Graves of Wrath

by Lina Gardiner

  “Of course he would be. You’re right,” Jess said, and she looked almost angry that she hadn’t considered that angle.

  “We need to find out if the man really exists. Maybe he’s a vampire too?” She strode into the kitchen and got herself a bag of blood, poured some into a glass, and turned away from him to consume it.

  He sighed. “I guess it’s possible. I heard about a guy in Mexico who . . .”

  Jess raised a hand to stop him cold. “Don’t humor me, Brittain. We both know birth records in places like that are virtually nonexistent, especially for a man who’s more than a hundred years old.”

  “True.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his chest. “Too bad my time is running out tonight. I’d suggest a little stress reliever in my room.” She winked at him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to remain animated long enough, though.”

  He nodded. “Raincheck?”

  “Anytime, my love.”

  When she let go of him and strode toward her room, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d never tire of watching her.

  “You going to bed, too?” she asked, leaning against her doorframe, and etching the image of her magnificent body into his brain. The sun was nearly fully up, and he had to switch off the lust because he had work to do once she went into stasis.

  “I’m not really tired.”

  She frowned, her concern instant. “Be careful if you’re going out. Don’t forget you’re still a suspect. Don’t do anything that might make things worse for you.”

  “I was never formally charged, remember?”

  “That doesn’t mean that they won’t finish the job if you get in their way.”

  “Don’t worry, my darling,” he said, blowing her a kiss. “I’ll be careful. And, you’d better hurry inside or you’ll still be standing there when I return.”

  She sighed. “If only I could go with you.”

  His heart twisted. She rarely spoke like that. And when she reluctantly shut the door between them, he could tell that she hated having to leave him to his own devices. He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe someday he could save her. He’d managed to save humans once, and even though he’d been told it was a one-time only deal, he had to hope it could happen again—for Jess.

  He was going out all right. He had a killer to find.

  WHEN MORANA arrived home an hour before dawn, Sinclair was sitting at the dining room table with a half-empty bottle of Amaretto in front of him. How could he drink a bottle of that sickly sweet stuff? But then, as far as she could remember, she’d never had anything but blood, as far as sustenance went.

  “Papa,” she said. “Why are you still up?”

  “I worry about you, my love,” he said. “I don’t like you working at that bar. It’s too much of a temptation for you.”

  She tossed him an irritated look. He had to be at least in his nineties, or maybe more. So how was it he appeared to be only in his sixties? Maybe Sinclair had devised elixirs for himself, as well as her. After all, as a Watcher, he’d learned enough to have come up with a formula that would keep the beast inside her under control most of the time. All the time, as far as he knew.

  She’d never divulged the whole truth about the effect his miracle drug had on her, even though he asked often. She made a face. She couldn’t remember anything about her childhood. Any memories of being turned into a vampire had been wiped clean from her mind somehow. Sinclair had put it down to amnesia, caused by trauma, and told her it was a blessing she didn’t remember. Still, she wanted to know how she’d died. Who had done this to her?

  She did remember him bringing her lambs and baby goats to feed from when she was a teenager. Along with the goats’ blood, he’d used an elixir to help her grow. Unfortunately, those memories only reminded her that she still needed his help. Sometimes, he pushed her too hard to act like a human. He was lucky she hadn’t ripped his throat out by now. She needed him to keep making her elixir. Otherwise, she’d have very little use for him.

  Sinclair had big plans for her, he said. Only he hadn’t bothered to consider that she might have goals of her own. For some reason, he thought she was destined to have control over the other vampires in France. It was true that he knew enough powerful people that he might actually be able to make it happen. But did she really want that?

  Maybe it was his goal to rise within the Watcher community. She needed to find out more about this secretive group of his. Over the years, he’d managed to keep her in the dark about the Watchers. All she knew was that he was one.

  Merde! She wanted to be on her own, to become the true vampire of her heart, but for now, she had to wait. She was getting closer to finding the recipe for the elixir that she craved so badly. Once she could make it herself, she’d have no need for her father.

  “Papa, do you know anything about my biological parents?” she asked, knowing those type of questions always irritated him. She used to do it all the time, but had long ago given up.

  He straightened in his chair, a frown marring his glazed-over expression. “Why are you asking?”

  “I met someone the other day who looks exactly like me.”

  Sinclair Longina’s bleary-eyed gaze went cold-sober in seconds. “Where?”

  She bit her lip. She didn’t want to believe that bitch was truly her twin, but seeing the wary expression on his face, she realized it might be true. Papa obviously knew something.

  “What is her name?” he asked gruffly.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “What difference does it make? She can’t possibly be my twin sister, right?”

  Sinclair’s shoulders slumped and the blood drained from his face. “Twin?”

  “It appears so. But you know all about her, don’t you!”

  Sinclair shook his head vehemently. “My darling daughter, you have no sister and no brother,” he said.

  Fuck! Sinclair had slipped up. She hadn’t mentioned the brother. At that, she seated herself at the table and poured her father another glass of his liqueur. “You look thirsty, Papa.” Usually, liquor made him a little more loose-lipped, but she’d never learned enough to actually do anything.

