LITMIR.BIZ

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fixed forward as her driver turned onto the ramp leading to an underground car park. Rock music was thumping through the earbuds in her ears. She’d had to resort to that tactic to drown out the six-foot-three werewolf who had argued with her ever since her father had dropped his little bomb back at the family home that evening. Even now, with the moon rising, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, sitting next to her on the back seat, hands gesticulating wildly, his expression dark and fierce as he protested her family’s plans.

      As if he thought she could stop Vincent Marchetta.

      Vivianne looked up at the building to the left of her. It was an architectural masterpiece, with glass corridors leading off to the left and the right, allowing plenty of moonlight into the interior of the building. There were two wings leading off the central block, with an abundance of balconies that suggested access to the outside, but also privacy from each other. Each window, though, and each balcony door, held the same darker glass she had at her own home and office building, as well as her vehicle. Tempered glass. It allowed in light, but blocked UV rays, so that vampires could function in daylight hours without burning to a crisp.

      All except for one end of the building that was completely constructed of glass—but this glass was designed to let in the sunlight. Probably to feed the light warriors who had now revealed their existence to the world. She shook her head, not bothering to hide her amazement. She’d had no idea Arthur Armstrong and his sons were light warriors. Everyone thought they’d died out during the time of The Troubles. Her eyes narrowed. They’d managed to hide their existence for centuries. That showed a shrewd calculation and patience that she’d do well to remember when dealing with the Galen brothers.

      The Galen brothers, who were apparently doing very well, going by the new state-of-the-art clinic they’d set up.

      She leaned back into her seat as the car entered the dim car park. The Galens seemed to think of everything, providing not only a discrete entrance for those who didn’t want to be seen visiting them, but also a UV-free access for vampires.

      Her car pulled up at the portico and a tall man with dark hair emerged from the doorway, his arms folded.

      Ryder Galen.

      Vivianne’s driver hurried around to open her door, and she gave him an intent look. Harris had been her driver for several years, and she trusted him implicitly. She hoped nothing had changed during her coma. She didn’t want word of this visit to get back to anyone in her colony, and especially not her father.

      Harris winked, and she gave him a small smile. She hoped some things never changed, namely his ability to keep her secrets. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said quietly.

      “Thanks, Harris.” She saw Zane also emerge from the car, and sighed. He looked furious, but the curiosity at their location was winning over as he glanced around, and his features relaxed when he saw Ryder.

      She strode up to the doorway, and met Ryder’s gaze directly. The man eyed her, his bright blue eyes keen with interest.

      “Do you personally greet all of the patients for this clinic?” she asked, slowly removing her earbuds.

      He raised an eyebrow at the rock music that could still be heard blaring from the earbuds, and she switched the music off on her phone app.

      “Only the interesting ones,” he responded, his brow dipping slightly in curiosity. “I was surprised to see your name pop up on my schedule.” He gestured to the doorway, and she preceded him into the clinic.

      “Thank you for seeing me so quickly.”

      “You didn’t really give me much choice,” he told her dryly as he guided her toward the lifts. She gazed around with interest. Instead of the linoleum she’d come to expect in hospitals, the hallway was lined with timber floors. Clean, crisp, but with a warmer, softer tone than she’d expected. The walls were tastefully painted in a soft gray that was both calming and restful, and not in the least depressing.

      Zane let out a low whistle as they stepped into the elevator. “Things are looking good for the Galens.”

      “You’ve made quite a few changes since your father died,” Vivianne said, looking over at Ryder. “Do you miss him?” She knew there’d been a rift between them, but she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone who was such a key part of your life for so long...

      Ryder dipped his head for a moment. “Like a migraine. We can choose our friends, but we can’t choose our family, can we? How is your father?” He looked at her just as closely.

      “Oh, he’s peachy,” Zane muttered. “Happily plotting the extermination of the werewolf breed at this very moment.”

      “He’s fine,” Vivianne said, keeping her gaze on Ryder. “How is Vassi?” Her voice softened unintentionally, and she cleared her throat. She would never admit it, but she’d come to admire and respect his wife, Vassiliki Verity. As a lawyer, she was exceptional at her work. As a person, she’d be challenged to find someone with a stronger code of personal ethics, and a love for truth and honor. They’d had several arguments about the direction of the Marchetta businesses, and certain decisions that Vivianne considered “gray,” whereas Vassi deemed them “downright dodgy.” Vivianne had enjoyed their heated debates. She would have to see what she could do to tempt the lady lawyer back. First, she’d have to find out why Vassi had left in the first place. What had occurred between Vassi and her father to make her leave the company?

      “Vassi is good,” Ryder said, his face softening into a smile, and there was no hiding the warm pride in his eyes. “We’re setting up a second clinic location, and she’s working on the permits and negotiating access.”

      Zane tilted his head. “I don’t think I’ve met Vassi,” he said. “She worked for you, right?”

      Vivianne stared at Ryder for a moment, trying to ignore Zane’s presence. Ryder’s respect and delight in his partner was almost tangible. When had anyone spoken about her like that? Certainly not her father. She and her brother were working on their relationship, but they argued, just like any normal siblings. She smiled briefly, dropping her gaze. She was a Vampire Prime, she reminded herself. She didn’t need anyone to be proud of her. She didn’t need those other softer emotions. She needed to ensure her colony were safe and thriving. Period.

      The doors opened, and she followed Ryder out into a hallway. This one had carpet, with tasteful art lining the warmer-colored cream walls. Wall sconces with—wow, with real candles—were sporadically placed, creating a soft ambience as Ryder led her to a door with his name on it.

      He stepped inside, then halted. “Dude, that’s my desk!”

      Vivianne peered around him. A man with dark hair and dark eyes peered with annoyance over his shoulder. The stunning redhead in his arms hastily rearranged her top into a more presentable appearance, and she slid off the desk.

      “I was just saying hi to my wife,” the man said, then grinned. “Besides, you know that saying, never let a good desk go to waste,” the man said, as he reluctantly let the redhead step away from him.

      “That’s not a saying,” the woman said, trying to hide her smile. She faltered when she saw Vivianne.

      “A vamp?” Her nose wrinkled with distaste, and her fingers curled. Sparks of lightning arced between her fingertips.

      Vivianne’s eyes narrowed as Zane chuckled next to her. “A witch?” Her tone was just as frosty.

      “A vamp, a witch and a light warrior walked into a bar,” the man at the desk quipped, then placed his hands over the redhead’s fists. “Easy, Mel. Remember, we’re being more accepting...” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

      The red-haired witch curled her fingers into a fist, extinguishing the arcs of power. “Acceptance sucks,” she muttered, then pasted a bright smile on her face as she strode toward the door. “Besides, I have a client to see.” She paused next to Vivianne, her green eyes brittle. “Something about a silver glove,” she said nonchalantly. She looked over

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