"Keep talking," Daniel said gruffly. "I thought it was kind of silly, but it's actually interesting."
"Right?" She nodded her head, which helped her to avoid looking straight at him. She didn't want to see the image of him driving a stake through a man's heart. "A Frenchman got the idea to build a device with chariots and carved horses suspended by chains from arms attached to a center pole. It was used to train noblemen in the art of ring spearing. Ladies and children loved the device as much as or more than the noblemen." She glanced at Genevieve. The strain was beginning to show on her friend's face. Charlotte gave a little exaggerated sigh. "We should be going. We have to get up early tomorrow."
She stood up before the three men could protest. She needed to get Genevieve out of there as quickly as possible before she gave away the fact that she was terrified. Charlotte was afraid of them as well, but she was determined to find out what was going on. The fact that the three men had followed them from France, found where they were staying and followed them to the club meant that Lourdes wasn't safe anyway. They had to change tactics. They needed to quit burying their heads in the sand and find out what threatened them and why.
"Thanks for the drinks. We'll see you around sometime," Genevieve said, flashing her million-dollar smile. She stood up as well, taking a step back as Vince climbed to his feet. Genevieve was tall, but he still towered over her.
"Give me your cell. Let me program my number in," he said, all charm.
Genevieve's gaze shifted to Charlotte's, and Charlotte's nod was nearly imperceptible. The last thing she wanted was for sharp-eyed Daniel to realize they were onto them. They'd been discouraging at first because they weren't looking to pick up men, so they had that going in their favor. The three men were very good-looking and clearly used to easy conquests. Twice Charlotte had indicated to Daniel she wasn't looking to hook up with anyone and he should move on to a sure thing. She had hoped, in the beginning, that he was interested in her only because she presented a challenge. Now she knew better.
Genevieve reluctantly took out her phone, but instead of handing it over, she programed Vince's number in herself. Charlotte caught her arm as she passed her, already on her way out the door. She lifted a hand at the three men as Daniel protested, pulling out his phone.
"Seriously?" Charlotte smiled at him and waved. "You have an entire smorgasbord of hot women fawning all over you." They had to move and they had to move fast. She knew the men would follow them, and that meant disappearing before they got outside. They'd have to get to their car, get out of the parking garage and find a place to hide, then wait for the men to come out.
"I didn't spend all evening sitting with them," Daniel protested.
"Maybe we'll see you next time," Charlotte said and deliberately hurried into the crowd, heading for the door. "Come on, Genevieve. We have to get the car and fast. We don't have much time."
Genevieve nodded, already fishing for her keys in her purse.
2
There were all kinds of ways to hunt for his quarry. Tariq Asenguard stared down from the balcony at the masses of people below. He and his partner, Maksim Volkov, had long ago converted the palatial theater into a dance club to bring in the crowds. He could stand up above them and look down all the way through four stories at the gyrating bodies below him.
Tariq had drawn up the plans for the renovations himself, making certain that the center was open, so one could see each dance floor and bar when looking over the railings to the floors below. The arrangement was unique, and customers loved it and returned as often as possible. The only place he couldn't see was the basement, which he'd renovated for use as an underground club for the goth, grunge and vampire lovers that came out at night to live their lives the way they chose, accepted by others like them.
Every floor had a different type of music and drew in a large variety of people. The more diverse, the better for him. The better his hunting. He could hear their heartbeats and the blood pounding in their veins, calling to him. It was easy to hunt in the confines of the building with so many bodies packed in close.
He could use the eager men or women for sustenance when he was in need. It was easy enough to portray the image of the city's resident playboy with a woman on either arm. He was slowly building a reputation. A rich, eligible bachelor, co-owner of one of the hottest nightclubs in the city. Women flocked to him. That was exactly the result he'd wanted when he'd come up with the idea. He had four other clubs in various cities, and each had a different partner, one who watched over the club while he was at his main residence.
