Bastian GP Read online

  A blond goliath sat by a female in a severe bun. Bastian chose the chair next to the female.

  Brimstone tainted her scent. Was she the one bonded to a demon?

  Why didn’t that question worry him?

  Because the competence and dedication of this group was apparent. So why all the secrets? They’d won Bastian over within minutes; they’d have no trouble earning the trust of the common vampire population.

  Or did they keep their silence because they were all primes and tended to cater to primes? Or because the primes were causing the immediate danger?

  Too many questions, and as far as the threat to Antonia, the answers weren’t critical.

  He glanced at Ophelia, but she was scrolling through her phone, ignoring him. That stung. The others clocked his movements. If he twitched wrong, he might find a stake within an inch of his heart. That was one weapon they hadn’t loaned him, and he’d left the rest behind.

  Truth was, he didn’t want to put the silver platter down. It was his comfort zone. Not a nine mil.

  Demetrius broke the silence. “Bastian Dean. You’ve worked for the Gastons for thirty-two years?”

  Bastian nodded. “I started in the kitchen, but as everyone quit, I worked my way to butler. Eventually, it was just me doing everything.”

  “What prompted you to turn on them?”

  After the events of the last forty-eight hours, they questioned his loyalty? It was logical, but his pride burned. “Antonia was in danger and her parents were the reason for it.”

  “Why are you two so close?” Demetrius’s gaze didn’t waver. It was like he’d come late to the game and was making up for lost time. As if there was a reason to doubt Ophelia’s opinion. Did they smell him on her?

  Bastian looked at each one of them. Even Ophelia. She’d finally set her phone down to pay attention to the meeting. Or was it an interrogation?

  He folded his hands on the table. He wasn’t going to participate, not like this. “Have I done something to cast suspicion upon myself?”

  Ophelia mimicked his move. “You’ve adapted surprisingly well. You and Antonia arrived, bloodied and frantic. You claim to have been a servant for decades, yet you don our gear and investigate like a pro. And the club? You blended so well among the rich and influential that I had a hard time distinguishing between you and any other in there myself.”

  Ouch. “And that means what?”

  The others didn’t twitch as Demetrius explained. “It means that we’ve talked to Antonia. Her story corroborates yours, but that’s as far as we’re going with a teenager. You have us looking for an unknown male who may work in a prime household and is collaborating with the underworld, presumably through his employers, because demons need the strength of prime blood.”

  “Seems to describe you,” the one with the bun murmured. “And it got you into the compound. It got you sharing our knowledge and resources, things members of the underworld would do more than kill for.”

  They thought he’d used Antonia to worm his way onto Demetrius’s team? No, he would not let them test his temper. He hadn’t been raised to fly off the handle. If he were prone to tantrums, he wouldn’t have lasted five minutes working for the Gastons.

  “I turned fifty last spring,” he said. “Are any of you younger than me?”

  They stared at him. Ophelia dropped her gaze. Was this making her uncomfortable, when she was likely the instigator? Had their encounter only roused her suspicion?

  “Well,” he continued, “if you’re younger than me, then perhaps what I say will make sense. If not, try to keep up.” That comment raised a few brows.

  You can take the boy out of the sticks, but you can’t take the redneck out of the boy.

  “I was raised in a two-bedroom cabin. Sizeable for your day and age—assuming you’re older, but then all of you were probably raised in mansions. My home isn’t far from here, actually. If you don’t believe me, I can take you there.”

  He waited. They all faced him, their hands folded on the table or their arms crossed. None of them spoke.

  “Why does that matter, you ask? Because my parents weren’t born during the days when they raised the next generation of servants. My great-grandparents worked for a house, but my grandparents chose a different path. In those days, work in houses was hard to come by. In my parents’ day, there were more opportunities.