  “No more drink. I’m going to bed,” he said, fiddling with his glass of amber liquid. It didn’t escape her that his gaze barely left the glass. Maybe he was afraid the alcohol might loosen his tongue. She could compel him to answer—at least she should be able to—but she’d never tried it on him. She stared at his face, at his brown eyes that always looked at her with adoration. He’d wasted his time loving her. She had no compassion, no desire or need for his love. For some reason, he didn’t seem to care that she was a vampire. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to save her from herself. She laughed inwardly. The poor man had nearly worked himself to death when she was a teenager. And humans thought teenagers had angst! Hah!

  Would he have managed to control her if he hadn’t been a Watcher? He’d always told her he had special abilities. She thought he’d said that just to scare her into doing whatever she was told when she’d been younger. As painful as the growth elixir had been, it was worth it. It bothered her that she’d forgotten so much of her childhood, though. “Papa, how old was I when I was bitten?” She softened her voice, instantly irritated that he wasn’t fooled by her attempt.

  “Why do you want to know? It was a dark time. You’ve forgotten, and that’s a good thing, my love. So I will not speak of it.”

  Sheesh, whose dark time had it been? Hers or his? She tapped her fingernails on the table and searched for another way to get something out of him. But it seemed that once she’d mentioned a twin, he’d closed himself off. She wasn’t going to find out anything tonight. But she had learned something. Now, she knew for sure that Jess and Regent Vandermire were her siblings. Not that she’d ever admit that to them.

 
; Still, she couldn’t help wondering about her father. How much did he really know? She’d learned very little about Sinclair over the years. Who, or what, did he watch? For a long time, she assumed it was only vampires, since she was one. But lately, she’d begun to question whether the Watchers were interested in something else. They usually met in France, but sometimes Sinclair travelled to Rome. If she hadn’t been so self-absorbed, she might have found out . . . if she’d given a crap about him, that was.

  “Have you had your monthly infusion?” Sinclair asked, blinking his red-rimmed eyes in a weak effort to clear his mind.

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you get the goat? I didn’t see a carcass in the back. Actually, I haven’t seen any for a while.”

  “I can kill them in the fields, Papa. Why would I bring them here? It would make our neighbors curious.”

  He sighed a little. “Yes, that’s good thinking, ma Belle. And the mixture? Do you have enough, or do you need more?”

  I always need more. But she’d certainly lost her taste for goats. Lately, she’d been craving her drug-infused blood more than she used to. It gave her a feeling of immortality. The mixture or the serum, as he called it, and the last blood pumping through the heart of her prey, gave her a high like nothing else could. Not even biting a human during sex was so good. It was the ultimate in arousal. Her father had no idea what his drug did to her and for her.

  “I have enough for a little while, but maybe you should make me some more, Papa.”

  He frowned. “Why?” He started to shift in his seat, as if uncomfortable. He seemed to have forgotten about going to bed now that she’d asked for more of the drug. He obviously didn’t like this conversation.

  “Lately, I’ve found that I need a little more in the blood mix,” she lied. She didn’t need more—she just wanted more. “You really should give me the recipe, Papa. Then I could make my own and I wouldn’t have to bother you.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. I’d be breaking a sacrosanct promise.”

  “The Watchers again! Who are they? Why won’t you tell me?”

  “I can’t tell you. I’m sworn to secrecy. That’s one part of my oath I intend to keep, at least. I’m not supposed to use my knowledge to help you the way I do either, my love, but. . . .” He spread his hands on the table. “What kind of father would I be if I didn’t help my child?”

  “But I’m not your child, am I? I’m someone else’s child. Someone who had other children, a boy and a girl? Why were we separated?”

  Sinclair’s hands curled into fists. “I don’t know any of that. I can’t help you.”

  “Tell me, Papa. Telling me the truth can’t be any more difficult than raising a vampire. I couldn’t have been an easy child.” Nor was she an easy adult.

  Sinclair snorted at the same time that a tear formed in the corner of his eye. “You have always been my joy.”

  Morana wanted to scream. No wonder she could never get through to the man. He was delusional. How could he feel that way about her? She inhaled, holding back a shriek of anger. Too bad she needed him. She didn’t dare anger him to the point that he’d quit on her.

  But if she got the recipe, she wouldn’t need him any longer. She could become powerful on her own. Damn him.

  He went to a locked safe and let the biometrics scan his iris. When the safe opened, she virtually salivated.

  He took out one vial and squeezed it tight in the palm of his hand, then relocked the safe. She couldn’t even break in. It had been set up so that a single attempt would result in the safe self-destructing. Her father knew her too well and had covered all of his bases.

  He kept her under his control and wanting. She hated him for that.

  Chapter Ten

  BRITT MADE HIS way to the catacombs again. Since the club didn’t open until well after sunset, he intended to do a bit of investigating on his own.

  There were no signs of the police outside when he arrived. He did a perimeter check on the street, looking for other openings to the catacombs that the killer could have used.

