Bete Noire

by Christina Moore

  The outside was finished with warm mahogany colored leather. Two wide straps of black leather wrapped around the girth at either end where the biggest silver buckles ever held the lid shut. Each corner was riveted with silver guards, engraved in intricate filigree patterns. Something about it just made him think of Ash. Her most recent home was all modern and simple, but he could see that she didn’t even enjoy it. This trunk, this was more like the Ash he knew.

  The Ash I know?

  I don’t know shit about Ash.

  He entered the combo and flipped back the lid with an annoyed grunt. The swords were right on top. Under that was a whole mess of stuff he expected. And some he didn’t. The knives and guns were the expected. The length of rope, four rolls of duct tape—hot pink duct tape—unlabeled jars filled with liquids of varying pale colors and a few envelopes with dried leaves and flowers were the unexpected. Then there were the vials of amber colored liquid he knew weren’t spirits. They were those weird-ass pain potions and scent changers Ash made him drink when they went after Malik. He appreciated what they were supposed to do, but hated how they went about doing it. He’d rather be in constant pain than the swell and ebb of pain and relief like he did in that onsen in Japan. The one he barely left with his life.

  There was a pile of clothes, mostly leather that smelled good and faintly of Ash and then something interesting at the very bottom. He ran his fingers over the cold metal canister. “What the hell is this?” he whispered, leaning over into the trunk, practically inside, to get a better look.

  “I would not disturb that if I were you.”

  Tristan flinched, sitting upright and spinning towards the voice. Ash was standing inside the bedroom doorway, fully dressed, arms crossed under her chest and grin stretched across her lips.

  “Ash!” He shot to his feet and crossed the space between them to scoop her up into his arms. “Where the hell have you been?”

  She wiggled out of his hold and smiled up to him. “I am fine.”

  He scowled even as he smiled a little. “Nice outfit…,” he said with an eyebrow raised, looking her over. She was wearing a short black dress and a cut-off black velvet jacket with a high fur collar. Sparkly silver heals added three more inches to her five-five.

  She grinned wickedly, a fangy grin. “It is amazing how helpful people are when you are beautiful and naked.”

  Tristan huffed at her. “I’ll just bet.”

  A chuckle to his left made his head snap around. Jesus, that Sebastian could be sneaky. Laughter shimmered in his eyes, lips pursed tightly together as he fought to keep the amusement in check.

  “Pardon.” He finally gave way to a grin and looked to Ash. “Mademoiselle, it’s good to see you well...” The corner of his lip twitched. “And clothed.”

  She gave a toothy smile, obviously enjoying the game. “Thank you.”

  Sebastian’s head tilted, a slight bow of appreciation. Hands crossed before him, he stood silently staring at Ash and Tristan, eyes shifting back and forth between the two.

  “Something you want?” Tristan said, almost snapping.

  His smile broadened. “By your leave, I was hoping to go out this evening.”

  “Really?” Ash asked, her voice holding a note of amusement.

  “It has been many years since I’ve been in the city. I was hoping to do some shopping before my duty in your service is complete and I would return home.”

  Tristan wondered where “home” was as Ash thought about the fae’s request.

  “I will permit it. However, I require you to be here when Tristan and I return. I assume you know how to treat wounds, stitches and such?”

  Such confidence, Tristan thought with a sneer. Then he wondered if she really meant to go after Lucien tonight. He couldn’t place why, but Ash was being strange tonight. Was she up to something?

  Sebastian answered, “Oui. But if you mean to go after your hunt tonight, I can go with you, offer what assistance I may—”

  Ash stopped him with a hand. “No. That will not be necessary. Go, have fun, shop, find yourself a lovely woman or man to enjoy, but be back here no later than two hours before dawn. We should not need much longer than that.”

