Masked Longing Read online

  For what reason? The more rational side of him spoke up from whatever hole it had been hiding in for the recent past. Why would she want to waste energy on a miserable, useless asshole like him? A guy who left his friend behind in battle? Who heard voices?

  Who was pathetically self-pitying?

  Stop this. Get something to eat. He went to the door and opened it in time to duck Eric’s knuckles.

  Already keyed up, his body reacted automatically to defend himself but he pulled back in time to avoid punching out his Hierarch. Never a good career move, even when you had a century’s worth of seniority. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Eric lowered his arm. “Sorry. I was about to knock.”

  “Yeah, I saw that.” Stephan ran a hand over his shaved head. “Next time…” he trailed off.

  “Knock?”

  Eric’s dry voice forced a reluctant smile from Stephan. “Text.”

  “I tried to text. You didn’t answer.”

  “My phone was turned off.”

  Eric sighed. “Downstairs, Stephan. We need to talk.”

  Stephan followed, wondering what it was about those four words that never heralded good news. “Have you noticed that no one ever says ‘We need to talk’ when they win the lottery?”

  “You didn’t win the lottery.” Eric led the way to the war room where his consort Caro Yeats sat surrounded by computers. When she saw Stephan, she looked up with a wide smile. As usual, though, her gaze moved almost immediately to Eric. Stephan could almost feel the energy sizzle across the room.

  Caro shut down her laptop and rose with her usual grace. Her dark wavy hair tumbled down her back and Eric ran his hand over it as she passed them, his eyes lingering on her as she left. A small dart stabbed Stephan’s chest. Envy?

  Envy.

  “Sit.” Eric pointed to one of two low club chairs in the corner. “Coffee?”

  “Whiskey.” He was drinking too much but what the hell. He was done work for the night. “Is there food?”

  He glanced at the side table and saw Eric had already anticipated him. A decanter, two tumblers and a plate covered with small sandwiches waited for them. Stephan took one with real pleasure, mentally thanking Eric’s extremely thoughtful cook. “She even cut off the crusts,” he said. It was the small things in life.

  “Cynthia likes you.” Eric poured two generous drinks, then leaned back, creaking the leather chair. “Plus she knew you probably wouldn’t have stopped for food on your way home.”

  He hadn’t, so he took another. “Any updates on the Dawning? Yangzei?”

  Supernatural arcana had a fundamental rule—to remain hidden from humans. The Law kept them safe from humanity’s overwhelming numbers and had survived for hundreds of years; Stephan, Eric, and the others were determined that it should exist for a thousand more. The Dawning disagreed, wanting to both burst out of the shadows and take their—assumed—rightful role as the rulers of humanity.

  The Pharos Council, now under the control of Miaoling Chui, was fully occupied in tracking down transgressors of the Law and dealing with the consequences. Luckily, the masquerada had infiltrated most human institutions and were able to keep proof of arcane existence hidden when cock-ups inevitably occurred.

  Other groups had agitated against the Law before and had the Dawning simply remained a group of disenfranchised arcana, they would have been easier to combat. Then Yangzei had arrived. A primeval masquerada with daunting powers, Yangzei could take on dozens—perhaps hundreds—of masques, and steal souls with a touch, leaving his victims almost comatose. Miaoling and Cormac had discovered how to reverse the theft and return the souls but Yangzei had bested them in battle and escaped with the vampire Madden. Since then, Yangzei had laid low, but they had monitored how he was rebuilding the Dawning. It was obvious another battle was coming and it was a matter of when, not if.

  Stephan suspected the only reason the Dawning had not come out of the shadows was that they were too weak to control the humans on a global scale. They were even having trouble accomplishing their first step to world domination, which was taking out Eric and his allies.

  “Nothing new and I didn’t get you for a status update. I want to talk.”

  “Nothing to talk about.” Stephan jammed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. He was only delaying the inevitable. They’d known each other a long time and Eric was stubborn when there was something he wanted.

  “Remember last year, when I was having an issue and you got mad because I didn’t tell you?”

  “I remember it was a security problem that affected the masquerada nation.” Eric’s convergence had been a bad time for all of them. Stephan’s mentor Selene had died in a convergence and he’d been terrified Eric was going to end the same way. Caro’s rescue of Eric was one of the many reasons Stephan would walk through fire for her.

  “You don’t think we’re having a problem here? Now?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not acting like yourself.”

  Stephan peeled apart a sandwich and ate the skinless cucumber slices before putting it back together and taking a bite.

  “I’m fine.” He’d thought he’d managed to hide the worst of it, but maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he believed.

  “Stephan.”

  That name. Stephan paused. It wasn’t even his real name but one of many he’d taken over the years. He didn’t remember his real name any more. Or refused to remember it, nagged a small voice. At least Stephan Daker and the masque he’d created for it—built from memories of his brother, tall with mahogany skin, hazel eyes, and strong features—was one he chose for himself, instead of being told who he was going to be. He took another sandwich and ate it in two bites. Once he finished chewing, he said, “This is hardly the same thing as your convergence.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s a problem.” Eric leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Caro’s worried about you. So am I. Miaoling told us about the multitude.”

