Macey looked up. “No. Not him.”
Savina seemed satisfied. “That’s probably just as well. He seems as if he has as much junk stuffed in his figurative suitcase as Max Denton.”
“He does. But we’re…close. At least, as close as one can get to Chas.” She gave a sad laugh.
“Right. He seems a sad sort of chap.” Savina pulled the covers up over her as she turned toward Macey. “It’s very nice of Grady to give up his bed to guests. He’s an exceptional man.”
Macey nodded, then realized she wasn’t supposed to know him well enough to know whether that was true or not. “I… Well, when I saw you at the photo exhibit with him, I thought you two were…uh…” She shrugged and gave a half-smile.
“You weren’t the only one,” Savina said wryly, shaking her head. “But no. Not at all. It’s your father for me, Macey. There won’t be anyone else, ever again. No matter what happens.”
A shaft of pain and remorse caught Macey by surprise, and Savina looked over at her. “Are you in pain? Do you want more of that sticky salve?”
“No. It’s not that. It’s…”
Macey closed her eyes. She’d been just about to confess everything to Savina. But no. Not a good idea.
The woman was kind and funny, and she seemed genuine…but what would the benefit be if Macey told her about Grady?
“Good night, Savina. Thank you. It’s been…nice talking to you.”
“Same here, Macey. I’m very, very glad to have met you. Finally.”
Macey closed her eyes, her thoughts in more turmoil than her healing body.
Tomorrow, she would once more face the reality of a world in which her former best friend had brutally murdered two people…and that she had possession of one of the most powerful objects of evil in the world.
Sweet dreams, Macey, she told herself.
TWENTY-ONE
~ Wherein the Summas is Given a Set-down ~
Macey and Savina went upstairs and Woodmore bade them good night while Max and Grady finished their whiskey.
The Irish bloke was looking pale and sickly, and Max realized what a fool he’d been to expect as much from him as he would from a vis bullaed Venator, or even a Comitator. The man wasn’t equipped in the same way, and he’d nearly died earlier today.
“I’m going out,” Max told him abruptly. If he was quick enough, he could catch up with Woodmore. With all the horror at The Silver Chalice, he’d temporarily put aside the message he had to deliver. “I may not be back until morning.”
Before Grady could ask more, Max slipped out the door and started off in the direction Woodmore would have gone—assuming he was, in fact, returning to his own place.
He hadn’t gone far before he caught sight of the broad-shouldered figure, for the man was ambling along as if deep in thought, rather than walking with a purpose.
“Woodmore,” Max called out as he approached. After the day he’d had, he didn’t feel like having to defend himself from a surprised Venator.
“Denton. I thought you were in for the night. Wanted everyone to stay together.”
There was a definite sneer in the man’s voice, and Max bristled. “I have a message for you. If you want it.”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
Max gritted his teeth. He’d half a mind to start a brawl, right here and now with the bastard. The man had no right to be putting his hands on his daughter the way he had—and he sure as hell had no right to be snide and cutting simply because Max had done the fatherly thing and interrupted their plans for a cozy little love-nest tonight. Macey needed her rest, goddammit.
And Chas Woodmore was simply bad news—for anyone…at least, as far as women went. He was too damned handsome and far too arresting for his own good. It hadn’t escaped Max’s attention that Savina had noticed Woodmore. Really noticed him, if the way her eyes traveled up and down over the dark and muscular Romanian were any indication.
Why couldn’t Macey be attracted to someone like Grady, for example? Nice chap, funny, talented, and relatively polite—a little quick with the hands dipping in the pockets, but at least Max and Grady generally saw things the same way.
“Well, what is it?” Woodmore asked.
He hadn’t stopped, and had actually sped up to a faster pace. Thus, Max was forced to walk abreast with him along the edge of a sidewalk that wasn’t wide enough for two people, which in turn required him to dodge bushes, trees, mailboxes, and other obstacles along the way. That didn’t make him feel any friendlier toward the man, especially when he tripped on a tree root in the dark and nearly took a header.
