Duncan’s driver—tonight it was Ari—positioned the SUV in the nearly empty lot, angling it for a quick getaway.
“Not many cars,” Miguel observed from his place in the passenger seat up front. “They must park out back.”
“Or they live nearby and come on foot,” Ari suggested. He looked around. “A lot of neighborhoods within an easy walk of here, especially for one of us.”
The second SUV backed in next to them, and Duncan’s security team bailed out, deploying throughout the parking lot, peering into darkened store fronts along the dingy strip mall. The door next to Emma opened and Louis was there, with Baldwin right behind him.
Emma saw Baldwin and turned to give Duncan a sharp look. “You said I could—”
“I know what I said, Emma, all of it. You’ll remain here with Baldwin until we can verify what’s behind that door. Once I’m certain it’s secure, Baldwin will bring you inside.”
Emma’s jaw tightened, but she gave him a brief nod of acquiescence.
Duncan kissed her gently. “Thank you, Emmaline.”
She softened instantly, then scowled when she realized what she’d done. He laughed.
“Are we ready, Miguel?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Baldwin.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“She’s the most important thing on earth to me. Don’t forget that.”
“Never, my lord.”
Duncan stroked the back of his fingers along Emma’s cheek, feeling the heat of her blush at his words. She tried to hold onto her scowl, but her eyes gave her away and he smiled. “Be good, Emmaline.”
He stepped out of the SUV and walked across the parking lot toward the bar. His vampires surrounded him, with Miguel at his side and Louis out in front. They paused upon reaching the door. Louis put his hand on the cheap, metal handle and waited, looking back at Duncan for permission. Duncan nodded and Louis pulled the door open.
The smell of human blood rolled out on a wave of scent that should have been welcoming, but it was too much, coming perilously close to being a stench rather than a seduction. Duncan’s vampires spread out through the room, with only Miguel and Louis remaining at his side.
A quick scan of the bar’s dark interior told him there were eighteen vampires present, excluding his own. Most of the tables, and their occupants, were hidden in dark corners, but there was a female watching him from behind the bar. She was tall and strikingly beautiful, with dark chocolate skin and long hair hanging in beaded corn rows down her back.
Conversation ceased when he entered, the resident vampires completely still as they watched warily from the shadows. The bartender was the first to recover, almost immediately flipping up the bar’s pass-through and coming out to meet him. She was dressed entirely in leather—a black skirt that barely covered her assets, topped by a deep red bustier that laced up the front and left her breasts half-naked. Their plump globes of shining flesh swelled over the red leather, threatening to spill out at the slightest provocation as she sauntered over and dropped to one knee in front of him.
“Master,” she crooned, her head bowed in false modesty. She lifted her face to meet his gaze. Her eyes were dark and sensuous, with thick black lashes that graced her cheeks when she blinked lazily, giving him a look that was blatant invitation. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she murmured. “I don’t know your name.”
Duncan regarded her coolly. “Duncan,” he said. “And you are?”
“Yours, my lord.”
Someone snickered from the shadows and the female cast a vicious glance in that direction, before returning her smoldering gaze to Duncan. “My name is Imani, my lord.”
Before Duncan could respond, a rough voice called out, “Is Victor really dead?”
Duncan surveyed the surrounding vampires before his gaze fell unerringly on the one who’d spoken. “He is,” he responded simply.
“Well, thank God for that.” The muttered words were almost lost beneath the cheers as every vampire in the bar voiced his approval.
Suddenly Duncan was surrounded by vampires pushing against his security, wanting to get closer to their new master. His people closed in unhappily, but he wasn’t worried. The vampires assembled here meant him no harm. There was nothing but cautious relief in the emotions they were broadcasting like radio signals, at least to his finely tuned senses.
Imani, almost forgotten where she knelt at Duncan’s feet, jumped up with a snarl for everyone all around and edged nearer to Duncan, as if laying claim. She reached out a long-fingered hand to take his arm, but froze in mid-reach when Duncan turned and gave her a cold stare.
