Double shite.
Chapter 12
UTA’S BLACK ROLLING SUITCASES, five of them, leaned against one another in the underground garage of Loki’s chalet. One of the householders carried out a stack of English grammar books. He passed the study materials to her and hefted one suitcase in each hand, lumbering toward Loki’s Land Rover.
“Uta, I’m afraid you might have left something in the closet,” Loki said. “Shall we run back and get it?”
She applied a coat of lipstick and flicked him off with the middle finger of her other hand.
“You’re wearing that?” His eyebrows lifted in arch disapproval.
Uta dropped her lipstick into her pocket and looked down at her clothes then back up at him. What did he mean? It was her standard uniform—a designer suit and shoes, and underneath her jacket, a draping hand-knit shell in silk or angora or cashmere, depending on the season. He had to be teasing.
“Shut up. I look fabulous.”
“Uta, child, typically I refrain from commenting on your…high beams, but if you want Bel to be peaceable, put on a bra.”
She cupped her small breasts. So what if the fabric rubbed across her nipples, making them stick out? Yes, it was a little obscene. She liked it that way. “I do not own a bra. Vampire tits do not sag.”
He pulled a white cardboard box from his pocket. “I anticipated you might say that. The women of my household have provided you with these instead.”
“Band-Aids? Ridiculous. I heal instant—” Oh. For her nipples? “Loki, what is this sudden fascination with my breasts?”
“The bond between you and Bel is starting to flare as white-hot lust. I need you to work together, not fuck each other raw. And I hope an understanding will develop between you. But, unless I have misjudged him, the more Bel feels himself trapped by the bond and its sexual power, the more he will retreat from you. So put your titties away and act reasonable and professional.”
“I am always reasonable and professional.”
Titters and snorts sounded from the householders behind them.
She raised her voice, cursing them all in a foul string of old Norse expletives involving the genitals of livestock.
Loki’s lips twisted into an S of wry amusement before he replied in the same ancient tongue. “I expect they comprehended about sixty percent of that.”
“A sufficient amount. If they understood more, they might quit your employ so they no longer had to put up with your ill-mannered company.” Uta was well aware most of them thought she was a monstrous pain in the ass. It was a matter of pride to her.
“So little faith in my prowess. I keep them far too satisfied to resign their positions.” He clucked. “But now that I think of it, when I consider my predecessors in the post of eldest and chief, I am quite certain you have never experienced the pleasure of being plundered by the oldest vampire in the world.”
Hell, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been plundered by anyone. And French was always the best language to admit when one had been bested.
“Touché.”
“How are you feeling? Nervous?”
“Vampires do not have nerves.”
“That’s ridiculous, Uta. Of course we do.”
“Well, I am not nervous. And before you ask, I am not frightened either.”
The look on his face confirmed she had anticipated the next question correctly.
“Loki, I crush the skulls of Hunters in my sleep. I am not afraid of Lobel Marasović.”
“Uta, darling, you don’t sleep.”
“Do not quibble. You know what I mean.”
Inside his custom Land Rover with the standard vampire-grade sunproof windows, she leaned her head against the magic glass. She should be thinking about the Justicia meeting, about how to stop vampires and Hunters from massacring each other and how to take down Ethan Bennett once and for all.
Instead all she could think of was last night, after she’d cast on her first row of stitches, when a bizarre sensation overtook her. Well, bizarre because it had been nearly two centuries since she’d felt it. At first, she’d thought she was dying—her heart raced for no reason, her blood heated, her skin tingled. What vampire sickness was this—sudden-onset wasting disease? Surely she would age a thousand years overnight from this feeling.
Then, a desiccated part of her, long dead, flooded with heat and moisture. Oh. That sickness. Images flashed before her eyes. Bel at her breast, holding her ass in his big hands, spreading her legs to taste her, just before he sunk his not-real fangs into her thigh.