The design with the opening in the center of the dance floors was even more important now that he knew his greatest enemies had invaded his city. Vampires had gone underground. These weren't the undead of old. They were thinking, technology-using, planning-a-war vampires. Sophisticated and organized. Tariq could scan minds for news of bizarre killings signaling the possibility of a vampire close, one taking over the humans in the area in order to create an army aboveground.
"Anything new?" Maksim came up behind him. He gripped the balcony and leaned down to observe the mass of bodies dancing on each floor below them.
"No. That worries me more than if I'd discovered someone tainted." Tariq inhaled sharply. Frowned. "There is a scent . . ." He trailed off.
"Sweat," Maksim said with a wry smile.
Tariq had no sense of humor. For him, there was no riot of color as he looked down on the men and women dancing. He saw only a dull gray. He felt . . . nothing. He lived to hunt. To kill. Even in the doing of that, he felt . . . nothing. He inhaled again, and once more, it was there. That scent. Calling to him. Making his heart pound. Pumping hot blood through his veins. He leaned out farther over the rail.
"It's elusive. Faint. Barely there."
The smile faded from Maksim's rugged face. "What scent, Tariq? Vampire? There's been no hint of activity since we discovered the underground lair. We've been patrolling . . ."
Tariq shook his head. "No. Orange blossoms and vanilla and something else. It is faint but it is there. You can't smell that? Somewhere . . ." He broke off again, searching each individual floor for the source of that extraordinary fragrance. He inhaled again and caught the elusive scent, drawing it into his lungs. Instantly his body reacted of its own accord, something that had never happened. A stirring. His blood hot. Thick. Beginning to pool low and wicked.
He stilled as only a predator could, letting the wonder of feeling wash over him. Absorbing the shock of it. He didn't feel. He couldn't. He was ancient and long ago had lost all ability to feel anything. His body didn't react to a scent. To anything at all. And yet . . .
Maksim inhaled deeply. He nodded slowly. "I can't tell which floor she's on. A woman." He narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp on his partner. "Interesting that the scent intrigues you when there are so many. Why focus on just that one?"
Tariq knew the answer, but he was afraid to voice it aloud after hunting for hundreds of years. His lifemate. The woman. His personal miracle. The fragrance wouldn't leave him alone. He had exceptional hunting skills, well proven over the centuries, yet the woman, a human, time and time again managed to escape him. More than once in these last few weeks, he'd felt her close, a ripple in the universe, the ground moving beneath his feet, or the air around him suddenly coming alive with electricity, yet she had managed to slip away. Not this time, woman. I have you now.
He inhaled again . . . and knew for certain. That scent . . . Orange blossoms and vanilla continued to slip past his guard, until his blood thundered in his ears and rushed hotly through his veins. Until he felt obsessed with finding its owner. He didn't feel emotions like obsession. He didn't feel. It was impossible for an ancient Carpathian male to experience emotion unless he found his lifemate. Until he heard her voice.
"She's here. In this club. Right now. I know she is. My lifemate." He whispered it aloud. In awe. Knowing it was the truth. She was there, in the building somewhere. There was no other explanation. He had t
o be hearing a whisper of her voice. A thread among all the others. She was there. That close. The one woman he'd searched centuries for. The one woman who would restore color to his life, ending his gray world. She would return his lost emotions after his centuries of feeling nothing. He had searched the long, endless years, every continent, but she had remained elusive. At last he was close to her, feeling her, his soul, his lifemate, his other half.
His fingers gripped the thick, hand-carved banister, the enormous pressure leaving indentations in the hard wood. He leaned down to survey the dancers pressed so closely together on the various floors. His patience was growing thin. She was defying him. He knew she felt his calls. How could she not? He whispered to her night after night, soft words to draw her to him. He allowed the beat of the music to pulse into the air, sending a web of notes to lead her back to him, yet she eluded his every net.