  Guess that was that. Tonight Lucien was going to die. Tristan glanced at the time—if they made it really quick. While he was waiting for Ash to return, he spent some time on the room’s free computer and found Guinevere’s Chateau actually listed as a tourist site, though it’d been shut down now for years for renovation. There was a problem with ownership and stuff—point was, the Chateau was way out of the way, like nearly two hours away. Unless Ash drove…

  “Merci, you are most kind.” He started to turn away, but seemed to have remembered something. He smiled, a big show of teeth to rival one of Ash’s fangy grins. “Good luck on your hunt, may you kill well.”

  Ash beamed. “Thank you.”

  Sebastian gave a small nod and left the room.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Excuse me?” Ash turned slowly and blinked wide, pale eyes up to Tristan, trying to look so innocent and unassuming.

  “You’re...” He paused, trying to think of the word he wanted. Finally the perfect one came to him. “Punchy tonight. What gives?”

  She made an exaggerated face that Tristan’d never seen before as she spun away. “I do not know what you mean.” Back to him, she slipped the short jacket off her shoulders and down her arms to fall to the floor at her feet. Tristan couldn’t help but stare at the striking figure she made in her black nylons with the back seem and those shiny high heels. Her long white hair shifted soft as silk across her back, just barely brushing the top of her butt.

  Breaking from his trance, Tristan gave his throat a soft clear. “You’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?”

  “Why would you think that?” she asked with her back to him.

  He went up behind her and reached out to touch her. Seconds before his fingers could make contact with her shoulder, she spun and faced him. He furrowed his brow, dropping his hand. “You are. I’ve never seen you so damn giddy… Is this because of what he did to you in the past?”

  She took an angry step into him. “What do you know? You don’t know anything about what that man has done to me!”

  Pulse suddenly racing, Tristan stood his ground staring down at her. He gave her a moment to fume at him and then said her name in a soft tone.

  “Yes,” she snapped. “You want to know the truth? The whole truth? Killing Malik was the single most fulfilling, intoxicating moment of my life. He deserved his end. And every single man and woman who laid their filthy hands on me deserves their end. I intend to make Lucien feel the humiliation, fear and hopelessness I felt all those long years as Malik’s slave. He deserves whatever death we give him. I am happy to kill him.”

  While Tristan didn’t like the idea of killing—murder was murder—he knew it was necessity when dealing with the less-than-human types. Really, it wasn’t like the vamps worked on the human justice system. They were too dangerous, too brutal, too outside of humanity to work in the system even if they were to come out publicly. So it was left on Tristan to be the preternatural police. Shit luck.

  Tristan answered the best way he could. “There is no shame in that.”

  He tried to touch her again, a soft comforting touch, but she jerked back. “Lucien spent years tormenting me. Raping me in blood and body were the nicer of… It was folly for Yukihime to think she could tame any man that was once in Malik’s court. Lucien is a dangerous vampire with a powerful gift and a sadist. He should die for his crimes. His day of judgment has finally come. And it will be by my hand. Am I not allowed to be a little joyous over that?”

  When she put it like that, how could he argue? He was never upset to begin with, he was just trying to understand. And he did. He understood Ash more than she realized. “So, you’ve finally decided how you truly feel?”

  Ash tilted her chin up and set her jaw. “Yes,” she hissed through h
er fangs.

  He smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It was a smile that would send innocent church girls running fearing their virginities were about to be violently taken by a heathen. “Good. You deserve your revenge.” And he needed to beat some out of the fucker for his own piece of mind.

  “Very well. Shall we go then? Night grows old and my blood boils with anticipation.”

  18: Pushing Me Away

  ALL steam ahead turned into hurry up and wait. Tristan was seated in an armchair near the suite entrance, dressed, armed and ready to kill a vampire. As if it had a mind of its own, the heel of his leather boot was tapping wildly against the carpet, impatient as hell. He’d been waiting for nearly a half-hour for to Ash to come out of the bedroom, a place he was banished from the moment Ash announced her intentions of leaving to find Lucien.

