Burning Ash

by N. J. Walters

  It wasn’t his way to threaten or intimidate. Was totally out of character. Then again, he’d never had anyone or anything to lose before. When Deacon had tried to grab her, it had taken every ounce of his control not to destroy him on the spot.

  But he’d never slain a vamp for something he hadn’t done, and this was no time to start. That was a slippery slope that would only end one way.

  The Brotherhood policed their own.

  Gregori glanced at his companion. They were communicating telepathically. There was an underlying hum that he could detect. He’d never tried to hear another telepathic conversation and wondered if he could. The downside was they would sense the intrusion if he attempted. It wasn’t worth the risk to go that route. Right now, they were potential allies and not enemies.

  “Let’s talk in my office. It’s quieter.” Gregori motioned to the sparsely populated dance floor. “Better for business, too.” Deacon rose, and he slid out to stand beside him. “Bring the drinks. We will talk, and I’ll tell you whatever it is you wish to know.” His gold eyes twinkled in the dim light. “In spite of the danger you present, I find I like you. You are direct. I respect that.” He walked away with Deacon behind him to watch his back.

  Asher picked up the bottle of champagne. “Shall we?”

  “Really? You’re bringing the wine?” She might be objecting, but she did take both their glasses.

  “No need to be inhospitable or waste an excellent vintage.”

  With a roll of her eyes, she followed their hosts. He brought up the rear, all his senses open and aware as they wound past the booths and down a long corridor that ran behind the bar.

  The door was already open to reveal a well-equipped office with the requisite desk and computer, along with a wall of screens, displaying the security feed. But it was the plush seating area with four sofas and a large oak table in the center where Gregori and Deacon waited.

  Asher shut the door, blocking out the noise from the club.

  …

  Jo wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but there was no way she was anywhere near relaxed. That wouldn’t happen until they were home with the doors securely shut behind them.

  And when had she started thinking about Asher’s place as home?

  “Jo.” He nudged her along. Crap, she hadn’t realized she’d stopped. The sofas looked comfortable but were a little gaudy for her tastes. Red velvet, really? Even in here?

  Gregori was a dichotomy. While he seemed cultured, he played into the stereotypical vampire image with the name of the bar, the red and black color scheme, and the posters on display everywhere.

  Sweat beaded beneath her clothing, and her pulse ratcheted up another level. No matter how polite everyone was being—except when Deacon had tried to grab her—none of them were exactly calm.

  The other three were great beasts of prey circling one another, each vying for dominance. But she was no tethered goat waiting to be slaughtered.

  “May I take your coat?” Gregori asked, ever the congenial host.

  Screw it. Rather than hide what she was, she’d let them see she wasn’t exactly helpless. Plus, if it came to a fight, she’d be able to maneuver better. Not that Asher would need her help. Every time she thought she knew the extent of his abilities, it seemed he amped it up another notch.

  Jo set down the crystal flutes on the table, shrugged out of her leather duster, and tossed it over the end of one of the sofas. Deacon frowned and Gregori smiled when her weapons were exposed.

  “You weren’t joking, were you?” their host asked Asher. “She truly is a hunter.”

  “I’m standing right here. Ask me, not him. And you’re damn right I’m a hunter.”

  “Have you actually killed anyone, or are those blades for show?”

  Reaching behind, she drew her sword. “Want to find out?” She was definitely pushing her luck but was past caring. Whoever had hired the ones who’d attacked them had wanted her dead.

  Deacon growled, his sharp teeth flashing, but Gregori simply patted his leg and the giant subsided. “No need for a demonstration. Sit. Sit.” He motioned to the sofa alongside them. “I’m curious as to how you two met. There’s a certain irony to the situation that is fascinating. Do you talk shop?”

  She wasn’t buying the laid-back affable act. Anger and fear were reflected in his eyes, but he had remarkable self-control. This was not a man to turn your back on or you might find yourself missing your head.

  “Enough.” The one low word brought the banter to a standstill. Asher took a seat across from them and patted the cushion beside him. She sheathed her sword and joined him.

  “Harrison Rucker. Joseph Meyers. Malcolm Twitch, Nevin Spears.” Asher listed the names one after another. “Tell me about them.” Not a question but a command.

  Jo leaned forward, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t interested.

  Gregori frowned and turned to Deacon. “I know the first two names. They come in from time to time to enjoy the lovelies who flock here for a chance to get bitten, as it were.”

  “And what if one of them goes too far? Have you had many deaths?” Her fingers itched to hold her blade. She turned slightly to have better access to her crossbow.

  “Of course not,” Gregori protested. “We have rules. None of the people remember being bitten. They may leave slightly lightheaded with a memory of enjoying themselves. We monitor things. All those who are anonymous donors are offered vouchers for free drinks and food and given a pass for a return visit. We tell them it’s a sales promotion or a giveaway of some kind.”

  Her stomach turned, the lovely champagne souring. “By anonymous donors you mean unwitting ones. They have no idea they’ve been used for a snack.”