  “Because my formative years were during the 1970s and 80s, I grew up…freer than others of my kind. We hunted and fished. My father ran a primitive campground, where he rarely had to be present. It was a rustic setup, no RVs, tent camping only. Campers registered by dropping an envelope in a box and called if they needed further assistance. He could do his paperwork in the evening, and he hired out if the campers had an urgent matter.” Bastian’s lips quirked. “Lucrative, it was not.”

  He fell quiet. The story waited while he wrestled with his nostalgia. How many years had passed? And yet he missed that life terribly. Missed his parents with a gut-wrenching sorrow. Demetrius’s team thought his adaptability was honed to deceive them, but it was really to keep his mind from visiting the past and all it’d taken from him.

  “I was a little older than Antonia when one night, lightning hit within the campground. It’d been a dry summer. Nothing but tinder surrounded tents and campers. My parents rushed to the rescue and…” His throat constricted. He couldn’t get the words out. They’d figure out the rest. Vampires and fire always ended in tragedy.

  The silence of earlier was surpassed by the tomb-like quality of the room now.

  “The lawyers arrived shortly after. I cleared out of the cabin and it was like my family never existed. So when you say I’m adaptable, yes. Life has thrown a few changes my way.”

  “How did you end up with the Gastons?” Demetrius asked.

  “I roamed the streets for a solid year before I tried to gain employment with a house. I lived in the shadows and watched others. I did what they did, listened to their speech. Getting hired by the Gastons wasn’t difficult. Truthfully, neither was staying. I had no other life but serving them and they preferred it that way.”

  “I can’t envision the Gastons tolerating your interference with their daughter.” Demetrius spoke plainly. He was prime. A nanny was acceptable, expected even, but a male servant who took out the garbage, rocking their child to sleep? Not acceptable.

  “They ran off all their nannies. When I stepped in and saved them the trouble of dealing with more help, they didn’t flinch. Since they parented by absentia, I don’t think they realized how much influence I had in Antonia’s life.”

  “Which only made her expendable to them,” Ophelia pointed out. “You took care of her and they never knew they had to.”

  Again, ouch. He thought about it for a minute. “Perhaps. I meant to save her from the poor example of her parentage, but I couldn’t spare her from their greed.” Once the Gastons had found a use for her, had they even paused before agreeing to it?

  He dragged in a heavy breath. Could he have done more?

  Demetrius snorted. “If you hadn’t, she would’ve been plotting to turn over one of her friends or willing to bond on her own. I haven’t dealt with her for decades, but Madame Gaston was a vain and insecure female. My own parents banned her and the master from house parties years ago.”

  Bastian chuckled. “It did not go unnoticed, I assure you.”

  “All right.” Demetrius glanced around the table. The tension had eased greatly. “We’ll have to verify your story, of course. But you’re welcome to continue staying here with Antonia until we find the demon targeting her, and until you find a new place to stay.”

  “I’m not…” He couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

  “No,” Demetrius said firmly. “It’s the duty of my team.”

  “But the rest of the vampire population is unaware of you or your team.” Well, they were plenty aware that Demetrius had overturned their former government and sat on
the new Synod. What wasn’t general knowledge was the “team” and their “duty.”

  “It’s best that way,” Demetrius replied.

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  A couple of sharp inhales echoed around the room, but Bastian wasn’t going to back down.

  The dark-haired one by Ophelia spoke. “We’re not all primes on this team.”

  “Just you then?” Bastian asked, and a muscle twitched under the male’s right eye. “Demons, I suppose, don’t have prime classifications?” He hated calling on the arrogance he’d worked around every day for so many years, but it matched the tone of the others in this room.

  “They have something like it,” Demetrius said. “And they are experiencing the same growing pains we are, trying to enfranchise the populations.”

  “Ah, but does the entire underworld know of this? Or is it only the ones losing the power and lashing out about it that are aware?”

