Leyak called, “Caspion, a word.”
“Yeah.” He traced to the bar, hoping the old hunter wouldn’t grill him again about Mirceo. The last time, Cas had said only, “The vampire played with my head.” But his anger over Mirceo’s machinations and scheming had swiftly faded. If the two of them hadn’t been mates, maybe his resentment would’ve lasted. Yet they were mates. Everything had led them together. . . .
Leyak poured him a mug of brew. “How’re you hanging in there?”
“Been better.” Cas would own his part in his and Mirceo’s rift. If he had derived any wisdom—or discipline—from all the years he’d lived, he would’ve disappeared from the vampire’s life for ten decades.
But Cas had been too weak to leave. Instead, he’d laid all of the choice, all of the burden, on such a young male. Then Cas had been shocked when Mirceo bolted in a panic?
That morning, the vampire’s claw marks had studded his own chest. To judge by its beat, Mirceo’s heart must’ve been on the verge of exploding. Cas understood that panic—he’d experienced the same when he’d rashly fled Dacia all those years ago, risking his own execution. But at that age, rash had felt right.
So it would with Mirceo.
Trying not to sound desperate, Cas asked, “I don’t suppose he stopped by?”
“As a matter of fact, he came in a few times asking after you, wanting your location. Searched for you too.”
Damn this surge of hope! “And?”
“He was here a couple of days ago, looking haunted-eyed and miserable.”
Cas had pictured Mirceo, smirk in place, fucking and biting partners with abandon. Instead, the prince had been miserable? That shouldn’t make Cas happy. But it did. A smile crossed his face. “Did he say if he was coming back?”
“Dunno. He saw something on the bounty wall and he . . . reacted.”
“What do you mean?”
Leyak scratched one of his scuffed horns. “I mean, he dropped to his knees, roared in pain, and vomited blood. Which I will never get out of the floor.”
Cas’s claws dug into the bar. “What did he see?”
“I didn’t catch the specific poster, but he didn’t take it down or anything. Just teleported from here like a bat out of hell.”
Cas traced to the board, scanning the bounties. His breath left him when a familiar portrait snared his attention. He’d once viewed that same likeness while sitting atop the tower of a mortal bridge.
Mina. My sister-by-fate . . .
REWARD:
Missing!
Name: Princess Kosmina
Species: Vampire
Last seen: New Orleans riverfront, setting of the hunter’s moon
Hair: Long, light blond
Eyes: Blue
Height: 5'5"
Reward: Fathomless
Offered by King Lothaire, the Enemy of Old
My sister! Cas yanked the poster down, rereading the details. The hunter’s moonset? That’d been right when—
Dear gods, Mirceo had sensed his beloved sister was in danger!
Cas traced back to the bar. Holding up the poster, he demanded, “How did this get here?”
Leyak shook his head. “Came in through the usual channels.”
I’ve got to get to Dacia. To Mirceo. His eyes narrowed. For a male who revered choice, Cas had only one option.
THIRTY-THREE
The Dacianos—Viktor, Stelian, Trehan, and Mirceo—were back in the court, awaiting the king and queen, and a lead that might help them find Mina. Days had passed without a sign of her. Even Balery couldn’t get a read on her.
“You need to drink, nephew.” Viktor sat on the edge of the throne dais, using a blade to clean his claws. “Or you’ll never heal.”
Mirceo limped as he paced back and forth across the court. He hadn’t had a drop of blood since learning of Mina’s disappearance. No intake meant Mirceo was slow to regenerate from Lothaire’s beating the other day.
After Mirceo had demanded to know what the king had done, Lothaire had steepled his fingers, his black claws glinting. His deep voice had resonated as he’d said, “I sent Kosmina out into the world.” He’d shrugged. “And damn if I haven’t misplaced her.”
Consumed with wrath, Mirceo had attacked the ancient vampire. Half-feral Lothaire had relished the opportunity to thrash someone, laughing as he’d broken Mirceo’s bones.
It’d taken all of the Dacianos to pry Lothaire off of him. Mirceo’s jaw had been so mangled he hadn’t been able to tell anyone about his skirmish with the Forbearers, instead having to write out his suspicion: Forbearers took her. Exchange for Kristoff.
Lothaire had led the Dacianos in an incursion on that order’s castle. Yet there’d been no sign of Mina. Fortunately Lothaire had an asset, a prisoner they could torture for information. Today they were supposed to learn the findings. . . .
Stelian swigged from his flask. “What is taking the red-eyed bastard so long?”
Though Mirceo wanted to murder Lothaire for sending Mina out, he berated himself just as much for not being here for her. He’d planned to talked to the king about keeping Mina close, but Mirceo had gotten so caught up in his own life that he’d let her down.
He’d lost the only things in his life that mattered, and in both instances, he’d deserved to.
Trehan checked his watch. “I’m due in Abaddon to meet Bettina. I must leave anon.” He frowned at Mirceo’s mottled face. “None of this need ever have happened.”
Mirceo had been forced to come clean about the priceless crystal’s end, and since he’d been viciously beaten, brain-bruised, and unable to lie, he’d unintentionally implicated Caspion.
“I could kill that demon for destroying the crystal,” Trehan said, his piercing green eyes flickering black. “If not for him, Mina would be safe at home right now.”
Mirceo didn’t hate Caspion over the crystal, because he blamed himself for that as well. He’d pursued his mate so aggressively that the demon had snapped.
And for what?
Mirceo wished he could tell Caspion that his morning-after panic had had nothing to do with their relationship and everything to do with Mina. He was convinced his arm pained him because she had been likewise injured.
When he’d explained his confounding reaction to his uncles, Trehan had said, “The night my Bride was attacked by Vrekeners, I woke from a dead sleep, feeling as if I’d left something undone.” Mirceo had felt like a secret danced just out of reach. “That sense was maddening, because I’d always done what was expected of me. Always. Soon it grew into abject dread. I later realized that we Dacians have vaster abilities than even we know. . . .”
Damn it, how much longer would Lothaire be?
Reaching into his pocket, Mirceo ran his fingertips over Mina’s last letter to him, one that’d gone unnoticed on his desk until after he’d discovered her missing.
He’d long since memorized the words, the parchment stained from his blood tears:
My dear Mirceo,