Bugger it.
“First things first,” Max said, suddenly out of patience. “Are you in love with my daughter?”
Woodmore snorted. “Why do you care?”
“Just answer the bloody question—and without commentary, if you please. You might not like it—hell, she might not like it—but I’m not only her father, but also the summas. I need to know these things. She is the heir apparent to the Venators.”
“No. I’m not.”
Max felt a wave of relief, then a burst of fury. “Then why the bloody hell did you have your hands up her buggering dress?”
Woodmore cast him a glance. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, father or summas-in-name-only notwithstanding.”
Max felt a definite crack in his jaw, and hoped he hadn’t actually broken a tooth. Damned Venator strength. “Look, you might have a problem with me and my decisions, but I don’t give a devil about that. All I want is my daughter to be safe and happy—”
“Then where the hell have you been for thirteen years? She thought—we all thought—you were dead. And why in the hell did you make her go to Grady’s house tonight?” Woodmore stopped at last, swinging to face Max.
He halted just before he slammed into the other man. “What do you mean?”
“She’s in love with Grady, you pompous arse. That is why I wanted her to go to my place tonight. Not for any other reason. She doesn’t need any other pain in her life tonight.”
“What the devil are you talking about? She and Grady have never even met—except at the exhibit.”
Woodmore was shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. They’ve met. But she asked Wayren to use the golden disk to erase herself from his memory. Like father, like daughter,” he added snidely. “Making godlike decisions for everyone else just to make it easier for themselves.”
Max wanted nothing more than to take a swing at him—and he just might have done so if he hadn’t thought he might need the man who’d obtained the tongue of the ruby-eyed skull.
“I’ll overlook your disrespect this time,” Max said, causing Woodmore to snort again. He gritted his teeth—damn, he might have broken a tooth after all—and continued, “Because I appreciate the information.”
And as he said those words, the meaning sank in. Now he was going to have to object to Grady—and dammit, he was rather fond of the bloke.
Oh…but Macey had had the man’s memory altered, and so he didn’t know their history.
That was good.
“The message, Denton. What is it?” Woodmore had started walking again.
“Right. It’s from Bell, at the Consilium. Cezar Moldavi has escaped from his prison in Siberia, and no one knows where he’s gone.”
Now it was Woodmore’s turn to stumble. “Impossible. Narcise and Cale and I designed it ourselves. It’s impenetrable. Moldavi’s been there for more than a century—how could he have escaped?”
“I would agree, but there’s no disputing the facts. Moldavi is gone. And since you’re the one most familiar with the creature, you should be the one tasked with finding him.”
Woodmore swore under his breath, but nodded. “Very well. I’ll head to Siberia.”
“Not until we’re done here,” Max told him, and he was admittedly relieved when the other man agreed.
He wanted every bit of help possible until the threat from Macey’s best friend was over.
+ + +
Macey dragged herself out of the dream and lay there, heart pounding wildly, body clammy and weak.
It took her a moment to realize where she was, who was sleeping next to her…then the terror of the dream seceded and was replaced by grief.
It should be Grady beside her in his bed.
Macey stared at the ceiling for a moment, aware of the aches and twinges from a body that had been brutally abused less than twenty-four hours earlier. She found it easier to think about that pain than the emotional strain of knowing her former best friend had destroyed two people—at least—and that her former lover was sleeping one floor below her.
Along with the myriad of emotions that kept her miserable and confused, she found that her belly was very insistent on being fed. Macey couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything to eat—maybe some sort of soup in the hospital?—and when her stomach snarled for a second time, she slid from beneath the blankets and put her feet on the floor.
Savina was sleeping soundly and she didn’t stir as Macey padded silently down the stairs. A glance at the sofa told her Grady still slumbered there—a long, lumpy figure beneath a blanket. She didn’t see her father in a chair or on the floor, and allowed a moment to wonder where he’d bunked down, then shrugged.