by Lora Edwards
It was a thought that didn’t chill him. When he thought of spending the rest of his long, long life with her, it evoked a warm feeling, almost a feeling of rightness.
A rustle of fabric brought him out of his reverie. He looked up and all thoughts spilled out of his head. She was magnificent. He looked her over, his gaze taking in the dress that fit her curves perfectly, the cream base complimenting her pale skin, the splash of color warming her. He stopped at her lips, lush and painted with a pale color, enhancing their beauty. He felt his heart beat in his chest and he dragged his eyes to hers, seeing the blush in her cheeks from his blatant perusal.
“Hello, Armand.” Her voice, barely a whisper, drew his eyes back to her lips. He needed to get a grip on himself and again dragged his gaze back up.
“Victoria.” He looked into her eyes, which darkened as he watched, and the fast beat of her heart told him without words the effect his gaze had on her.
“You look magnificent. Ovidia is a genius.”
She blushed again, breaking their eye contact and looking hard at the carpet.
“Thank you.”
He reached underneath her chin and lifted it with two fingers, bringing her eyes back to his. “You don’t have to hide anymore.” His voice was gravelly as the bustle of the car faded, and it felt as if they were the only two people in the room. She watched as his head dipped lower and felt her eyes lower as his breath whispered across her lips.
Victoria’s eyes snapped open and she grabbed Armand’s arm as she was violently pushed into his arms.
She turned and a red-faced man stood there. “I am so sorry—I am not quite used to the rocking of the train and I lost my balance.”
She smiled at him. It was not his fault, and he did not deserve her ire.
“It is fine. Don’t think anything of it.” She turned around again and Armand had retreated a few steps, glass in hand, an impassive look on his face as if the moment before hadn’t happened.
“How are your accommodations,” he asked with that same neutral expression. If he wished to pretend the moment hadn’t happened, she would oblige him.
“It is second only to my apartment at the institute. It is the most wonderful travel accommodations I have ever had the pleasure of staying in. Thank you so much for this experience. It is a marvel.”
“It is not just for pleasure. There are a few of the passengers I would like us to take the time to speak to. Finding out they were booked on the train gave us an opportunity to have them at our disposal.”
She reeled back as if she had been slapped. “Oh yes, I didn’t mean to imply you did this for me, just that I am grateful for the experience.”
Before he could respond, she turned to the man behind the bar, ordered a drink, and struck up a conversation with a woman on her other side.
Armand looked down into his drink and grimaced. That hadn’t come out the way he’d meant it, and he had seen the hurt look on her face. Why had he lashed out at her? They had set this up primarily for her enjoyment, and the fact that a few of Paris’s most influential vampires happened to be on the same train was simply a happy coincidence. What was it about her that made him act like a foolish schoolboy? He had been winning women for centuries, but with this one, he seemed to say all the wrong things. It’s because she matters, a little voice whispered inside his head. He staunchly ignored it and moved from the bar to the dining car to find the vampire he was seeking.
The perplexing creature didn’t even realize he had left, just continued with her inane conversation with the woman at the bar.
Armand spotted the man he was after sitting at one of the elegant tables of the dining car, sipping a dark red wine from a crystal glass. As Armand approached, he could smell the iron tang of the man’s drink. It was not all wine in the glass, confirming he had found the right man.
He was handsome, as most of their kind were. His white blond hair gleamed in the subdued lighting, his eyes a clear watery blue. He was on the thin side and, of course, very pale. He looked up as Armand came near his table, giving him a warm smile.
“Hello, have we met?”
“Not as of yet, but we have a mutual acquaintance I would like to discuss with you if you are amenable.” Armand bowed slightly in a formal greeting. The man inclined his head and gestured for him to take the seat across from him.
“May I get you a refreshment?”
“Thank you, I will stick with my whiskey,” Armand replied.
The blond man nodded, his curiosity held in check by politeness.
“I am Armand Draconus.”
“Oh yes, the man who founded the institute. I met a couple of your operatives some time ago when they assisted me in a sticky situation. Efficient lot.”
Armand struggled to not roll his eyes. Operatives from the institute had assisted Yancy Reynolds when he had almost outed himself to a flapper he had met in the 1920s. He had fallen head over heels for the human woman, and Armand’s sources had discovered she was not the type to keep the existence of supernaturals to herself. Armand had human contacts who were aware of the supernatural world, and the humans helped Yancy to see it was not a good idea to reveal himself to the ditzy flapper and then helped nurse his broken heart.
“I am glad to know they were helpful in your situation.”
“Quite, quite. Now about this acquaintance, I will be happy to assist you in any way that I can.”
“Thank you. It came to my attention recently that you have been, let us say…involved with the Countess of Bathory.”
What little color the man had drained from his face at the name, and he set his wine glass down on the table a bit shakily.
“Yes, well, Elizabeth and I were friends, I guess you could say, for a short time, but that”—the man shuddered—“friendship has ended. Her tastes were more…exotic than mine.” The man attempted a smile as he raised the goblet to his lips, taking a heavy swallow of the blood-laced wine.
