Endgame enigma, p.44
Borrowed Time (House of Gray Book 3), page 44
BORROWED TIME
HOUSE OF GRAY™
BOOK THREE
ISABEL CAMPBELL
MICHAEL ANDERLE
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2026 LMBPN Publishing
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Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
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LMBPN® Publishing
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Version 1.00 March 2026
ebook ISBN: 979-8-89790-026-8
Print ISBN: 979-8-89790-027-5
THE BORROWED TIME TEAM
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Christopher Gilliard
Dorothy Lloyd
Daryl McDaniel
Jeff Goode
Wendy L Bonell
Peter Manis
Diane L. Smith
Jan Hunnicutt
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
The SkyFyre Editing Team
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Isabel’s Notes
Books by Isabel Campbell
Books by Michael Anderle
Connect with the Authors
Other LMBPN Publishing Books
CHAPTER ONE
Agnes Thorne, steward of the Gray Lady estate, awoke at dusk.
In the four hours prior, she had rested in a dreamless, meditative state. The transition from this to full consciousness came with the same reliable precision it had for the past hundred and twenty years.
First came the gentle stirring, then she lay still a moment, listening to the quiet settling of the Gray Estate around her. The faint creaks of old wood adjusting to the cooling evening air, the distant sound of waves against a rocky shoreline.
She rose and moved through her evening routine with the methodical efficiency that had become second nature. She made the bed, pulling the sheets taut enough to bounce a coin off. Her wardrobe held an array of sensible skirts and blouses in muted colors. Grays, navies, and creams.
She dressed, then pulled her dark hair threaded with gray into a low, tight bun. She did not spend long evaluating her appearance in the mirror. Agnes Thorne was not one for vanity, but she wanted to look presentable and professional. Exactly as a house steward should appear.
She opened the door to find breakfast on a cart and brought in the modest meal. Two pieces of lightly buttered toast, a cup of Earl Grey, and a small crystal decanter of blood, set to room temperature. She drank this first, neither savoring nor rushing.
Then, she ate her toast and drank the tea. Her gaze drifted to the window and the last violet streaks of twilight fading into the night. She remembered the first time she’d seen this sky over the Gray Estate, all those years ago, when she had been but a girl visiting her friend. Back when she called Juliana by her first name, not Lady Gray. The memory felt both distant and immediate, a lifetime ago yet as vivid as if it had been yesterday.
She had been one of Juliana Davenport’s closest friends before the world had changed for both of them. Before Juliana’s family had shunned her for reasons that had little to do with justice and everything to do with politics and wounded pride. When Juliana had come to Gray Haven to take up the mantle of Lady Gray, she had asked Agnes to join her as house steward.
Agnes had refused at first, believing herself unqualified both in skill and rank. The Thorne family came from a lower vampire House. Relationships between the Houses were encouraged, but prejudices still existed.
Juliana’s parents hadn’t been thrilled that one of their daughter’s closest friends was a woman who came from little and would inherit less. Many on the island had considered Agnes undeserving of such a prominent role. But Juliana had insisted. “You will work a lower position until you feel ready,” she’d declared in a tone that said she would brook no argument.
It had not taken long. Agnes’ natural leadership and penchant for order made her rise through the Gray Estate almost inevitable. Now, most people on the island didn’t even remember where she had come from. They only knew her as Agnes Thorne, the woman who made the Gray Estate run like clockwork.
Tonight, as she finished her tea and returned the dishes to the cart, which would be taken to the downstairs kitchen, Agnes felt the weight of Lady Gray’s legacy pressing on her shoulders. As if she would inherit all this, and not the young woman sleeping a floor below in one of the House’s best suites.
She was the only staff member who knew about the Council’s ticking clock. The only one who understood that, very soon, everything would change.
The thought sent a complicated mixture of emotions through her. Hope, mostly. Amy had proven herself more capable than anyone had anticipated, but Agnes also struggled with an ever-present undercurrent of concern. The girl was so young, barely four months into her new life.
Beneath this was something Agnes was reluctant to name. Grief for the end of an era. Juliana Davenport would not remain in Gray Haven after the mantle was passed.
Agnes shook her head, banishing the thoughts. You have work to do.
She descended the narrow servants’ staircase to the first floor and headed through the dimly lit corridors toward the front of the house. No one knew this house like Agnes Thorne. She knew the sprawling rooms and twisting corridors. She knew every path through the garden, every tree in the orchard, and every entrance or exit from the grounds.
By day, the house was magnificent. By night, it was home.