  Demetrius’s mouth formed a hard line. “It’s clear you don’t agree with how we operate—”

  “I don’t agree with the secrecy behind your operations. It didn’t work out so well for us when the vampire council ruled. You say you’re for equal rights, that you fight against a powerful few monopolizing our resources. But you also ask us to stand back and trust that it is so. All the while, normal guys like me don’t know what the hell’s going on when a demon’s standing right in front of us.”

  Demetrius’s focus didn’t waver. The energy between them crackled with hostility. Suddenly, the air lightened. “Noted. I’ll pass your feelings on to the Synod.”

  He examined the other man’s face for acrimony, or deception, but detected none. His respect for the male rose another notch. “You have my appreciation. But I also want to be a part of this search. I refuse to be sequestered and oblivious.”

  He couldn’t believe himself. Ophelia had said they were from different worlds and this was certainly hers. But he’d spoken true. He couldn’t twiddle his thumbs and eat brownies with Antonia all day.

  Demetrius looked to Ophelia. “That decision is yours. He’d be shadowing you.”

  Bastian bristled at the description, but he was smart enough not to let it show.

  “If he went with you to the Segals,” the giant rumbled, “Rourke and I could comb the streets for the man you described at the club.”

  “I work alone,” Ophelia said as if that put an end to the discussion.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t.” The big guy with the cold breeze wafting off him must be Fyra’s mate. Had she put in a good word? “For now,” he amended, but Bastian doubted that made his comment easier for Ophelia to swallow.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” she said.

  “For our peace of mind,” the male returned. “They went after you once. They’ll take advantage of you working alone again.”

  “They can’t do anything without my acquiescence. I wouldn’t agree to be a host, and I wouldn’t agree to a bond.”

  “They have their ways and they have help,” Demetrius said quietly. “The strong foothold they have in our realm isn’t by accident.”

  Ophelia’s disgruntled expression didn’t make her any less attractive. Bastian liked her in her tactical gear. She was swamped on each side by two large males, but her presence was just as big.

  “Fine,” she bit out, her gaze flicking to him. “You can come with me to the Segals. We don’t have much on them. They have a son close to Antonia’s age.”

  “Quentin?”

  “Wait,” Demetrius said. “You know them?”

  “His parents didn’t socialize with my employers,” he answered. “But I can talk to Antonia about the family before we leave.”

  Demetrius pulled out his phone. “I’ll call her down here.”

  Questioning her in front of everyone would only ensure her silence. Sitting in this room under their scrutiny was making him perspire. Imagine a sixteen-year-old in his place. “Perhaps it’s best if Ophelia and I stop by before we head out.”

  “It’s close to dawn. That won’t be until nightfall.”

  Bastian smiled. “Even better. Antonia is a good kid, but if she feels like I’m prying into her personal life…” He spread his hands. “She’s usually honest, but she’s still sixteen.”

  Demetrius glanced around the room. “We’ll have to default to your knowledge of anyone under twenty. None of us have kids yet.”

  A visible line of tension ran across Ophelia’s shoulders before it was gone.

  What was that about?

  Bastian tipped his head in thanks. Demetrius relaxed in his chair. Was this meeting not over? “Go over everything that happened that brought you here, and I want all the dirt on the Gastons.”

  He settled in and recounted his tale. It was a small price to pay to remain included in the task—and to do it with Ophelia.

  Chapter Seven

  Ophelia sat at her island, one leg crossed over the other and bobbing. She had arranged to meet Bastian in twenty minutes. After the meeting this morning, she’d arranged for Creed to set up surveillance at the Carons’ manor. It was too risky to drop by and ask about their personnel. They’d run any footage of the staff past Bastian in case he recognized any males. Then she’d scurried back to her apartment before breaking down.

  None of us has kids yet.

  Demetrius’s comment last evening had come dangerously close to an untapped well of festering emotions.

  No, she didn’t have a kid.

  An empty hole inside of her that ached, yes. But a kid, no.

  She sipped her dark-chocolate mocha, her drink of choice. She was on her third cup since she’d woken up in the late afternoon and couldn’t get back to sleep.