“I am well aware of her proclivities.” Armand gave the man a sympathetic look.
“Yes, well, we were not compatible in that way. You are looking for her, I take it?”
Armand nodded and sipped his drink.
“I have to say I am glad of it. It would be a boon to the supernatural community to have her taken out of commission, at least until she is able to get her more anti-social habits under control.” The other man took a long sip of his drink, looking down one aisle of the train and then the other, fear clouding his eyes. “I never should have said that. I am always saying or doing something I don’t mean,” he muttered into his drink.
Armand patted the hand that lay on the table between them. “Do not worry, our conversation will be kept in the strictest of confidences. She will not know we spoke. Yes, we are searching for her to put a stop to her activities, as she will expose us all if she is not stopped.”
The man nodded vigorously. “Yes, it is not the old world anymore. With the advent of all this technology, the humans are making it much more difficult to hide.”
Armand nodded. “Which is why those who refuse to follow the rules must be dealt with swiftly. Those of us in the supernatural community may have talents the humans do not have, but they have us by sheer numbers, and if they were to find out about our existence, they would have the power to wipe us out.”
The man paled further, if possible. “She has a villa in France. The last time we met, that was where she was residing, outside of Paris.” He took another greedy gulp from his glass.
“Thank you, it has been a most helpful conversation. I will have to ask you to keep our little talk secret. We do not need the countess getting word.” Armand’s eyes turned steely and the man’s trembling increased.
He just nodded as Armand smiled warmly, standing smoothly from the chair.
“Oh, and the opera—she loves the opera. We attended a few together. Her favorite, Madame Butterfly, is playing at the Palais Garnier, so you may be able to catch her there unawares.”
Armand nodded
his thanks and strode back to the lounge car, his mind swirling with the information. She was still there, which meant they had a chance to corner her in modern-day Paris and have this mission sewn up in just a few days.
Armand allowed a small smile to cross his lips. This issue could be resolved soon, and he would be able to get on with his life. He had a good lead on the countess. She was a vain woman, and if she did see them at the Palais Garnier, she would feel the need to make contact.
Victor and Victoria stood talking quietly to one another, sipping their drinks and looking like any other elegant couple on the train. Victor reached out and smoothed a hand down Victoria’s bare arm, and Armand felt rage rush through him. He took a deep breath and scolded himself. She was not his. He didn’t have a claim on her, and he needed to deal with these feelings he was having for her before they got in the way of the mission.
He strode up to them and plastered a smile on his face. “Who feels like going to the opera?”
Chapter 13
Victoria stepped off of the train into the hustle and bustle of the Paris train station. It still amazed her to see how many people there were in modern times, all rushing around on one appointment, errand, or another.
She turned toward Armand and Victor and followed them as they walked through the station with purpose, before stopping at a booth. She watched the people go by as Armand collected keys to a car and then followed them out into the streets. Victoria had been to Paris many times with the countess. She had been to the opera houses as a companion and had seen many of the beautiful houses, but this Paris was different from the city she had experienced.
Cars and mopeds zoomed through the streets, and cafes lined the sides with smartly dressed people eating, drinking wine, and sipping little cups of coffee as they watched the busy people stream by.
She slipped into the back seat of a sleek silver car, the rich smell of leather surrounding her. She silently looked out the car window as Armand pulled onto the street, taking in the similarities and differences of the Paris she knew and the Paris that was now. Like London, it was a bit of the old mixed with the new, and it was a bit jarring to see places she recognized sitting next to modern buildings.
“Are we going straight to the villa,” she asked, ready for the peace the vineyards would bring her.
Armand glanced in the rearview mirror, an apologetic expression in his eyes.
“I am sorry, Victoria. We needed to make a stop at the Garda station.” When he saw her confusion, he elaborated. “The Bobbies can give us information on the bodies they found that we assume are victims of the countess. There has been another killing as of yesterday evening, and it would be good to be able to get a look at her most recent kill.”
Victoria nodded and sat back in her seat. They were there for a mission, not to lounge among the vines. “If we are allowed to see the body, I will be able to tell you if it is a victim of the countess. She always leaves a signature, and because she is my sire, I will be able to pick up her scent from the body.”
Victoria shivered as she thought about how many such bodies she had been made to dispose of over her years with the countess. The woman had always found Victoria’s distaste toward her methods amusing, and when she had been angry with her, she had made her dispose of the kills. Victoria had always been gentle with the bodies and whispered a prayer over them, one to the old gods she had worshipped, hoping it was enough to help their souls have safe passage into the next world.
Victoria remained silent for the rest of the journey, watching out the window at the blur of people and colors as they whisked by. She barely took note, lost in the memories from the past.
“Amora, you have displeased me with your most recent escape attempt. I am your sire, and as such, you are mine. When are you going to realize that?” The countess arched one elegant eyebrow.