“Miguel,” he said, without taking his eyes off Imani. “Have Baldwin escort Emma inside.” Miguel murmured something into his throat mike, and a moment later the front door opened.
Duncan didn’t need to see her to know it was Emma. He felt her presence as strongly as a warm wind at his back.
“Emmaline,” he called, “Join me.”
* * * *
Emma sat in the SUV, gaze trained on door of the tacky bar as if she could see through the peeling leather, if she only stared hard enough. Next to her, Baldwin was slouched down onto his tailbone, legs stretched out between the two front seats, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. It was all a sham, of course. In a heartbeat, he could spring into lethal action, risking his life to defend her. And she knew he would, because he’d done it before. He’d almost died defending her.
She didn’t hear anything, but Baldwin’s hand came up suddenly to touch his ear with its almost invisible communications bud. “On our way,” he said.
Emma scooted eagerly to the edge of the SUV’s bench seat. “Are we going in?” she asked. Her heart sped up with excitement and maybe a little fear. Not much fear, though, because Duncan would never let anything bad happen to her.
“The big man says ‘Bring me my Emma,’ and I deliver,” Baldwin teased. He slid out of the truck and held the door for her, then stopped her with a hand on her arm. He gave her a serious look and said, “Remember, Emma, stay right behind me until I give you the word, okay?”
She nodded absently, her attention focused not on what Baldwin was saying, but on the Glock in the deep pocket of her winter jacket. She’d spent some very informative time with Raphael’s mate, Cyn, when they’d all been in California a couple weeks ago. Cyn knew all sorts of stuff about dealing with vampires, and she’d been more than willing to share. Her very first piece of advice, the one she’d stressed more than any other, was never go into a room full of strange vampires without a gun.
Emma already owned a gun, and she knew how to use it. She’d even stopped that weasel Max Grafton from shooting Duncan a second time and maybe even killing him. So, she wasn’t a total amateur when it came to guns. But she wasn’t used to carrying one around, either, which meant she was still fighting the urge to check it constantly. Maybe after this she’d get a holster of some sort and carry the damn thing openly. That’s what Cyn did. And Cyn had told her about Colin Murphy, the former Navy SEAL who was mated to Lady Sophia, the Vampire Lord up in Canada. He not only went armed all the time, he went armed to the teeth. So, there was no reason Emma couldn’t openly carry her trusty Glock wherever she went.
She followed Baldwin across the parking lot to the bar’s heavy door. It had seen better times, that was for sure. The pin tuck leather was cracked and peeling, with tufts of stuffing leaking out and gaping holes where it was long gone.
Baldwin tugged the door open and ushered her inside, immediately stepping out of the doorway and placing himself in front of Emma so that his body became a shield against whatever might be waiting for them. Emma rested a hand lightly on his back, the way he’d shown her, so he’d know where she was.
“Emmaline,” Duncan’s voice was the first thing she heard. “Join me.”
It was phrased more as a command than a request, and normally that might have put her back up a bit, but he’d used her full name of Emmaline. Only Duncan used that n
ame, and only to show affection. So, clearly, there were layers of meaning in that one sentence. Baldwin stepped aside while Emma was still processing what it all meant, but when she caught sight of Duncan, what she saw made all the verbal nuance in the world unimportant.
Who the hell was the leather clad bitch with her boobs hanging out, and what was she doing standing so close to Duncan?
Emma headed across the room, barely aware of Duncan’s vampires clearing a path for her. She strode over to Duncan’s right side—the side the bitch was standing on—and slipped her arm into his possessively as her other hand dropped into her pocket and took hold of the gun waiting there.
“Duncan,” she said, giving the half-naked woman a warning look.
The woman—no, the vampire—hissed at her like a fang-toothed cat, glaring at Emma and taking a menacing half step forward.