  Something changed in her since last night and he couldn’t think of what. When he woke, before the kitsune and vampire barged in, he was sure Ash was about to tell him something important. Something that would change everything. But then they were so rudely interrupted, and then the fire and her having to run off. Just one constant interruption after another, a pause in… life. But that’s how it was going to be now, wasn’t it? The constant riff between life and death. As an Uruwashi he’d never really get to live his life again, would he?

  Great, think depressing shit just before running out at the god awful late hour to kill a vampire who can wield fire.

  Fucking. Fire.

  And seriously, isn’t this cutting it just a little too close?

  It was already nearing midnight. They were dangerously close to running the risk of not making it back to the hotel before daylight. This was like Malik all over again—keep pushing off the inevitable until their hands are forced and then it’s all rush, rush. Just what was Ash thinking?

  On the floor next to Tristan, ready for him to slip into, was a “special gift” from Yuki, a flamethrower. Yeah. Ash didn’t have time to teach him how to use it, but because she was more susceptible to flame, he got to use the new toy by default. A weapon once used in human warfare, it was an artifact from War World II but with a few modern upgrades like increased cartridge count and reinforced canisters—no one likes getting blown up by their own weapon.

  Three fifteen-by-six-inch wide tanks that when full of fuel weighed a cumbersome fifty pounds, made it a hefty weapon. The trigger arm was another eight pounds, two pounds lighter than older versions. It was easy enough to use, just point and fire. Question was, how much fire was there going to be and would the burden of carrying around an extra sixty pounds be worth it?

  He opted against the katana Ash tried to push on him. He just didn’t like using it. So that left him with the long knife strapped to the outside of his right calf. And since it was impossible to wear a shoulder holster with the flamethrower, he was stuck wearing the brand new Desert Eagle Yuki sent along in a thigh holster on his right leg. One knife and fifteen bullets against one vampire. But, in all honesty, if he needed more than that, he was already dead.

  Dressed in all black, he felt like a professional thief with his form fitted long sleeves top and the leather pants that Ash insisted on. Yeah, he told her once before that he refused to wear leather, but truth was, after his little scuffle with Malik and his group, he learned their worth. If he had on his typical jeans the jikininki bites and other cuts would have been much worse. As it was, he didn’t even have a scar to show for the bites now. The only scars he bore were the jagged grapefruit sized circle of pink tissue on his stomach and the long slash on his right forearm from Aaron. He’d never admit it to Ash, but the pants were more comfortable than he thought they’d be.

  “I did hear that,” Ash announced as she walked out of the bedroom.

  There was a laugh in her voice and he looked up, his scowl slipping away the moment he laid eyes on her. She was dressed in all black too. No, not black and deep, deep purple. It was a one-piece leather suit that covered from bottom to nearly top. The collar was high and stiff coming up right under her chin, but she looked like she could move well enough in it. There was a flash of bare white skin showing at her elbow where the sleeves stopped and then her entire forearms were covered with leather bracers affixed with a knife each. Her low-heeled leather boots were also deep purple, coming up over her knees to her mid-thigh.

  She wore Murasaki Kaeru on her left hip and a set of black Glocks in a leather shoulder holster. Her long white hair was pulled back in a tight braid and tucked up into a black military cap. A few stray strands brushed her cheeks making Tristan’s fingers tingle to brush them aside. She could have been a model for the next Marvel superhero. She looked good and knew it.

  With a sassy little cock of her hips she said, “Well then, it seems we are both ready to go.”

  “You sure about this?” Tristan asked.

  Her expression hardened.

  “It’s getting late, is all.” He not only had to watch his ass but hers as well. She wouldn’t agree, but he knew that if he didn’t watch for the sun, she just might get caught up in killing Lucien that she’d forget about something as simple as the coming day.

  “Then stop wasting time.”

  He frowned at her for a moment before sighing and then stood. “Ash.”

  She spun to face, her expression stoic and unreadable. “Yes, Tristan?”

  He licked his lips, taking a step into her. “Are you okay?”

