for vows from Chase.

If the Blademan lives, he’ll go into my account book.

The six had been on the run together for a week, had fought mutual enemies side by side. Until Lothaire had cut a deal with their adversaries—whom he’d ultimately dicked over as well.

“I saw a play open and took it.” In a thoughtful tone, Lothaire said, “And yet, Regin forgave Chase for all his sins against her?”

Before Chase had remembered that he’d loved her in a past life, the Blademan had followed Webb’s orders and tortured Regin, had looked her in the eyes and released an excruciating pain poison into the Valkyrie’s body.

Later he’d been wracked with guilt.

“Regin knew DC wasn’t evil, not deep down,” Thaddeus said. “She’s certain you are.”

Sanctimonious Valkyrie. Regin had probably killed thousands of Loreans over her long life. Yet she was admired for it. Lothaire? Reviled.

“I hope your blood does the trick for DC,” Thaddeus said. “If you saved his life, then they’d have to forgive you, right?”

“You are so naïve, it physically aggrieves me.” Besides, not every man survived the transformation.

Thaddeus nodded gravely. “Been hearing a lot about you, Mr. Lothaire. None of it good. I take up for you all the time, but it seems like half of these Lore folks have this really bad impression of you.”

“For accuracy’s sake, I’d put that percentage closer to ninety. And their impressions are accurate.” Lothaire had happily wronged most of them in reprehensible ways. “Taking up for me only makes you appear pitiably uninformed or willfully obtuse . . .” He trailed off, his attention already wandering toward the house. Keen to get back to my Bride.

The thought brought him up short. Why did Lothaire feel so connected to her now? Years before, he’d easily parted from her. Now, spending mere moments without her was affecting him. Blyad’!

“Regin also said your red eyes mean you’re going crazy.”

“Surely she phrased it more colorfully than that?” Regin was a loudmouthed attention whore who thought herself amusing.

Thaddeus ran his hand over the back of his neck. “She said, ‘Look at me, I’m Lothaire, I am the walrus, koo- koo-ka-choo.’ Or something like that. She told me you were gonna be even loopier than Nïx. Is that