Chapter 293 Mordaunt's Return
POV: Callum | Neutral location, midnight
The Bermondsey pub smelled like stale beer and old secrets. I'd heard stories about this place—how it had been neutral territory for our kind since before I was even aware there was a "our kind." Not because anyone declared it neutral, but because enough supernatural business had gone down here over decades that the place had soaked up the neutrality like a sponge.
Mordaunt was already at a corner table when I pushed through the door. The strategic position—back to the wall, clear view of the entrance. Five years in Surrey under dragon protection hadn't diminished him. If anything, he'd grown more focused, like he'd been sharpening himself while in exile, waiting for this exact moment.
He looked exactly the same. That's the thing about ancient vampires—five years doesn't leave a mark. But five years had marked me, and sitting across from him now, I felt every year of it, every scar, every late night spent building something he could tear down with a word.
"You killed Valentina," I said, cutting him off before he could speak. I wasn't going to let him control this conversation like he controlled everything else. "I want that out in the open before we say anything else."
Mordaunt's expression didn't change—the same assessing look I remembered from every room we'd ever shared. "I did," he said, voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Legally and procedurally correct, within Parliament's authority. Valentina Corvino's documented crimes were the justification. I have no defense beyond accuracy."
"There's no defense," I shot back.
"No," he agreed. "There isn't." He studied the table for a moment, then met my eyes again. "I have two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. You need two hundred and fifty thousand pounds in twenty-nine days. The Rookeries will be foreclosed without it, and the community you've spent eight years building—including the sanctuary with twenty-four hybrid children—will be evicted by the dragon syndicate."
"Your offer," I said flatly.
"You support my return to Parliament," he said. "Not my election—I'm not asking for that yet. I'm asking for your public statement that you don't oppose my return to London, and your word to Alteroni that your coalition doesn't treat my presence as hostile. I'll handle the rest."
The disgust rose in my throat like bile. I didn't bother hiding it. "You executed her," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "You engineered the whole thing. Used Parliamentary law as your weapon. And now you're sitting here offering me money to make your return easier."
"Yes," he said simply.
"I'd rather lose the Rookeries than take your help."
Mordaunt's expression remained unchanged, but I could tell he'd expected this. "I understand," he said. "But think of the children. Twenty-four hybrid children need that sanctuary. Their legal recognition is conditional on stability, and that stability depends on the Rookeries remaining autonomous. Your pride against their safety." He said it without emotion, like he was stating a mathematical fact. "Choose."
The air between us felt heavy, charged with everything unsaid.
Isla's face flashed in my mind—I could almost hear her voice telling me that the children come first, always. That consequences can be dealt with after the children are safe.
Then Cormac's face joined hers, reminding me what it means to be in Mordaunt's orbit, how debts to him accumulate interest over time, how the consequences stretch far beyond the immediate.
Both of them were right. Both pointing in opposite directions with no compromise in sight.
"Give me forty-eight hours," I said. "If I can't raise the money in forty-eight hours, I'll take your offer."
Mordaunt's look told me he'd expected this too, that he'd already calculated the odds of me coming up with two hundred and fifty thousand pounds in that time—and those odds weren't in my favor.
"Forty-eight hours," he agreed.
I left the pub and walked back through Bermondsey, the midnight air biting at my exposed skin. I hadn't accepted his offer, but I hadn't refused it either. Forty-eight hours. That's what I'd given myself to find a way to make my refusal permanent, to save everything I'd built without compromising the one thing I refused to sacrifice—my integrity.