"She has to be close, Tariq," Maksim said, joining him at the railing. He gripped the wood as well, leaning down to listen, as if he could find her in the mass of bodies as they danced, drank and had numerous conversations.
There was the clink of glasses. The sound of laughter. Of arguments. Of flirtations. The whisper of lovers coming together in the dark. Both men tried to hear that one voice. The voice that would restore color and emotion back into Tariq's life. He'd waited centuries for her, and still she eluded him.
She could be on any floor and they would hear that whisper. She could be in the underground "cave" club. They could hear the conversations from there as well. They'd designed the club to make the occupants feel safe. Secure. The underground club had separate entrances and exits. The music loud, the place dark with deep blues and purples shadowing the dungeonlike decor.
Tariq would never stop until he had her in his hands. She didn't understand that about him. He was as relentless and as merciless as the raging sea. There was no stopping him once he had his prey in sight. He was Carpathian, hunter of the vampire, and he had survived when most of his kind had long ago succumbed to the lure of power. He had done his duty to his prince and people, keeping his assigned regions clean and safe from the stench of evil.
After all the long centuries, he knew she was close, yet she remained elusive, just out of his reach. He had turned his hunting instincts, honed by centuries of strategy, to finding her. He turned away from the blaring music and the scent of so much blood running hot in veins calling to him. It was a heady temptation he fought continually. Irritated at his inability to find her when she was so close, he wanted to roar his frustration to the night sky. He needed air, needed to go outside and breathe.
Tariq cursed softly in his own language, moving back from the railing into deeper shadows. Just the fact that he could feel frustration meant she was very, very close, and he could hear her voice, although he couldn't recognize it among all the other voices. He knew she was somewhere in the building, just out of reach, by the way his emotions, long ago gone, slipped in unexpectedly to disrupt his calm, logical thinking. She had to have a strong mind to thwart his many scans of the city in search of her. She was very strong to be able to defy his commands.
He was a powerful being, one very used to getting his way with a minimal amount of effort. He had survived centuries of battles, centuries of no emotions, no color. Always the insidious whispers of the call to evil, to power tempted him, yet he had endured for one reason. A woman. The one woman. His lifemate. Other half to his soul. Only she could restore his world, his life as it was meant to be. He had long ago resigned himself to his fate, endurance in a bleak, harsh world until the temptation of power was too strong. Yet now, when he was so near the end, he sensed her presence, that ripple of hope in a world of emptiness.
"Mataias tracked Vadim Malinov to the harbor," Maksim reported. "Vadim was always intelligent, even in his younger years. Now, as a master vampire with the splinter from Xavier, one of the most powerful mages ever born, in him, Vadim is proving to be a dangerous adversary. I do not like that he went to the harbor."
"That would suggest he went out to sea?" Tariq made it a question. His mind should have been on the hunt for the master vampire. Vadim was, without doubt, the greatest threat to the Carpathian and human world since Xavier, the mage. Tariq was too distracted by that fragrance. Now that he'd caught the scent, he knew he had to turn his attention to finding the owner. "She has to be somewhere in the building."
It was a big building. Enormous. Five stories plus the basement, four of them used for the various clubs and the fifth floor for his personal space. The basement was the underground club, so really, five clubs. Four bars on each of the club floors. Four dance floors on each floor with tables surrounding the inner balconies. Each floor was packed nearly to capacity. Still, he was Carpathian. He could cover a lot of ground fast.
"Go," Maksim said. "You're not going to be any good to me until you find that woman. Lojos and Mataias are patrolling tonight and if there is any indication that Vadim's army is working in our hometown, they'll find the evidence. It's been very quiet these last couple of weeks."
Vadim Malinov, a unique and gifted master vampire, was putting together an army of vampires. He was using the latest technology and even managing to recruit humans to do his bidding. It was unprecedented to do what Vadim had done. He'd fled the Carpathian Mountains, away from the prince of the Carpathian people and the ancient hunters there, to travel to the United States, where he clearly was amassing an army against both Carpathians and humans. He had to be stopped.