Marco Ruiz, Keeper of the Rolls, was already at the front desk when Agnes reached the foyer. The soft glow of a desk lamp illuminated his warm olive skin, and he was sorting through the day’s mail. “Good evening, Ms. Thorne,” he greeted, lifting his gaze.
She nodded. “Marco. The mail?”
He handed her a neat stack of envelopes. “The usual assortment. Several event requests, a few applications for the lecture series, and…” He paused, brows furrowing. “One from a museum in Boston. I did not recognize the seal, so I didn’t open it.”
Agnes immediately found the envelope in question. The return address was indeed from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, but she knew better. She had seen this handwriting before, even if it had been decades.
Lucia, she thought. So daring to send word this soon.
Agnes was well-practiced at not letting thoughts register on her face. This was one letter she would not open herself. It would go directly to Juliana Davenport. “Thank you, Marco,” she told him.
As for the rest, she would see to some letters herself, pass others along to Sophie Chen, the estate’s event coordinator, and send a few to Amy Lee Davenport’s desk. The girl would need more practice in estate management if she were to accept Lady Gray’s mantle without much issue.
Agnes began divvying the mail into separate piles. “How is the seating chart coming along?”
“Sophie and Herald intend to finish it tonight, but this is what they have so far.” Marco pulled up a document on a tablet and turned it for Agnes to see.
Agnes studied the layout. The Labor Day party was the pinnacle of the summer’s events, closing out the social season. Most of the community would return home the day after, leaving Gray Haven to bask in quiet until the following summer. It was not only the major event of the season, but the one always guaranteed to be held at the Gray Estate each year.
The welcome event always took place at the Gray Haven Harbor Club. Tomorrow, House Gray would welcome residents to their own grounds for a magnificent night of revelry to close out another successful season.
This party would be more significant than usual, even if half the community didn’t know it. Amy would make her decision, either to accept the position as heir apparent to Lady Gray, or… Well, Agnes wasn’t entirely sure what the “or” entailed, but it probably wouldn’t be pleasant for the childe.
The seating chart reflected the delicate politics at play. Tables would be placed throughout the back lawn, and guests would be free to r oam as they pleased.
When seated, however, there was intention. Potential troublemakers were scattered and buffered by more agreeable guests. The younger vampires would be sprinkled among the elders. The humans, mostly press, would sit among the more seasoned, who would know better than to let a real secret slip.
“It looks good. Sophie did well,” Agnes commented.
As if summoned, Sophie Chen appeared from the direction of the kitchen, her petite frame draped in a simple black dress that somehow managed to look both professional and effortlessly elegant. Her dark hair curled against her jaw, and she carried a tablet clutched to her chest.
“Agnes, good evening,” Sophie greeted, a little breathless. “The caterers just confirmed that they will arrive two hours before sunset tomorrow. Herald wants to know if we should have them set up in the main dining room or use the garden pavilion.”
“Garden pavilion,” Agnes replied without hesitation. “The weather forecast is clear, and we will prefer guests to remain outside.”
“As I presumed,” a voice behind her remarked. Agnes turned to find Commander Rory Vale, the estate’s head of security. The tall, muscled man wore all black. On top of that, he had the usual enhanced senses, speed, and agility of a vampire. A well-trained combat vampire, at that. His glimmering green eyes and ever-present smile belied this.
“All security measures are in place tomorrow to ensure the guests will enjoy their time outdoors without issue,” he reported. “I have coordinated the community’s security office with our own security. We will have eyes on every entrance.”
The Gray Estate had never had an issue during their Labor Day event, but they could never be too careful.
Agnes nodded. “Good. I know I don’t need to remind you how important this event is.”
Rory dipped his head, and a grin played across his lips. “I should go. I have training to conduct.”
“Of course.” Agnes watched him leave through the front door, then turned to gather the envelopes off the desk. She handed a small stack to Sophie, assuring her she could wait to look them over until the Labor Day event was over. She took the remainder, including the letter from the Boston Art Museum.
Upstairs, Juliana Davenport was waking for the day. She would want to know why Lucia was sending word.
Agnes hoped Lucia was not in trouble again. It was exactly the sort of thing they could not have happening before tomorrow. This will be Amy’s moment. We must do all we can to help her, Agnes thought as she left the hall.
Run, Amy told herself.
She pushed herself to go faster, feet finding purchase on uneven ground as she sprinted through the woods along a narrow, beaten path. Her breathing was controlled, not from exertion but habit, a remnant of her human life that her new body had not quite forgotten.