  A smile broke her still expression. But it wasn’t a very soft or kind smile. There was something dark in it that made Tristan nervous. Suddenly the smile flipped into a frown. “What is it, Sebastian?” Ash said evenly, her anger touching Tristan so that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

  There really was something off with her and that more than worried Tristan. They both needed to be one-hundred percent to make this hunt successful. And by a win he considered anything that left them both breathing, regardless of consciousness, qualified.

  The fae stood just inside the foyer ready to leave, wearing a long black trench over his usual suit with a black umbrella hooked over his wrist. “Thank you again for your kindness. Are you sure I cannot assist you? You may need to feed and I have other qualities you may find useful.”

  Ash smirked, the tip of a fang poking out of her lips. “I am sure you do. Hmm, well, he may not seem it, but Tristan is a very skilled vampire hunter.” She shot him a mischievous look over her shoulder getting a scowl in return for the smart-assed comment. “Thank you for your consideration, Sebastian. But we will be fine so long as you are here when we return.”

  “Oui, by all intensions.” He gave her a soft nod. “Good evening.”

  “Ah,” Ash started and the man stopped mid-step, “before you go.”

  “Mademoiselle?”

  Ash took a step towards the fae. “I would ask a gift of you.”

  The man looked startled for a moment and then bowed his head to hide his shame. “Of course, mademoiselle. The oversight was careless of me.”

  Ash’s eyes narrowed on him. “I do not ask for excuses or pardons. I ask for which I am entitled, servant.”

  Tristan opened his mouth to tell her to lay off a little, but she caught the thought before it was spoken and he frowned, stepping back from her and the nasty glare. She may have looked, and smelled, like Ash, but she wasn’t. At least he had a two hour car ride to figure out what was wrong with her and hopefully set things right again.

  “Of course, Master,” the fae answered, his French accent thickening, body language humbling. “Take what you may. S'il vous plait.”

  “How do you know I haven’t fed her?” Tristan snapped.

  The fae’s grass-green eyes flicked back and forth between Ash and Tristan, brow wrinkled ever so slightly in confusion. “Memory tells me that much like their own, Uruwashi provide no nutritional value to the vampire. And you did say before that you have never fed her. ”

  Ash shot Tristan a glare.

  He just ignored her look. He’d deal w
ith her later.

  “Besides,” Sebastian said, his voice evening out again. “Her appearance speaks of… deep hunger. My eyes see a vampire hungry for that which drives her to hunt. I see a gentle child of the night, wanting—starving, fighting the instincts imbued upon her to deny the darkness within. A creature of the night she may be, but there is a light. A soft light from within, shining and shimmering as if borne of a pale star. Oui, she is starved for that which sustains her light simply to remain a part of it.”

  The others were staring, dumbfounded. The tiny stress lines at the corner of Ash’s eyes, undoubtedly from before she was amongst the undead, puckered and she swallowed hard. Tristan had no words.

  Sebastian was staring off past the others now, gaze unfocused. “Other vampire I have known are true creatures of the night. That which they need is satisfied, filling the very core of their being with shadowy essence that consumes all light. Vampire is the night; vampire is the darkness, becoming one with that which they are born of. But Ash, yes, she has always been a creature of light.” The fae’s eyes came up and met hers. “That is why you starve yourself.”

  After another moment of staring, Tristan finally let out a shaky breath. “Jesus. Are all French elves such poets?”

  Sebastian’s face cleared to a blank mask as green eyes fell on Tristan. “Elf?” He stared for a frozen moment and then his entire expression and body language suddenly shifted. His nose scrunched up, his upper lipped curled back and a rapid string of French words rolled off his tongue, beautiful to the ears but like a whip to the soul.

  Tristan could only blink back at the so called prim, proper gentleman who’d been serving them.

  “Elf?” he said, finally speaking a word Tristan understood. The pissed off servant gave Tristan a long, slow look up and down, upper lip curled up in disgust. “Elf!” With a huff, the fae spun on his heel, took one step and stopped. He looked back to Tristan one last time and left with a string of whispered curses that despite their crudeness sounded like candy to Tristan’s ears. The suite door shuddered on its frame behind the irate fae.