My mother couldn’t have possibly loved Tucker in ­return . . . could she?

No—no, no, no, no, no.

Bile rose in my throat, and I thought that I was going to vomit all over the roof—

Soft scuffs sounded, penetrating my sick shock, and I noticed a shadow growing larger and larger next to me, as though someone was walking toward the window and blocking the light from inside the office. I hadn’t made a lot of noise falling on my ass, but Tucker was a vampire, and the blood he drank was more than enough to give him enhanced senses, including supersharp hearing.

Years of Fletcher’s training took over, cutting through the last of my shock, and I scrambled to my feet, lunged forward, and pressed myself up against the side of the mansion, leaning my head forward just enough so that I could still see in through the glass.

Not a moment too soon.

Tucker appeared in the window. The vampire pushed the white velvet bow out of the way and stepped forward, his nose almost pressed up against the glass, peering out into the darkness beyond. No doubt his sight was as sharp as his hearing, and I didn’t dare move a muscle for fear that he would notice me out of the corner of his eye. Even though my heart was pounding, I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths through my nose and exhale the same way, not making any more noise than absolutely necessary.

After several long, tense seconds, Tucker relaxed and drew back, although his gaze dropped to the window, which was still cracked open. His eyebrows drew together, as though he was puzzled about why the window would be open at all on such a cold night.

“Well?” Rivera called out, his voice still snide. “You didn’t answer my question about Eira. Still missing your little lovebird? From what I’ve been told, the two of you made quite the handsome couple back in the day.”

Couple?

No—no, no, no, no, no.

The denial rose up in me again, along with that bile in my throat, but I forced myself to swallow it all down. Now was not the time to let my emotions get the best of me.

Tucker’s face twisted at Rivera’s mocking tone, and his black eyes practically glowed with murderous rage. Whatever had happened between him and my mother, whatever feelings he might have had for her, it was a chink in his armor, and Rivera had scored another bull’s-eye.

Once again, I thought that Tucker might give in to his rage, whirl around, and attack the other man, but instead he tilted his head to the side, studying the open window again, as though it held some great secret. A second later, his face smoothed out, and his lips lifted into a faint smile, as though he was pleased by something. I stayed anchored in place, scarcely daring to breathe, thinking that the vampire had spotted me after all and expecting him to yell out that there was an intruder on the roof.

But Tucker left the window open, turned around, and strode out of my line of sight. “I didn’t come here tonight to talk about the past. Only your future, Damian. Which will be decidedly short and unpleasant if you don’t take care of things the way that he wants you to.”

Rivera scoffed, and the ice tinkle-tinkled in his glass again as he downed the rest of his Scotch.

I waited several seconds, giving Tucker plenty of time to move away from the window, then sidled forward and peered through the glass again. The vampire was back standing beside the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at Rivera, who had set aside his empty glass and was now yanking off his tie, completely unconcerned by Tucker’s threats.

Tap-tap-tap.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and a third man stepped into the office: Bruce Porter, Rivera’s head of security.

Porter was a dwarf, five feet tall with a compact, muscled body that looked even harder than the stones that made up the fireplace. He too wore a suit, although it wasn’t nearly as expensive as his boss’s. His eyes were a pale blue, while his gunmetal-gray hair had been buzz-cut so short that it was barely more than bristle covering his head. His fifty-something face bore the deep lines and perpetual ruddy skin of someone who’d spent years standing in the sun waiting for other people to tell him what to do.

Porter moved with stiff, military precision as he strode over and snapped to attention at Rivera’s elbow. “Sir,” he said in a deep, soft voice. “As requested, I escorted your lady friend to the estate. She’s waiting in your bedroom.”

Rivera bared his teeth in a predatory grin. “Good man, Porter.”

The dwarf nodded at Rivera, then politely tipped his head to Tucker too. For a moment, the vampire’s gaze flitted from Porter over to the photos on the mantel. Then Tucker looked at the dwarf and returned his nod before focusing on Rivera again.

“You have exactly one week to take care of your problem,” Tucker said. “And not a second longer.”

Rivera chuckled, squirmed even deeper into the couch cushions, and laced his fingers behind his head. “I might actually be frightened if it were anyone but you threatening me. Face it, Hugh. We both know that you’re just a barking dog on a chain. There’s no real bite to you at all.”

Once again, that thin, pleased smile played across ­Tucker’s lips, as if the other man’s sneering dismissal was exactly what he wanted to hear. “Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

His final threat delivered, Tucker strode out of the office.

3

For a mad, mad moment, I thought about chasing after Tucker.

Leaping off the roof, running around to the front of the mansion, and attacking the vampire before he got into his car and drove away. Or at least following him back to his lair so that I could decide what to do next. Maybe even capture, question, and kill him, if the circumstances were right.

Damian Rivera wasn’t going anywhere, but I still had no clue where Tucker hung his hat when he wasn’t skulking around Ashland threatening people. Plus, if I got my hands on the vampire, I could make him tell me what was going on with Rivera and who the leader of the Circle was.