Of course, the Variks could agree to Philippe’s request and set Winter on the trail. Once his youngest brother uncovered some information, Rafe would play middleman and deliver the news to Philippe. Easy.
“I’ll discuss this with my brothers.” It was all Rafe was willing to commit to for now. He wasn’t so sure Marcus and the others would be pleased with Philippe’s demand for Rafe’s involvement. In general, his brothers preferred to keep Rafe as far from trouble as possible. Rafe’s skill was in tossing more fuel on the fire rather than smothering it.
Philippe nodded and smoothly rose, extending his hand to Rafe. He stood as well and politely shook his hand. “I accept your terms. We’ll speak again in two nights.”
With a hint of a smile, Philippe stepped around Rafe and exited the small room, his companions placing themselves around him in a protective wall that moved as one. Rafe and Lola watched them silently exit before looking at each other.
“Thoughts?” Rafe inquired softly.
“He’s…not what I expected.”
“And?”
Lola shrugged. “I think his concern is genuine.” Lola seemed surprised by the thought, and Rafe couldn’t blame her. Concern wasn’t something that was common among clan masters.
“Tell no one about this meeting or its contents,” Rafe murmured, to which Lola gave him a disbelieving look. Lola was not a gossip. The instructions were completely unnecessary, but something about Philippe had Rafe rattled. It wasn’t any one thing he could put his finger on, but he had no intention of doing anything for the Arsenault clan until he’d spoken with his brothers. Maybe they could help clear the fog from his brain.
Chapter Three
Philippe didn’t feel as if he could take a full, deep breath until he stepped inside his home and the door shut behind him. He continued across the sparsely decorated hall, purposefully ignoring the empty echo of his footsteps across the hardwood, and up the main staircase to his expansive bedchambers on the second floor.
Pushing open both doors, he entered and paused for a second, his hands on the handles before finally releasing them.
As he’d expected, Jullien followed him into his chambers, shutting the doors quietly behind him. Philippe didn’t let himself look back at his companion but continued to walk across the room to the dresser, where there was a decanter of whiskey and blood set up for him. He splashed some of the dark liquid into the glass and downed it. Standing there with his eyes closed and head bowed, Philippe finally allowed himself to breathe. Everything had gone well. Better than well. Exactly as he’d planned.
“Are they going to help?” Jullien softly asked. His French accent was still apparent, even after so many years away from the country of their birth. Philippe had lost his, but Jullien clung to it as if he wanted to remain prepared to return to Paris at the drop of a hat. But that was never going to happen.
Philippe straightened and turned to look at his old friend. Jullien was an incredibly handsome man with rich, chocolate-brown hair and warm, beautiful eyes. There was a flawlessness to his skin as if he bathed every day in a rich cream. But that was only what you could see outside of his clothes. The horror was that much of him was covered in old scars that were now perfectly preserved in his vampire body.
It felt as if luck or fate had directed them to each other so many years ago. But Philippe knew better.
Both he and Jullien had been made into vampires as a joke. They were never meant to have survived past that first night. They were castoffs, runaways.
But they did find each other. They survived. And helped others like them.
Until now.
“He said he needed to speak to his brothers before agreeing to assist our clan,” Philippe replied. “I thought that was fair.”
Jullien stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest, his broad shoulders stretching the soft material of his sweater. His eyes were narrowed, and his lips were pressed into a thin, unyielding line of worry. “Do you think they will assist us?”
“Yes. The Variks are a target now, and their numbers are few. They are also actively protecting a fledgling.”
“Who?”
Philippe turned and leaned his hips against the side of the dresser. “I think his name is Ethan.”
Jullien’s eyes widened and his lips softened in surprise. “The pet?”
Philippe’s nose wrinkled at the word, at the very idea of Marcus Varik having a pet. “I don’t believe he was truly Marcus’s pet. He doesn’t seem the type. And to change him after mere days of being his pet?” Philippe made a clicking sound with his tongue as he shook his head. “No, that was all a ruse. Marcus is a clever one.”
A snort left Jullien, and he walked over to the single chair in Philippe’s private chambers and flopped into it. “How clever could he be? He made a fledgling when faced with a potential war?”