“I wouldn’t,” Emma said coldly and drew her weapon, aiming at the female vamp’s mid-section.
“You can’t hurt me with that,” the vamp sneered.
“Oh, it’ll hurt,” Emma assured her. “Granted, it might not kill you. But it will definitely put you down long enough for me to find a stake.”
The vamp’s gaze shifted uneasily from the gun to Emma’s face and back again, as if weighing her sincerity. She frowned, then glanced once at Duncan, who said nothing, just stood there in perfect, deadly stillness. Emma knew the danger in provoking Duncan when he was like this. But did the vampire bitch?
“My mate,” Duncan said quietly, but it was more than loud enough to be heard by every vampire in the room. “Emma Duquet.”
The female vamp’s eyes widened briefly and then she stepped back and shouted with artificial good cheer, “Champagne! A toast to the health of our new lord.”
Duncan watched in bemusement as Imani raced back behind the bar to the cheers of the assembled vampires. She quickly began plunking down champagne glasses—the old-fashioned kind with shallow bowls, not the flutes so common today. She disappeared through a door behind the bar briefly, then emerged bearing several bottles of champagne.
“A toast,” she shouted again, and began pouring champagne along the row of glasses, splashing it liberally as she poured from glass to glass without lifting the bottle.
“I think they’re pleased to see you, my lord,” Miguel murmured.
Duncan took the full glass offered to him by one of the vampires and handed it to Emma, then took a second for himself. He was proud of Emma. Not just that she’d stood up to Imani, but that she’d claimed him, as well. He was going to have to talk to her about that gun, though. He’d known she had it with her, but hadn’t really expected her to pull it on anyone. It made him smile that she had. Especially since she’d been defending her territory … him.
“What are you grinning at,” she muttered behind her champagne.
“Have I told you I love you, Emmaline?”
“Once or twice. Click glasses with me.”
Duncan did and noticed Emma doing some grinning of her own. He raised a questioning eyebrow to her.
“It drove that bitch nuts that you were mine,” she snickered and Duncan had to laugh.
“Her name is Imani.”
“Who cares?”
“So fierce, Emmaline. I find it quite arousing.”
Emma snorted. “You find everything arousing. Not that I’m complaining,” she hastened to add.
Duncan gave Emma a wink, then directed his attention to Imani who’d jumped up onto something behind the bar, so that she now stood heads above everyone else.
“Hey!” she shouted, then raised her voice even more loudly and yelled, “Shut the fuck up!”
“To our new lord,” she said into the resulting silence, her dark eyes gleaming in the low light, fangs visible as she grinned broadly. “May he live a thousand years!”
“Yeah!” The male voices raised in agreement made such a deep rumble of sound that Duncan felt it in his gut. Or maybe that was the emotion of the moment he was feeling.
They all drank—except for Duncan who touched his lips politely to the champagne, but didn’t drink further. Emma, he noticed, raised her glass in a toast, but didn’t drink at all. She saw him looking and said, “Who knows what she slipped in here? It might be deadly to humans.”
“Very wise,” Duncan said blandly. But it made him aware once again that Emma was the only human in the room.
One of the vamps threw his glass against the wall to punctuate the moment, and Imani shrieked like a fishwife. “You’re paying for that, asshole!”
“Sire,” Miguel said in sudden urgency. “There’s another—”
“It’s all right, Miguel. I’m aware of him.”
Emma caught the exchange, and her questioning glance turned worried as Baldwin suddenly appeared behind her.
“Duncan?” She searched the room with her eyes, while her hand dropped into the pocket containing her gun. He really was going to have to talk to her about that.
“Everything’s fine, Emmaline. Trust me.”
She nodded and relaxed fractionally, which warmed his heart. But he noticed she remained alert, and that warmed an entirely different part of his anatomy. He’d called her fierce. She was that and more.