Fangs? Her waking dream froze. They must have been his fantasies, resounding in her body and arousing her like she had not been in centuries, tingling and throbbing.
Thank the gods she hadn’t been privy to his urges when they were about other women, and now the tantalizing images tempted her with the hope that he wanted Uta instead. Goddamn, it seemed like a million years since her body had wanted like that, and longer since her heart had soared with hope. With a starting point of explosive attraction, maybe he would eventually learn to love her too.
A loud crack against the car window disturbed her thoughts—Loki knocking to get her attention. She hissed at him. “What?”
Loki leaned too close to her face. “We are approaching the hangar. Shall we stop somewhere so you can take a cold shower before we board my plane?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She flicked her fingers at him.
“Uta, you are panting and pungent.”
She crossed her legs tightly and glanced at the human passengers in the vehicle. Surely they couldn’t scent her arousal, but they’d heard Loki. Nils turned red, his nostrils flaring as he swiveled his face away from her.
Loki sent a message to her on a whisper, lowering his voice so that only her vampire ears could hear. “My sympathies. You are in quite a state.”
Uta recrossed her legs, wincing. He was right. And she could have no relief apart from the object of her desire, could rub herself raw without attaining an ounce of satisfaction. In that way Bel had the advantage—he could masturbate. Well, she assumed he could, being a halfling. It wasn’t exactly something they had discussed when he was a boy.
Loki’s phone rang and he answered. On the other end, Ingrid, his assistant, launched into the news loud enough for Uta to hear. “Two more attacks on Hunter cells. A compound in suburban Mumbai was burned to the ground. We didn’t know there were nearly eight hundred Hunters living there.”
“Eight hundred Hunters dead?” Loki rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefingers.
“Maras’s team of hackers has found a few websites where vampires are communicating. But they’re too smart to plan on the sites; they only trade contact information. There was another attack in rural South Africa. Smaller, but no official numbers yet. And, Uta, brace yourself for this. Two households of Croatian refugees firebombed in retaliation last night. Houston and Miami.”
Those households belonged to three of her oldest friends, and Andre’s too: Emil and Naeda Bradić, and Sanjin Cvetko. The spark of hope Bel’s lust had inspired shrank to a pinprick. If only she had somehow stopped the persecution of her friends, had been able to protect the secret she guarded. So many had died because of her failures. She eyed the door handle. She could be on the sunny street and out of Loki’s reach in no time. Loki’s gaze burned into her, not quite as hot as the sun. He arched an eyebrow.
She took a deep breath and resolved to face her problems, not run from them. “They must all be evacuated preemptively. Bennett will target the Šoltan refugees first, to spite Andre.”
He shook his head. “If they have sired offspring in their new homes, they will resist evacuation.”
He was right. No parent wanted their child to suffer the wasting disease, especially once they knew its costs. “Then they must be on the highest alert, prepared to leave at the first sign of attack.”
“Ingrid, did you hear Uta’s instructions? Good. Make it happen.” Then he en
ded the call.
“I want evac units positioned at all their homes.”
“We do not have enough soldiers, Uta. My five best units are hunting the aggressionists, and the rescue calls are coming every night.”
He was right. She must not use her position to garner special treatment for her friends. Her conscience protested, but it always found something to complain about.
“So, darling, I know how you dislike being bested at anything. I suggest you bury yourself in those textbooks and learn to speak English better than Lobel himself. That should distract you until we arrive.”
She threw her head back, slamming it into the car seat hard enough that the whole vehicle trembled. “Ugh. I hate studying.”
One of the householders snickered. Good thing Uta could not tell who, because she felt positively murderous. “Loki, silence your minions. They irk me.”
Chapter 13
SOMETIME AFTER SUNSET, car doors slammed in the front drive. Lucas rounded the dining room table and slouched against the door frame. Across the foyer, Bel stood at the window alongside Andre.