  Gregori shrugged. “We have to live, my dear. Better for them to continue to be oblivious to our presence. Better for us, too. Most enjoy it and come back for more. Those that don’t are no worse off.”

  While she couldn’t fault his logic, she didn’t approve.

  “Who sired Rucker and Meyers?” Asher asked. His presence calmed her. He’d taken blood from people. Had to in order to have lived this long. How many donors had he used? Had they known?

  Not now. Don’t go there.

  “Let me think.” Gregori tapped a finger against his temple. “If I’m not mistaken Bernard Sellers. At least that’s the last name he’s using now.”

  “What about the other two?” Asher was intent on both men, as though monitoring them to make sure they were being honest. But how? Wasn’t like their heart rate would spike if they lied. Contrary to some folklore, their hearts did beat, just very, very slowly, making it almost indiscernible.

  Deacon finally spoke, his voice a deep bass that seemed almost too low to be real. “Malcolm is one of Bernard’s children. I do not know about the other.”

  “Fair enough. And where would I find Bernard?” Asher’s request was polite, but there was no doubting he wasn’t leaving without an address.

  “Let me check.” Gregori went to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and drew out a thin ledger covered in embossed black leather with gold metal corners. It looked both old and expensive. After flipping several pages, he stopped on one. “Yes, here it is. He actually has an apartment in Manhattan.” He rattled off the address. “Bernard has never been here. Dark Side is not his kind of establishment. He’d frequent a quieter venue. Most of the older ones do.”

  “But not you,” she pointed out.

  He shut the ledger and returned to the sofa. “No, not me. I’ve watched too many of my brethren wither away and perish due to ennui. I prefer to remain a part of the world.” He motioned to the champagne. “Drink up. You may as well enjoy it since the bottle is open. I regret I have to taint it with blood to make it palatable.”

  Gregori poured more of the red wine, which she suspected was mostly blood due to the thickness of it, and took
a sip. A drop lingered on his bottom lip before he licked it away. “May I enquire as to what these young scamps have done to draw your attention?”

  “They took a contract to kill Jo.”

  “That would be me.” She raised her hand and waggled her fingers.

  “Hmm, all of them? Four against one isn’t very sporting now, is it?”

  “It was actually four on two.” She pointed at Asher. “And it wasn’t sporting at all. They didn’t stand a chance.”

  Gregori stilled. “I see. I take it all of them are dead.”

  “They signed their own death warrant when they came after her. Do you know anything about this?” Asher was straight to the point.

  “No, I don’t.” He held up his hand as if to stop any further question. “I’d tell you if I did. I run a respectable club.” She kept her mouth shut and didn’t protest, even though she wanted to. “Normal and paranormal alike enjoy their time here. They dance, they drink, and they indulge in mutually pleasurable sex. The vampire clientele receive the blood they need to survive.”

  “There are blood banks for that,” she interjected.

  “Ah, but nothing tastes quite the same as fresh, hot blood. And contrary to what you think, all the donors are willing. They simply do not remember what they agreed to or what happened to them after the fact.” He picked up his glass and took a deep swallow.

  “And everyone adheres to that policy?” Asher asked.

  “They do if they wish to return. Anyone who gets out of line has to deal with Deacon.”

  Okay, she could see how that would be a deterrent.

  “And if they break the club rules,” he continued, “they are barred forever. Most that come here are young enough not to want that to happen. They make friends among those their age. There are not many venues such as this one for socializing.

  “When things run smoothly, I rake in the profits, which works quite nicely for me. Killing humans is bad for business. It brings the attention of the Council, which is something I try to avoid. I’m much too fond of my life to forfeit it because some youngling loses control and makes a mess that needs to be cleaned up.”

  That made sense to her, if only from a purely business point of view. From what she’d witnessed here this evening, he was all about his club and defending his turf.

  “It is against all reason for the four of them to go after a human for sport and profit. They had to be aware of the consequences. I’m certain Bernard isn’t aware of it.”

  “Why would you say that?” she asked their host.

  “He’s old and, from everything I heard, rarely leaves his home these days.”

  “You know him?” It was curious that Asher seemed content to let her do most of the talking, but she didn’t mind. She was used to being in charge.

  “I know of him. I keep track of as many of the vampires in the city as I can. I haven’t laid eyes on Bernard in about five years. No, it may be seven. And that was only in passing.”

  Asher stirred and slowly came to his feet. Looked like the interview was over. Jo caught up her jacket and pulled it on, making sure it settled properly to give easy access to her weapons.

  What the hell. With a shrug, she lifted the flute and downed the last of the champagne in the glass. It really was spectacular.

  “You will let me know if you hear anything.” Asher had a way of making everything seem like a request rather than a question. She admired that. It was useful, especially in situations such as this. He reached into his pocket and removed a card. It contained no name or address. Only a single phone number printed in black.

  “If I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know,” Gregori assured him. The card disappeared into his jacket pocket.