  “Did she tell you she thinks Yangzei is their tether?” Along with Eric and Stephan, Miaoling was one of the few masquerada who had experience with the multitude. She called it the horde. Although Eric and Stephan had become aware of the multitude when they’d been transformed from human to masquerada, Miaoling was blood-born. Her traumatic coming-of-age had been her introduction to those poor souls.

  Eric rubbed his finger along his chin. “Would that mean if we kill him, they’ll be set free?”

  “We don’t know.” He brought his shoulders almost up to his ears and then rolled them back to relax the muscles, a simple masquerada exercise to keep the body supple.

  “Where they would go?”

  “I have no idea.” He took a sip of the whiskey and savored the burn. “Question.”

  “Yeah?”

  Stephan paused, wondering if Eric was going to think he was crazy. “Do you hear them? The voices? Miaoling did. Cormac helped her.”

  “Makes sense. Cormac can use his connection with the natural world to buffer her.” He shook his head. “I don’t hear them.”

  It made sense—Eric was the strongest of them all.

  “Have you thought of asking Estelle if—”

  “No.” Stephan cut him off. No one was going in his head. It was the one part of him that had always remained his own, not the property of another.

  Eric held up his hands. “I support you.” He paused. “Since we’re on the subject though, what happened between you two?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’ve been avoiding her.”

  She’s been avoiding me. “I was up north, plus it’s been a bad time. She works all the time.”

  “It has.” Eric stared at him. “She does.”

  “We’re colleagues,” he muttered. “Nothing more.” It was the best decision in light of having to work together but didn�
�t stop him from constantly reliving the feel of her silky skin.

  “That’s good to hear, because you’re going to be working closely for the foreseeable future.” Eric stood up. “You’re now my official liaison to Queen Wavena and her vampires. I’ve assigned you to support Estelle.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Stephan rubbed his eyes. “I’m no good for that right now.” Between thoughts of Tom, memories of Estelle, and the distracting buzz of the multitude he was barely managing to keep on top of his regular workload. Insomnia wasn’t helping.

  “Well, start being good for it,” said Eric ruthlessly. “I don’t want Wavena to think we’re useless freeloaders.”

  “Freeloaders?”

  “Freeloaders. Better get some sleep. I set up a meeting for you with Estelle at seven in the morning.” Eric nodded, but Stephan caught the slight crinkle around his lips as the Hierarch left the room.

  Stephan wiped his fingers as he considered his new role. It probably was good to get him going again. He’d be professional. He’d give Estelle the help she needed. He’d be the perfect workmate. He wouldn’t fail her the way he’d failed Tom.

  Yeah. It was going to be fine.

  Chapter 3

  The quiver of nervous anticipation surprised Estelle as she sat in Eric’s dining room. It had been weeks since she’d seen Stephan, and their last encounter had been, if not tense, uncomfortable—like all their interactions lately. She sighed and stared at the table. The edge of her white coffee cup was smeared with her Ruby Woo lipstick. To her right was a platter of hash browns, the edges a beautiful crispy golden brown. She eyed them covetously, then filled her plate for the third time.

  A shadow across the table caused Estelle to look up and she forced herself to breathe normally. This is a work meeting. Nothing more. It would be easier if Stephan was say, a million times less attractive. He nodded to her before going to the sideboard to fetch himself a coffee, and she took the opportunity to admire the breadth of his shoulders under the fitted sweater he wore. When he turned, cup in hand, his hazel eyes were gorgeously light against his mahogany skin but his expression was tight, as though that slight layer of tension she’d noticed before had become a smothering blanket.

  That was unusual. As a masquerada, Stephan had perfect control over his every action and look. This meant either he was giving her a deliberate message that he didn’t want to be here, or he was simply too tired to bother acting around her.

  It wasn’t like either of them had a choice. Eric and Wavena had decided the two of them would work together, so work together they would, even though Stephan hadn’t been the easiest person to get along with lately. She tried to drum up more sympathy—she knew losing Tom had been hard on him—but too much of her attention was fixed on her own problems.

  You’re going to mess it all up.

  That terrible doubt, previously quieted by her manageable job at JDPR, had boosted into overdrive since Cressida died. She worked endless hours doing her best to prove herself, worried about making the wrong move, the wrong decision. She was trained and she knew she was good, but she needed to be better than that. She needed to show Wavena and the others—all the others—that she wasn’t too immature for the job, though she was a good hundred years younger than Cressida had been when she became seneschal.

  She didn’t want to do this, but since she had to, she was going to do her best.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  He took a sip of coffee as he sat down across from her. “I heard you were with Minh last night.”

  “I ran into him at the drugstore.”

  “Oh.”

  “How was Wagosh?”

  “Good. Cold. Less snow than here, oddly.”

  “Interesting.”

  There was a long silence as they drank their coffee. Stephan finally broke the tension. “What’s the plan?”

  Estelle grabbed her laptop with relief. They could talk about work and escape any uncomfortable conversations, including how incredible he looked leaning back in the chair with his eyes hooded against the glare of the sun. “I thought we could run through our joint security assets this morning. Wavena wants a report by dusk.”