Next to his father, the son was taut like a bowstring and vibrating with jittery energy. Poor guy. Ethan had put Bel in an impossible situation in that tunnel, and Lucas had been replaying his own Hunter initiation in sympathy. At sixteen, his father had forced him to kill the handsome human consort of a vampire.
Maybe Bel had other skeletons in his closet, but the halfling would be living with the death of that young Huntress for a long time. Lucas wished he could offer him some comfort, but nothing less cliché than “time heals all wounds” came to mind. Vampires would know far better than he whether that aphorism held true.
Just then, Bel chuckled, jolting Lucas out of his despair. It was a welcome sound.
“Damn, that’s a lot of them—nine vampires and their humans. They must have been crammed inside the vans like they were being hauled off in a paddy wagon.”
In profile, Andre’s sly smile barely raised the corner of his mouth. “It could not be more perfect. They will never invite themselves back.”
Bel pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Omar reports we are Hunter free for a mile in all directions.”
“Good,” Andre replied. “It is certainly preferable they do not know the Justicia is here.”
Raised voices argued outside, and Lucas shifted so he could see out the window. Two of Bel’s vampires were patting down a black-haired visitor.
“Davo. That fool Sadavir is armed—he could not pass through the shield.”
“You did warn them all,” Lucas said.
“Shite.” Bel staggered, reaching for the wall. “I’m going upstairs.”
“You cannot run from her,” Andre called out.
“Watch me.” Bel jogged toward the stairs.
Lucas bit his lip, imagining a big green praying mantis eating the head off its mate.
Andre shook his head at Bel’s back and then turned to crack the door. Lucas stiffened, bracing himself for any amount of hostility from the Justicia members.
A small man or, more likely, a male vampire, entered first and extended his hand to Andre. He glanced around the entryway, making his face visible to Lucas. This was Loki, the chief, even smaller than he appeared on video.
His eyes narrowed. “Lucas Bennett?”
“That’s me.”
Loki crossed the room at light speed and stood in front of Lucas, scrutinizing. Then he reached for Lucas’s hand. Lucas jerked back.
“Let me look at your palm. It is an ancient custom of my people.”
Lucas extended his arm. Loki traced the crevices and furrows with his index finger. He leaned close, sniffing. “It has been many years since I smelled a Hunter so close, and even longer since I touched one. Always in battle.”
Lucas’s heart tried to burst from his chest, but he would be damned if he let Loki see his fear. He inhaled deeply, forcing stillness through his body. “What can you see on my hand?”
Loki dropped it. “Not a thing. But I learned a great deal from the way you reacted.”
Unsure of the impression he’d made, Lucas slid his fist into his pocket to hide the minor tremors shaking him. When he glanced up, nine vampires and more than that many humans filled the foyer. Everyone’s attention seemed focused on Loki, and Andre who had come to stand next to them. Only one tall redhead looked around anxiously—Uta in search of her prey.
“Where are the mercenaries who work for Lobel?”
Andre gave Loki a sidelong glance, then addressed the gathering. “Bel’s vampire crew is deployed on the perimeter of the estate, helping to secure your arrival. His human staff keep watch during the day, and several of them work with our Hunter ally, Leo Carpoli, on…” Andre frowned.
Lucas suppressed a smile. “Cyber security,” he whispered, out of respect, even though half the room would hear him loud and clear.
“Yes. Cyber security.”
Quiet chuckles behind Lucas told him the hackers had come to stand in the doorway.
“Some of you are acquainted with the oldest of Bel’s warriors, Omar de Yaounde.”
Lucas turned to follow the stares, finding Omar towering over Leo and Ani with his enormous hand raised. Shouts of greeting rang out.
“And now, if we may visit our rooms to refresh ourselves?” Loki asked.
“Of course.” Andre swept his arm magnanimously. “Members of my household will direct you.” The residents of Kaštel mingled through the crowd and pointed in all directions.
“May I speak to you?” Loki gripped Lucas’s elbow. So, not a question, really.
