fucking remote,” Zeris agreed. “She’s still between the Sanctum and Saint Rush. You want her taken?” Kidnapping was something the vampire considered an art form and he was pretty damned good at it. If Sebastien Galaurus wanted Priana Grey in the Demesne, he’d have her before morning, but it would be an act of war. There would be repercussions and Sebastien knew it.
Sebastien sat back down. He didn’t want her taken. Yet. The news report had given him much to think over though. Priana Grey was like royalty at the Sanctum and he’d howled with laughter when she’d opened that bakery years ago. Andrieu never could control shit and that bitch Mate of his, Miriel, ran things anyway. He could just see the pair of them letting their little adopted female indulge her fantasy of living among the fucking human animals, but he’d assumed that Sanctum security was in place at the bakery. Never would he allow his daughter to do something so ridiculously risky. Everyone knew the humans were stupid and dangerous. Look at the level of intelligence there. A cop shot a hostage. He’d have torn the fucker’s heart out with his bare hands for that and enjoyed it as a feast later.
“I want you to watch the bakery, Zeris,” Sebastien said, leaning forward. He brushed his blond hair back to eye Zeris in a hard glare. “Take one of the daemons to watch it during the day and I want you out there every night. Don’t take her. I don’t want a war with the fucking angels at this point, so stay far enough away so that you don’t present a direct threat even though they may end up knowing you are there. Obviously, if there is a problem, I would disavow any knowledge of your being out there.”
“Obviously,” Zeris said. He knew well enough that Sebastien would never even claim him as a Demesne resident, much less a warrior, if there was trouble. “You don’t want her taken, so what am I looking for?” the vampire asked.
“Learn her routines. See who she sees. Observe and report. That is all for now. Get out. I need to consider things.” Sebastien finished dismissively.
After Zeris left, Sebastien settled himself again. So, Andrieu and Miriel Grey allowed their stepchild, Priana, with angelic blood in her veins, to walk around in Saint Rushton without security. If she’d had security with her, the human criminal would have been dead faster than any human could have even seen.
Her blood, though, that was the key. Since the death of his son Saan from a disease of the blood that no one had known anything about, Sebastien had come to understand many things and change his mind about other things. The night Saan died would be etched forever in his heart, as his Mate, Ilea, had begged him to call Andrieu Grey to ask for help to heal the young male. She thought the blood of an angel could purify Saan’s blood. Sebastien believed the opposite, that the blood of an angel would kill Saan faster because of his daemon blood. He’d also vowed long ago that he would never turn to Andrieu or Miriel Grey for anything, although they’d been very close once.
In fact, Andrieu and Miriel had healed him when he was still new to this country, from an injury that would have taken his life. They’d healed his brother, Julian, too and taken them both in. Ironic that the house they’d all lived in for a time was now that fucking bakery, where Julian’s daughter, Priana, was baking fucking cookies. The irony and the memory of his son galled him, reigniting his anger, despite the fact that he’d feared Saan and thought him insolent. He flung the tumbler of vodka at the wall behind the television in fury.
Since Saan’s death four years ago, Sebastien had watched Ilea, his once intelligent, proud Mate, descend into something like madness, forcing him to send her to a cloister for a year so that she could recover without embarrassing him or herself. In spite of what he’d felt for Saan and the tiny flare of relief at his death, he might have a Mate yet, if his son hadn’t died.
He’d also come to fear illness, a fact that he admitted to no one. Saan had been strong and healthy, yet the illness had taken him in about seventy-two hours. For weeks after Saan’s death, Sebastien had feared an outbreak of some fucking kind, but no one else had fallen ill in the Demesne. Even the daemon healers who’d cared for Saan had remained healthy. He’d quarantined the lot of them for weeks afterward to be sure. That event gave Ilea another reason to tell him how much she hated him. She never really spoke to him anymore.
He might not have actually called Andrieu for help that night, but he could have stormed the Sanctum, to take an angel. Perhaps two or three. It would have been a risk because no one really fucked with the angels, knowing how lethal they could be. Still, in the four years since Saan had died, he’d had time to think of many ways one or two could have been taken from the Sanctum. Their blood could have been drained from them after he’d killed them. Or they could have been glamoured or drugged unconscious and the blood could have been drained before they’d regained consciousness. Before they’d had even a chance to fight or crush a heart.
The same could be done to Priana Grey. If Andrieu Grey would allow his daughter to walk around in Saint Rushton or at her bakery without security or protection, then he could have her in the Demesne and her blood could be useful to him. Very useful. One way or another, he’d have her fucking blood, a ready source of healing that might make the Demesne’s daemon healers look like amateurs. With Priana as his prisoner or his ally, perhaps Ilea’s heart might turn to him once more. And there Pria was, baking cookies out on Route 60 and walking around in Saint Rushton like she was begging to be taken.
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