  “That sounds like something you can do with Mai. She’ll have a better idea of what we have.” He gazed past her shoulder.

  This was going even worse than she anticipated. They were going to need a conversation. Estelle laid her hands on the clean white tablecloth and looked him in the eyes. Stephan’s face was shuttered and she had difficulty reading him. “I think we need to talk,” she said.

  Stephan burst out laughing. “Man, looks like everyone wants to talk to me.” He leaned back and gestured for her to continue as if he was some sort of king.

  When she opened her mouth, the hurt of the last few months tumbled out. “You’ve been a total dick to me for ages and I want to know what the hell’s going on in your head. What did I do?”

  Stephan’s eyes narrowed. “Did you think maybe it hasn’t anything to do with you? I lost one of my best friends in battle.”

  She refused to let him avoid the issue. “Then why am I the only one you’re staying clear of? You went for dinner with Caro. You train with Mai. You talk to Evie and Miaoling and Cormac.”

  She wondered if he would comment on the fact she had a very good handle on what he had been doing with his time, but instead he looked out the window. There was a silence so long she felt an hour had passed before he spoke. “We talk about Tom,” he said.

  Estelle sighed. “We all miss Tom.” Tom Minor, Eric’s security chief, hadn’t been heard from since the fight with the Dawning. Estelle and the rest silently considered Tom dead, but Stephan refused to believe it until he saw a body.

  “I’m taking a while to get over it,” he said. “Since I could live for another several hundred years, I figured I had some time.”

  “I’m not trying to hurry your grieving process.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Phil.”

  “That is exactly what I’m talking about.” Estelle reached out and ran her finger along the lip marks on her coffee cup, smudging them into a crimson swirl. “This isn’t like you. I think you need help.”

  “Like you?”

  She glared at him. “We need to work together and you’re making it impossible. I meant a therapist.”

  “I talked to one. I talked to three, actually. There are only so many deep breaths and memories of my childhood I can take.”

  “Maybe you need something more.”

  The tablecloth wrinkled under his hands. “More like what?”

  “I can help you.” She knew the moment she said it she had miscalculated. A hot wave of shame flooded her. It was the exactly the wrong thing to say. Cressida would never have been so stupid.

  Stephan didn’t move. “You mean go in my head and mess around.” It wasn’t even a question.

  “It’s not messing around,” Estelle tried to keep her voice steady, caught between her initial embarrassment at misreading the situation and a new anger caused by his lack of trust in her. Stephan had always been suspicious of her compulsion ability, a talent shared by all vampires but weapon-sharp in her. Vampires had built an intense moral code regarding when extremely invasive action was allowed—it wasn’t like subtly urging a bartender to add a half-ounce to the glass. She had explained it to Stephan, and had repeated it several times more, but he simply refused to believe. She wasn’t sure if it hurt more that he doubted her integrity or skill.

  The slight smile on Stephan’s face didn’t fool her; anger simmered deep in his eyes. “I don’t want your help,” he said, enunciating every word. “I don’t need your help and I definitely don’t want you in my head telling me what to do.”

  “It was simply an offer to help you cope.”

  “I’m coping fine, thanks.” His smile widened. “I may not be coping in the way you
want, but that’s not my fault and that’s not my problem.”

  “It’s my problem if it interferes with our work,” Estelle said. “Maybe you don’t understand the depth of the challenges we’re facing.” This was a low hit, given his role as Eric’s deputy, but she didn’t care.

  “I understand perfectly and I also understand I don’t want or need you rooting around in my brain and my memories so you can get a few memos off faster.”

  They glared at each other across the table.

  * * * *

  How dare she?

  Estelle had already turned back to her laptop, tapping away as if it was no big deal that she’d planned to fumble around in his head.

  Fuck that. He didn’t need to be fixed. She didn’t like how he was dealing with Tom’s disappearance—that was her problem. She was jealous he talked to his own people, his own friends, instead of her? Her problem. They’d slept together once, and it was incredible. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The more he’d gotten to know her the more he’d realized that he wanted more than friendship—and it was killing him that she didn’t?

  That was his problem and he was an asshole to take it out on her.

  He stared out the window, drumming his fingers against the table and thinking about how things had changed. They’d met a year ago when Estelle was working as the receptionist for JDPR, the supernatural PR company.

  He’d noticed her immediately—it was hard not to—and had to stop from laughing out loud when she’d eventually dropped him a naughty wink and made a ‘call me’ motion with her hand. He remembered that blue suit she wore. It had clung to every curve and made his mouth water.

  Now, he watched her across the table. Estelle bit her lip as she made notes, razor-sharp fangs barely visible. Although Estelle herself played into every vampire stereotype that existed—jet-black hair, opalescent skin and huge dark eyes—there were in fact very few noticeable traits that set a vampire apart from a regular human. All of the myths rampant among humans were nothing more than stories. Estelle, like the rest of her kin, liked garlic, showed up in mirrors, and had no problem going for a sunny stroll.