  Insomnia, party of one.

  There was so much her closest friends didn’t know about her. Her history had been ashed with her parents. She’d made sure of it.

  And the final remnant had felt the pokey end of her stake.

  Not long after, she’d met Demetrius, a righteous young prime who wanted to change the world, and she’d teamed up with him. And they’d changed the world.

  Yet here they were. Another young girl getting taken advantage of by those she’d trusted the most.

  If only Ophelia had had a Bastian in her life all those years ago.

  She took another drink. Her favorite part of the mocha was the first pull. It was always the most potent, like a long drag off a fresh cigarette. She’d flirted with smoking after the ordeal during her teenage years. Not many vampires picked up the habit. An open flame didn’t mesh well with their kind. But the danger had been a heady call. Just drop the butt and let it wick up her body and end her misery.

  She’d tried alcohol but given that up, too. Not enough adrenaline. Next was baking, but she had no one to bake for, and it hadn’t fit her profile when she’d been working undercover to flip their government.

  Sex and caffeine. One chased the memories away and one gave her the energy to keep running.

  Only the caffeine worked anymore, and the energy rush was brief. The sunrises, though. They were her safe spot, but at the same time, they were the high-rise ledge she danced on.

  Her phone pinged with a message. She ignored the spike in her pulse when she read it was from Bastian.

  What was it about that male? He wasn’t her normal type, yet he was. Tall, dark, and handsome. Refined. Self-assured.

  But as far as she knew, he wasn’t a user. He had a conscience. He cared for others. That created a vast gap between Bastian and her former lovers.

  Anyway, Bastian wasn’t a lover and she didn’t do real relationships. Once an affair turned serious, trust was expected and she couldn’t give it. Thanks to Master and Madame LeFevre.

  She read the text. Antonia had just gotten up. He wanted to talk to her, and would Ophelia meet her in Antonia’s room instead?

  Sure. She stayed in her chair and finished her drink. Then she rinsed her cup and set it in the dry tr
ay.

  She liked being in the kitchen. Demetrius’s assistant kept them stocked with treats, but Ophelia enjoyed cooking. She didn’t get much opportunity anymore.

  No one to cook for.

  Sighing, she pressed her palms against her face. A trip to her safe place might have to happen soon. She’d have to ditch Bastian before dawn and flash there, but she needed a good reset and her secret place did the trick.

  She did a mental check on herself. Weapons in place. Hair bound in a short braid. No reason to delay spending the night with Bastian any longer.

  Blowing out of her apartment, she steeled her resolve. No private feelings for the sexy male who turned her on just by being in the room. She controlled the situation.

  As she neared Antonia’s room, she slowed and listened hard. Soft voices. No laughter. Maybe he was working his father-figure magic on the girl.

  She let herself into the apartment. It was next to Bastian’s and monitored closely, since she was still a minor. An undetectable sensor had been placed on the doorframe, and with the cameras in the hall, they knew who was coming and going and when.

  Antonia was curled in the loveseat, wearing a pair of thick pajamas that covered her from chin to toes. Betty must’ve hit the stores again and gotten the girl her own duds.

  Her cheeks were blotchy and wet. Bastian was perched on the edge of a chair across from her. His hands were hanging between his knees.

  “Is he in danger, too?” Antonia sobbed.

  Bastian glanced up and caught Ophelia’s eye. “I don’t know. We’re going to find out. It might be nothing, but we want to make sure.”

  Antonia swiped at her eyes. She craned her neck around and smiled at Ophelia. “Hey. I guess I fucked up.”

  “Language,” Bastian murmured. “And you didn’t mess up. Tell me again what he said.”

  Ophelia strode the rest of the way into the room.

  Antonia sniffled and spoke to Bastian. “Tiny invited me to a party last weekend. He said it was going to be out of this world and he winked, like it was an inside joke.”

  “And the other thing,” Bastian said.