“I will never stop fighting. You don’t own me—you stole my life.” Amora raged, tears coming to her eyes.
“I didn’t steal anything. What I gave you was a gift, a gift others would sell their soul to have. You live in fantastic mansions and wear fine silks and furs. Your life is so hard.” A gleam came into the countess’s eyes as she pouted. “Since you have decided to disobey me once again, you will be responsible for the clearing away after meals.”
The countess watched as the dawning horror slid into Amora’s eyes and she laughed meanly as she moved aside. Four bodies of young women, their skin pale in death, lay in a perfect row on the cold stone of the tower room.
“Starting now. Get rid of them—they are starting to smell.” The countess leaned forward and placed a kiss on Amora’s cheek then whispered in her ear. “You are mine for all eternity.” She swished out of the room, the smell of sage and lavender following her, leaving Amora staring at the dead young women.
“Victoria, we are here.” A soft voice and a shake of her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. She looked up into the cool blue of Armand’s eyes and felt a blush spread over her face.
“I am sorry, I must have gotten distracted.” She slipped out of the car and ignored the concerned look he flashed at Victor.
The building was made of stone, a square box without any ornaments. Victoria squared her shoulders. She could handle this. She could identify the presence of the countess on the body and fight the memories.
Armand turned and looked at the other two. “Humans of this time are particular about who they let in to see their dead and who they talk to about the circumstances surrounding them. As such, disguises are necessary.” Armand reached into his suit pocket and pulled out two black pouches. “Here are your badges. Victor and myself will pose as Interpol agents, and Victoria, you will pose as a forensic expert.”
“What is a forensic expert,” she asked as she took the identification from Armand.
“It is a human who looks at crime scenes and dead bodies and helps the police determine the way the person was killed. It is the easiest way to get in to see the bodies. Just follow my lead.”
Before Victoria could protest, Armand swung around and entered the building with an arrogant swagger to his walk. Victor followed suit, and Victoria trailed behind, her face impassive.
A woman sat at a long desk, speaking to someone on the phone in French. Victoria looked around and tried to not seemed too interested in her surroundings. Surely a forensic expert had seen their fair share of police stations.
It did not look like what was seen on the television shows she had watched at the institute. This waiting room was quiet and artfully decorated. On the television shows, blue-suited men grappled with foul-mouthed suspects; here, there was none of that. She was a bit let down by the experience, having expected a much more exciting environment.
Armand spoke with the woman behind the counter in his native tongue and flashed his charming smile, which made her blush and Victoria’s blood boil. She didn’t have any reason to be jealous, she knew that, but just seeing him look at another woman that way made her angry. He showed his fake badge and the woman picked up the phone, murmuring into it for a moment before telling them to have a seat and the detective on the case would be with them shortly.
Victoria tried hard not to stare daggers at the receptionist, but couldn’t help herself. She was tall and slim with patrician features and a long fall of shiny blonde hair flowing down her back. She was dressed smartly, as were most of the people Victoria had seen in Paris so far, and she had an air of confidence about her that Victoria envied.
“You are the people Interpol sent,” a man asked in a heavy French accent. Victoria pulled herself out of her reverie to see a man standing next to the reception desk. Victoria tried to hide her smile—here was what she had been expecting. He was tall and slim wearing black slacks and a rumpled white dress shirt that bore a small coffee stain. His brown eyes were shadowed with dark circles, as if he hadn’t been sleeping, and he had more than a day’s growth of stubble on his face. He was the quintessential tired and overworked detective.
&nb
sp; “Yes,” Armand said, standing smoothly, any trace of his French accent gone. He actually sounded a bit British.
He winked at the girl behind the counter before following the detective back into the bowels of the station. Her cheeks tinged a bit pink, and as Victoria walked by, she saw the hint of a pointed ear as the woman tucked her long blonde hair back behind it. She was elven or fae of some kind, which was why Armand hadn’t hidden his accent from her. He had flashed his badge for the benefit of the security cameras, she guessed. She had learned all about them in her mission preparation with Armand.
Victoria shoved the thought of the beautiful fae woman and her relationship to Armand out of her head. She needed to keep her mind on the case and not moon over him like a lovesick young girl. There were lives at stake here, and from the look of the detective, there had been quite a few murders and not a little pressure for him to end the killer’s reign of terror.
Victoria felt a bit sad that he would never know the murderer had been caught. The murders would just abruptly stop, another mysterious cold case that would molder in a file somewhere.
Victoria smiled at her flight of fancy; she had watched too many crime television shows while at the institute, and she’d always had a flair for the dramatic.
“This is Victoria, our resident forensic expert.” Armand brought her out of her thoughts as he gestured toward her, and she moved forward to shake hands with the detective as she had seen modern people do when meeting someone new.
His hands were warm, and she could feel the blood pulsing through them, could hear the ragged beat of his heart as it pumped blood throughout his body.
She shook her head. She needed to feed; they all did. There had been little time to do so on the train, and all three of them had been so engrossed in the investigation.