They stepped out of the crowd into the empty parlor.
“I happen to have a set of theories that motivate me to work with you,” Loki said.
Lucas leaned against the wet bar, his fingers curling around the countertop. “As do I.”
“I suppose you would. I wonder to what extent we suspect the same things.”
“I expect we will find out soon enough.”
“Indeed.” Loki strolled over to the panorama of windows overlooking the burned vineyards. His sigh echoed Lucas’s lingering sadness at the destruction.
The little vampire tapped on the glass. “But make no mistake, Bennett. It is my duty to protect my kind from the Hunter threat.” He spun on his heels. “If you betray us, I will drink down all your special blood and then take you apart, joint by joint.”
“I’m certain you would have to fight Andre for the honor.”
Loki cracked a cheeky smile. “You are not afraid of me?”
Lucas inhaled again, more easily than before. “Honestly? I am much more afraid of my brother.”
Chapter 14
BEL TOOK REFUGE in his room, but Andre was right, he couldn’t run from Uta. A tempting sensation of homecoming teased his heart, demanding he search her out. It was a relief from the torment of picturing that Hunter girl, her unseeing eyes staring into the dark tunnel. But he didn’t trust Uta’s siren song, so he stayed put. She would find him eventually, and she would tell him what she knew about the wasting disease, and then he could be done with her.
A knock sounded on his door, and he jumped inches off the floor.
Without a bit of evidence, he knew it was Uta.
He frowned at his reflection in the mirror, noticing the scruff on his chin and his shaggy hair for the first time all day. His fingers caught in his curls, and he shook them out.
No way. I’m not primping for her.
Uta opened his door before he reached it. She probably heard his heart racing. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.
Okay. It wasn’t so bad. Not like he couldn’t breathe, not like he fell at her feet and worshipped her. He just stared, and hungered.
It still surprised him she was tall enough to look him in the eye. Her expression remained neutral, mirroring his wariness.
He scanned every inch of her fair-skinned oval face, her narrow nose and the cleverest eyes he had ever seen. He sucked in a breath—
she was beauty itself, an ideal imprinted in his every cell. The faces of the women he had been drawn to in his life flashed in his mind, all poor approximations of her. Ani’s copper hair. That whore he had adored a hundred years ago in a London brothel. Even Lexi’s lean form was just a shadow of Uta’s lithe elegance.
He clenched his jaw, rage burning through his veins. He’d loved Lexi freely, not because it was biologically determined by some bullshit blood bond. But it turned out that his godmother was the cookie cutter for his perfect female all along.
Uta flinched at his anger before it could possibly have showed on his face. Then her eyes slanted downward and unexpected pity for her welled up inside him.
No. This was her fault. No pity.
He crossed his arms. “I don’t know where to start.”
She swallowed and the white skin of her throat rippled. “We will only speak of vampires, Hunters, blood, and your foolish…what do you call it?”
Strange. She didn’t sound like a mail order bride anymore. Overnight, her English had taken anchor smack dab in the center of the Atlantic—half-Manhattan, half-Cambridge, with just a hint of the homeland in her consonants.
He cleared his throat. “Hemoaurum. And it’s not foolish.” Shite, he sounded like a twelve-year-old, even to his own ears.
“Yes, your hemoaurum. We will not discuss—” she paused, looking away from him “—anything else.”
He didn’t trust her, and he squinted into her face, attempting to uncover what she was hiding. She colored, rose blooming on her cheeks and across her nose. Oh. That. Not a conspiracy or a secret plan. Just the shared knowledge of a mutual desire they’d telegraphed to each other over their bond. With the day’s events he’d nearly forgotten his reverie out at Andre’s spring.
He shifted his feet, unsure what to say next.
Her lips pursed. “Bel, I need to know. Last night, did you…”
He could imagine a million ends to that sentence, so he waited, but she didn’t finish. “What? Did I what?”
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