Chapter 53
Sebastian
Blood was still seeping through my shirt when I got back to the estate at 4:17 AM. Sand, dirt, and God knows what else from that container yard caked every inch of me. My right earlobe throbbed where her teeth had broken skin—still bleeding, still raw.
I shoved the study door open. Celeste jerked upright from the sofa like I'd fired a gun, her face draining of color as she took in the state of me.
"Don't move," I said, dropping into my desk chair. The motion sent fresh pain lancing through my side, but I kept my eyes locked on her. Let my pupils contract to slits, gold bleeding into the amber. Let her see exactly what I was.
Then I blinked it away. Softened my expression like I'd just remembered she wasn't the one I was hunting.
"Marcus. Get the physician. Now."
He materialized in the doorway, took one look, and had his phone out before I could draw another breath. I heard him speaking in urgent undertones but kept my focus on the girl by the sofa.
She looked so much like Lirael it was almost convincing. Same silver-grey eyes, same delicate bone structure, even that goddamn beauty mark. But something was missing—that razor-sharp intelligence that had made my little moon so fucking fascinating. This girl just looked scared.
"Don't be afraid," I said, gentling my voice despite every instinct screaming to hunt, to chase, to find the real one. "I won't hurt you."
I reached for her hair, then caught myself when she flinched. Changed tactics. Took her hand instead, light enough that she could pull away if she wanted.
"You've suffered enough, little moon."
Confusion flickered across her face before she masked it. Her fingers trembled in mine, but she didn't pull back. She was trying to figure out what role to play, what would keep her safe.
Good. Let her think she was fooling me.
"Marcus," I called as he returned. "Hot water, clean clothes. Let her rest."
"Yes, sir." He hesitated. "The physician will be here in twenty minutes."
"Fine." I released her hand and leaned back, closing my eyes like the pain was overwhelming. Really I was listening—to her heartbeat, to the subtle shift of her weight, to every tiny sound that might tell me what she was thinking.
The physician came and went, stitching me back together with practiced efficiency. Through it all, I watched Celeste standing uncertainly by the sofa, clearly unsure whether to stay or go.
When we were alone again, Marcus approached with his usual caution. Waited for the door to close before speaking.
"Master," he said quietly. "We have a lead."
I straightened. "Talk."
"Gray made a reservation this morning. Sky Tower, 88th floor." He paused, something like distaste crossing his face. "12:30 PM today."
My hands tightened on the armrests. Wood creaked under my grip. "Sky Tower?"
"Personal account. He specifically requested the window seat—the couple's booth."
"Couple's booth." The words came out flat. My vision bled gold again. "How fucking romantic."
I could see it perfectly—Damian sitting across from my little moon in that candlelit booth, probably spinning some bullshit story about keeping her safe, helping her disappear. The image made violence sing through my veins.
"Confirmed it was Damian himself?"
"Yes, sir. His private account, verified by his assistant. Premium couple's seat with the best view in the restaurant."
I laughed, but it had no humor in it. "A couple's seat. Christ."
My eyes shifted to Celeste. She'd gone very still, sensing danger even if she didn't understand it.
An idea crystallized, cold and perfect. If Damian wanted to play hero to my escaped pet, I'd give him exactly what he was asking for.
"Marcus. Call Sky Tower. Tell them I'm dining there today too. Arrange a table."
He hesitated. "Master, your injuries—the physician said—"
"I don't give a fuck what the physician said." My voice cut through his objection. "I said I'm going."
I turned to Celeste, let my expression soften into something that might pass for tenderness. "And I'm bringing her."
Her eyes widened, but she didn't protest. Smart girl.
I stood slowly, crossed to where she stood. Let my fingers trail along her jaw.
"Tomorrow at noon," I said softly, "I'm taking you to lunch. "
She stared up at me, trying to process what trap I was setting. But she only nodded.
"Good girl." I let my hand fall. "Now rest. Tomorrow's going to be very interesting."
---
Lirael
Same day, 10:23 AM
I was knee-deep in the Hartfield documents—encrypted files, financial records, anything pointing to the Preservation Society—when my comm vibrated.
Damian: Lunch today? Important intel. Need to discuss in person.
I frowned. Public meetings were risky as hell, but Damian wouldn't reach out unless it mattered. A second message followed: Sky Tower, 88th floor, 12:30 PM.
My frown deepened. Sky Tower was one of those places where reservations took months and meals cost more than rent. Also notoriously romantic—floor-to-ceiling windows, intimate lighting, booths designed for couples.
Not exactly a discreet intel drop.
But Damian had saved my ass more than once. If he said it was important, I believed him.
Confirmed. 12:30. I'll be in disguise.
His reply came fast: Good. Be careful.
I set the comm down and started prepping. The Holo-Skin sat on the table, sleek and black. I'd used it dozens of times but still got a kick watching it work—the way it could make me completely unrecognizable.
I selected a generic face—nothing memorable, professional enough for high-end dining. Chestnut brown hair, warm brown eyes, rounded features suggesting comfortable middle-class life. The kind of face that disappeared into corporate crowds.
When the transformation finished, I checked the cracked mirror. The woman staring back looked nothing like me. No silver hair, no beauty mark, no otherworldly features. Just another Ark City professional.
I changed into a simple beige dress from a secondhand shop, modest heels, minimal jewelry. Deliberately unremarkable.
Before leaving, I did my final check. EMP device in my purse, folding knife strapped to my inner thigh, pepper spray disguised as lipstick. Never left without them.
The safe house door locked with a soft click. I headed into the lower district streets, keeping my head down, pace unhurried. No one looked twice.