She could sense him more than hear him. She felt it in the faint rustle of leaves, but mostly in the predatory patience of his pursuit. He enjoyed this. Amy would have been fine if she never had to run again. She considered veering off the path to shake him, but that would be futile. He knew what he was doing far better than she did.
Pure stubbornness pushed her onward, though part of her wanted to halt and give up. Get the teasing over with. He wasn’t trying to catch her. He was testing her, pushing her to move faster and think quicker. Use every advantage your nature provides. How many times had he said this to her?
Amy vaulted over a fallen tree, her movements faster and more fluid than they’d been six weeks ago when this training had started. She could run through the wooded portion of the estate now without throwing up at the end. Ahead, the trees began to thin, and she glimpsed the open lawn with the white tents being erected for tomorrow’s party. Beyond were the glowing lights of the house.
She burst from the tree line at full speed, then skidded to a halt as Rory Vale materialized in front of her, arms crossed and a satisfied grin hanging on those beautiful lips of his.
Amy hissed. “You have to stop doing that! I thought you were behind me!”
“I pulled ahead of you about half a mile back. You didn’t realize.”
She couldn’t conceive how a guy as big as Rory could pass her without being noticed. “One minute, thirty-two seconds,” he noted, checking his watch. “That’s four seconds faster than last week.”
But not enough.
Amy bent over, hands on her knees, more relief than exhaustion. “You might be all smiles, Commander Vale, but you’re trying to kill me. That, or you enjoy torturing me.”
His grin did not falter. “If I wanted to kill another vampire, I would not do it by making them run. But I appreciate the dramatic flair.”
Amy straightened, fixing him with a glowering expression. She tucked blonde hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ears. The September night air cooled her skin, the salt-tang scent of the ocean and earthy aroma of freshly mowed grass almost heavenly.
It was well past twilight, and the estate grounds were alive with activity. Staff members, both regulars and those hired specifically for the weekend’s event, moved between the white tents in preparation.
“Big day tomorrow,” Rory remarked, following her line of sight. “Big decision you have to make.”
As if she needed another reminder. Her stomach twisted.
“You ready?” Rory asked, his tone shifting from amused to serious.
“Is anyone ever ready for a decision like this?”
He chuckled. “Fair point. For what it’s worth, I think you will do fine. Whatever you decide, I’ll still be your friend.” He paused, the twinkle returning to his green eyes. “Who else will you have to talk about your smutty romance books with?”
Amy wished she had one of those books to chuck at his head right now.
Rory inclined his head toward the house. “Shall we go up together? I promise not to make you run.”
“You know a vampire’s jog is a human’s run, right?”
“We can stroll, and you’re not human anymore.”
Another reminder she didn’t need. “I can manage a stroll.”
As they approached the back entrance, Amy took in the scene. Tables and chairs were arranged under the tents, with the sides high enough for anyone seated underneath to see the grand fireworks display. It would be beautiful tomorrow. Everything Sophie waved her magic wand over was.
“You should get some rest,” Rory told her, pausing at the door.
It was almost twenty-four hours until the event, and Amy knew sitting around in her room would only make things worse. Those moments alone, thinking over the big decision she had to make, only made resting harder. However, she replied, “I will. Thanks, Rory.” It was good to know he would have her back, no matter what.
He disappeared into the night, probably heading back to his security office.
Amy stepped inside and headed toward the front of the house, where she found most of the estate’s chief staff gathered in the foyer. Sophie and Herald leaned over the desk and a screen displaying tomorrow’s seating chart, making last-minute adjustments. Marco hovered on the other side of the desk to note the changes. The three were so absorbed in their work that they did not notice Amy at first.
She stepped toward them, taking a moment to simply observe. She practiced the skill Sophie and the others had been drilling into her for weeks. Read the room.
Sophie glowed with moderate brightness, enough to mark her as capable and trusted but not so much as to seem threatening or overly powerful. Herald’s brightness was similar, if a tad less steady. Marco’s was a touch lower but steady and reliable. She saw no color in their brightness, the first layer of what they called Court Sense.
Sophie was the first to notice her. “Amy, perfect timing! We are debating whether we should seat the Castilians near the Hargroves or keep them separated.”
“Mrs. Castilian made pointed comments about Mrs. Hargrove’s taste in art at the last event. Turned the room positively chilly,” Herald remarked.
“But they are long-time acquaintances who are always seated together. They may draw more attention by being positioned across the lawn,” Sophie pointed out.
Amy couldn’t imagine living her life paying attention to such details. Who cared what one person said about another’s taste in art? They were adults. Shouldn’t they be able to sit at a table together and not let such small barbs affect them so?