  Asher allowed her to precede him to the door. When she opened it, he paused and looked back at the two men—one large and black, the other slight and white, both deadly.

  “It would be a mistake to call and warn Bernard to expect visitors.” On that note, Asher closed the door behind him, put his hand on her back, and urged her toward the main entrance.

  Once again, the crowds were thick and the music pumping. Seemed waiting had paid off for the hopefuls in the lineup outside. Because of those who’d fled earlier, these people now got to party.

  Now that she had a better idea of the layout and how the club ran, she scanned the area. Six males, dressed in the club colors, circled the crowded floor, watching and listening. They cut through the throngs of people like sharks through a school of minnows. All of them exuded a dangerous vibe that screamed, “Don’t fuck with me.” That was serious security.

  Stopping in her tracks, she turned in a circle. There was something in the air. A whisper, a vibe that was quite nasty. Every instinct she possessed flashed a warning.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Asher spoke loud enough for her to hear him over the noise.

  “Right.” She was more than ready. Moving as quickly as she could without appearing to hurry, she led the way through the crowd and up the wide stairs. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. When she turned, Gregori and Deacon were standing at the end of one of the bars watching them.

  Relief rushed over her. I’m not paranoid.

  Gregori raised his hand and waved. Deacon glared.

  Jo spun around, happy to be leaving the noise and crowd, but most of all the vampires, behind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There was a lot to think about but no time to do so. While Asher trusted Gregori wouldn’t contact Bernard, he couldn’t be as sure about his staff. Word of his and Jo’s visit and why they were there would already be circulating. Preternatural hearing could be a problem when one had to do business in such a public venue. “We need to visit Bernard.”

  “You think Gregori will contact him?” Jo lengthened her stride to keep up with him. They’d left the heated and noisy club behind them, but his ears were still ringing, a result of having such keen hearing. At least he didn’t get headaches. If he did, he’d have a doozy.

  “No, he enjoys being king of his little world too much to jeopardize it. He knows who I am, knows I’ll make good on my word if he betrays me.”

  Beside him, Jo’s heartbeat spiked before settling back down.

  “You find that troublesome?” There were less people on the streets, but they were nowhere near empty, not in this part of town. New York never truly slept, but a very different group of people occupied the night, sleeping during the days.

  There was an edge of danger in the air that made all his senses hum.

  “Not troublesome.” When he gave her a look of disbelief, she shrugged. “I get that you have to make good on your word if you want people to respect that.”

  “And?” Because he could tell there was more.

  When she glanced away, he took her by the arm and led her into the shadows by a store that was locked for the night.

  “We need to keep going,” she pointed out.

  “Tell me what’s on your mind. You’ve had no trouble doing so up until now. Why stop?”

  Jo leaned her back against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine, you really want to know what’s bothering me?”

  “I do.” Their acquaintance might have been short, but her opinion mattered.

  “It was the coldness, the matter-of-fact in your voice when you talk about killing. And I get it. Being emotionally involved is a good way to end up dead. Trust me. More than most, I totally understand.”

  “But it bothers you?”

  “It gave me a shiver or two. That’s normal. I’m only human, after all.”

  And he wasn’t. What was he doing bringing her with him? “You should go back to the penthouse.” Because he would keep her safe, no matter what. “I’ll talk with Bernard.”

  “Fuck that.” Eyes flashing, her lips firmed, she drilled her forefinger into h
is chest. “You don’t get to leave me behind.”

  He found himself smiling. “No, ma’am.”

  “You try it and I’ll just follow you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” When she was fired up, he found her irresistible. Around her, he came alive in a way he hadn’t in a very long time, if ever.

  “And what’s with the ma’am stuff. Makes me sound like I’m some uptight stereotypical spinster aunt from the 1950s or something.”

  This time he did laugh. “No one would ever mistake you for such a thing.” There was too much life and vibrancy surrounding her. Jo would never fade into her surroundings. And any respect she had, she’d more than earned it with her courage.

  “Okay. Good then.” She threw her hands into the air. “Why are we even talking about this?”

  “You’re right. Talking is overrated.” He whisked her deeper into the shadows. His lips were on hers as soon as they were surrounded by darkness. The prick of a sharp blade against his ribs made his balls tighten, not in fear but arousal.

  “Shit, that was reflex. You shouldn’t grab me. I could have stabbed you.” The knife disappeared, and she locked her arms around him.

  “But it would hurt so good,” he teased as he brushed his mouth against hers.

  “You’re crazy, you know that? You’re not into that kinky stuff, are you? Cause I gotta tell you, I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He laughed again, feeling younger than he had in centuries. “No, I’m not into that kinky stuff. All I want.” He punctuated his words with a quick kiss. “All I need.” He touched his lips to hers again. “Is you.” This time he thrust his tongue into her mouth, needing her heat, her passion. It fed a part of him that had been starving for a very long time.

  The leather of their coats creaked, and her softer moans mingled with his deeper ones. He ran his hands up her back, lips curving upward when he brushed the sheath for her sword.