Tariq didn't wait for further conversation. He cloaked himself and floated down from his personal space to the fourth-floor club. Salsa music pounded through the air. Hard-hitting. A driving beat. This club catered to Latin dancing and the atmosphere reflected that. It was upscale, trendy and extremely popular. Bodies ground against one another. The dance floors were always filled with every level of dancer, from beginner to competition expert.
He wound his way through the tables and then the dancers, inhaling. Searching. Being meticulous. It occurred to him that if his woman were on this floor she would be dancing hip to hip with another male. Why would the predator in him become more pronounced at the idea of his lifemate's body rubbing against another man's body if she weren't close? If he hadn't heard her voice--that magical voice that would change his world? She had to be there, the sound drifting to him through all the conversations registering as noise he tuned out on a nightly basis.
Because she has to be here, Maksim agreed, using the general Carpathian telepathic link.
Where are you? He whispered it, sending the inquiry out into the night.
When there was no answer, frustration edged with the need for violence. When his inquiry was met with silence. The fact that he could feel frustration only proved to Tariq that he'd heard his lifemate's voice. He had to have crossed paths with her and heard the sound of her voice in order to begin to feel emotions. They were negative emotions and very faint, but at least he was recognizing that she was close enough to be affecting him. Changing him. Not for the better.
He had to have heard her voice blending with all the other noises, the pounding beats of the various bands as well as all the conversations on each of the floors. Now he had her scent, that wonderful elusive fragrance that had to be unique to her. He moved on from the fourth floor to the third, trying to follow the scent. Trying to listen for the sound of her voice that would fully restore his emotions and bring color back to his existence.
He sorted through the cacophony of sounds, listening to hundreds of threads of conversations, hundreds of voices, as he moved quickly through the third floor. He was certain she was heading away from him, almost as if she knew she was being pursued. He was an ancient Carpathian, his emotions long gone from him, yet he felt a kernel of excitement. A frisson of anticipation moved down his spine like the caress of fingers. Light. Barely there. The touch exquisite.
"Charlie restores old carousel horses," a male voice said. "We know she has a strong psychic talent because her testing was
off the charts, but her gift seemed to be for older things. Antiques. She couldn't possibly have read anything from touching one of us or any object we'd handled." There was doubt in the voice. "Could she?"
Tariq had no idea why he'd zeroed in on that voice, but the need to hear the conversation was almost as strong as the compulsion to move through his club to find his woman. Could "Charlie" be that woman? The man said she had a psychic gift.
"Why would anyone want to restore old broken carousel horses, Daniel? Isn't that stuff manufactured every day?" another male sneered, as if he felt total contempt for anything old.
Tariq was old. Ancient in fact. He came from centuries earlier, and the thought that this man speaking wanted to throw away part of history bothered him. A first. To be bothered by an opinion of a human. A stranger of no consequence. Yet not only did the subject matter intrigue him, but now he understood why this conversation, among all the others, caught at his attention.
He dropped over the railing of the third floor and floated toward the ground floor, where he knew the conversation was taking place.
"Seriously, Bruce? What the hell are you going on about? We have to get out of here, follow them and figure out whether she knows. Stop bringing up bullshit and finish your drink fast or take it with you because they're on the move."
"You just want to fuck her, Daniel," the one called Bruce sneered. "Hell, you were all over her all night. That's what spooked her. And we can't be too obvious following them. We have to give them time. It isn't like we don't know where they live."
Tariq's world stopped. The ground rolled beneath his feet. Something dark and ugly rose up to consume him. A man dared to try to encroach on what belonged to him. He'd searched centuries. He'd kept Carpathians and humans alike safe by holding on to his honor by a thread. He'd endured centuries of relentless loneliness. Of nothingness. Of a gray void that was endless.
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