  No doubt cataphiles knew of other ways in and out, and the police would likely be aware of those locations. He was probably wasting his time, but he had to do something.

  “John Brittain,” a familiar female voice called to him from across the street. “What are you doing?”

  Shit! It was the one person he wanted to avoid—Veronique LaFontaine. Slim with messy brown hair, her eyes widened in a surprised expression he didn’t believe for a second. Nor did he miss the underlying sharp intelligence in her gaze. She was obviously trying to hide what she really was—a dedicated, determined cop. He’d bet her baggy slacks and wrinkled white blouse were part of her camouflage.

  Had she been following him? “Morning,” he said.

  “Don’t ‘morning’ me! What the shit are you doing?”

  He almost grinned at the way she said shit. It sounded like sheet. But the last thing he wanted was to antagonize her. “I’m trying to prove I’m not a killer. Since I’m a decent investigator and profiler, I thought I’d take a look around.”

  “Really?” she said, in her soft French accent. That voice sounded so feminine and trusting, but he knew she wielded it like a guillotine, ready to drop on him at any moment.

  “Where’s Jess?” Veronique asked, then obviously realized her mistake. “Oh, I see.”

  “Do you really?” Britt asked. “Jess is the best person I know. Don’t mistake her for anything else.”

  Veronique’s irises sparked with anger. “I happen to admire her very much, Monsieur Brittain. I knew she was a vampire when I met her in New York.”

  He inhaled sharply. “How?” He noticed she deliberately ignored his rank.

  “I have ways,” she said. “We worked on a case together.”

  “But that case had nothing to do with vampires, did it?” Britt said.

  “No. I was following a felon from France. He frequented vampire clubs, so Jess was assigned to be my U.S. partner, most likely to protect me from the real vampires I’d encounter. At first, I didn’t trust her, but over the time we worked together, I saw her integrity, and I once caught her taking out a vampire in an alleyway. She has some impressive skills.”

  “Did she know you saw her?”

  “No.”

  Britt frowned. He found it hard to believe that Jess hadn’t realized this woman had caught her in the act. Was Veronique lying?

  “Strange,” Britt said, hinting that he found her statement to be less than plausible.

  Veronique looked him up and down. “So. You are a profiler?”

  “I used to be.”

  “Well, why don’t you tag along with me today? Maybe you can spot something that I’ve missed.”

  Britt’s heart leapt at the thought, but he wasn’t fooled. If she still thought he was guilty, she’d assume he’d be trying to find a way to cover things up. And then she’d have him. It was a common technique—one he’d used on occasion.

  “Great idea.”

  “Good.” She started walking.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the catacombs. Where else?”

  “Okay.” He followed her into a passageway he hadn’t spotted earlier. As he’d suspected, there were probably plenty of entrances in the city.

  Her planned excursion into the catacombs might explain Veronique’s attire. It was clammy and cold down there, and even more eerie in the beam of the flashlight she’d pulled out of her pocket. No bones were visible yet, but he still broke out in a cold sweat. Dammit.

  They’d taken a circuitous route to the site of the killing, Veronique impressing him with her knowledge of the tunnels. At the crime scene, the body had been removed, but forensic tape had been positioned and a policeman jumped to his feet as they approached. H
e’d been sitting on the ground with his back against the stone wall. He saluted the second he saw Veronique.

  “Anyone try to get down here?” she asked the cop in English for Britt’s benefit. He appreciated that.

  “Non,” the officer said, glancing at Britt and then his watch before switching to English. “But this place is creepy.”

  “Oui, je sais—I know. I’ve been down here too many times not to be aware of that fact. It’s unnerving at times,” she said, giving the man’s shoulder a pat before leading Britt to the spot where the victim’s blood had seeped into the ground.

  She flashed the light around, and Britt looked at the ground closely. This time, he saw more than he’d been able to with the minimal light of his iPhone. There’d been blood, but not nearly enough of it, given the condition of the woman’s body. Maybe the soil was fine and it had sunk in quickly? He scraped the floor with the toe of his shoe and realized it was hard-packed clay.

  Meanwhile, Veronique continued her search, flashing her light on the walls and up at the ceiling.

  He knew what she was looking for. “Very little arterial spray,” he noted out loud.

  She nodded. “And, if she was cut open first, there should be spray.”

  “You think she was already dead when she was sliced? But why?”

  “Just some sick fuck who wanted to get his jollies?” she said, casting a suspicious look his way.

  He didn’t give her the satisfaction of getting angry at her attempt to rile him. He’d have blood on more than his shoes if he’d killed that poor woman. Besides, he spotted something glistening a little farther down the cave. It had caught in the light of her flashlight when she’d moved it over the walls.

  “I saw something down there,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. It was shiny. Could be anything, but it’s worth taking a look.”

  Veronique passed him the light. “Après vous,” she said.

  “That’s the first thing you’ve said in French that I understand,” he said, then went silent as they circumnavigated the spot where the body had lain. He got to the location where he thought he’d seen something. But there was nothing. What the hell? “I swear there was something shiny down here.”