A growing disturbance rippled through the local vampires, whispered exchanges of angry words that sifted through their ranks until they abruptly grew still, standing back as if a silent command had been given, making way for one of their number to come forward.
He was an unremarkable vampire. Brown hair in need of a cut, narrow shoulders and a slender frame with no particular musculature. But the others treated him with almost the same respect they’d given Duncan.
Duncan had known he was there, of course. The vamp’s mental signature was too obvious to be concealed.
The brown-haired vampire approached with an insolent glide. He was a master vampire, but just barely, easily resisted by any vamp with a strong will. So, either he was naturally charismatic or the vampires in this room were colossally weak. Unfortunately—for him—he was about to discover just how insignificant he truly was.
The newcomer stopped right in front of Duncan, sparing a curious glance at Emma and giving Miguel a dismissive sneer, before finally falling into an arrogant stance as he met Duncan’s calm gaze.
“On your knees,” Duncan said softly. The vampire frowned, clearly not expecting this and inclined to resist, but Duncan didn’t give him a choice. He added just enough power to the command that the brown-haired vampire’s legs bent like twigs, his knees hitting the floor with an audible crack.
“Emma,” Duncan murmured. He felt her gaze shift to his face. “This will be bloody. You may observe if you’d like, but I’d like you to remain close to Baldwin.”
“I’ll stay,” she said in a clear voice, then took a half step back to where Baldwin waited.
Duncan slipped his leather jacket off, tossing it onto a nearby chair. “What’s your name?” he asked the vampire casually, and gestured to Miguel who produced a small switchblade. It was a pretty little thing, with a four inch Damascus steel blade and a custom mother of pearl handle. Duncan had found it while cruising the Internet in search of a get well gift for Cyn. He already owned a rare antique blade for formal occasions, but a switchblade was eminently more practical when traveling, and he’d already used it several times since taking over the territory.
“Fredric,” the kneeling vampire ground out, answering Duncan’s query. “Fredric Paro.”
Duncan had been shoving up his sweater sleeve preparatory to sharing his blood with Fredric and extracting a pledge of fealty. But now he stopped and turned to regard the kneeling vampire with carefully concealed disbelief. Anger surged through him, turning quickly to rage. Duncan rarely lost control of his anger and even more rarely permitted anyone to see what was going on behind the calm face he presented to the world. But this was too much. This insignificant worm of a vampire thought he could lie to his rightful lord? Even worse, he clearly thought Duncan was so weak tha
t he wouldn’t know the difference. Duncan had expected a challenge or two when he seized the territory from Victor, but not from a weakling like this. Either the vampire had a vastly overblown sense of his own power, or he had no idea of what it took to become a vampire lord.
Duncan spoke in a low voice, forcing the so-called Fredric to lean forward in order to hear him.
“You’re lying, Domingo,” he growled, using the vampire’s true name.
The kneeling vampire jolted at hearing his name spoken, and then began gasping for breath as Duncan exerted his power and slowly sucked the air from his lungs a little at a time.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Domingo,” Duncan said in a hard voice. “You’re either going to become one more pile of dust for Imani to sweep from the floor of this charming bar, or you’re going to swear fealty to me on pain of death. Your death. Either way, it matters not to me.”
Domingo was clutching at his throat with both hands now, his mouth working as he struggled to catch enough breath to speak.
Duncan ignored his struggles, continuing to roll his sleeve above his elbow as if there was no urgency. Finally, he glanced over at Domingo whose face was dark red with strain, eyes popping out of his head and full of pleading.
Duncan studied him a moment longer, then nodded.
Domingo fell forward, gasping and coughing for breath, sucking air in great noisy draughts.
“Well?” Duncan asked in a cool voice.
“My lord,” Domingo rasped. “Forgive me. I didn’t know.”
Duncan looked at him. “Didn’t know what exactly?”
The vampire stared, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly with fear.
Vampires in America: The Vignettes, Volume 1 Page 9