A Vampire's Honor

by Carla Susan Smith

  Of course. What other perfectly appropriate place was there to stake a vampire?

  Chapter 30

  Tomas drove Anasztaizia home. She didn’t want to stay just in case she was totally wrong and Aleksei came home. None of us believed that, but I think it made her feel better if we pretended it could happen. Even if it was just for a little while. I hugged her and offered to stay at her place so she wasn’t alone, but she politely turned me down. I think my presence was a reminder of Gabriel and worst-case scenarios. I understood, but I made her promise to call me if she needed anything.

  I picked up the remote and turned on the TV, more to fill the silence around me than anything else. But all I found were sitcoms written for an average IQ in the teens or the latest crop of reality shows. Was there anyone who actually believed these shows were “real”? I turned the TV off in disgust and grabbed my purse and keys. I needed to get out of the penthouse.

  I had no idea how long it was going to take Gabriel to get to California or what would happen when he got there. I’d been making a lot of assumptions, and now I was gripped by doubt. What did I really know about vampires? I might be living with one, bound to him even, but my knowledge of Gabriel’s everyday world was still pretty limited. God forbid—what if I was totally wrong about Kartel?

  But you’re not . . . You know in your gut he’s a piece of shit who’d like nothing more than to bring Gabriel to his knees.

  But why?

  Does it matter? Would that truly make a difference to you?

  I sighed and had to confess that no, it would not. The fact that someone wanted to hurt two vampires—one I loved and one I liked enough to care about—was enough.

  The problem is . . . what happens if Kartel succeeds? Will he come after you?

  Not gonna happen!

  I applaud your confidence in our man, and I don’t think it will happen either, but there’s a poem or rhyme or some similar shit about a war being lost for the sake of a horseshoe nail. You get my drift?

  Yeah, you’re saying I should hope for the best, but it would be stupid not to consider the worst. So, worst-case scenario—do you think Kartel will come after me?

  I don’t see how he couldn’t. You and Gabriel, you’re two halves of a whole. He would have no choice but to come after you.

  My inner bitch is a pain in my head more often than not, but on rare occasions, like when it involves really important shit, she comes through for me.

  Tomas had yet to return from taking Anasztaizia home. It was self-evident that Gabriel had entrusted his sentinel with my safety; he was still here and not on his way to the Mojave Desert. I wrote him a note explaining where I’d gone and why. Something innocuous enough that he wouldn’t feel the need to come after me. If Kartel did put in an appearance, it would only be because Gabriel was in no condition to stop him—a fact I was certain would not be lost on Tomas. I saw absolutely no reason for both of us to suffer at Vampire Smurf’s hands. Without me to protect, Tomas would have a better chance of getting away.

  I packed an overnight bag, taking longer than usual because I had to stop and make sure I wasn’t hearing Tomas’s footsteps every few seconds. The bag served no purpose except as a ruse. After reading my note, Tomas would check the closet and bathroom. I would take my toothbrush and hairbrush as well as a change of underwear, if nothing else.

  Stopping at one of Greenley Heights’s two premier five-star hotels, I made a point of engaging the desk clerk in conversation, telling her I was not to be disturbed and to please hold all calls, so she would be certain to remember me. After that, it was a piece of cake to just place the contents of my overnight bag in the hotel suite I’d booked myself into. Of course, if Tomas was bound and determined to see me, then he’d just use one of his mystical runes to open the room door and come in. But I didn’t think he would. I was actually safer in a hotel surrounded by a few hundred guests and who knew how many staff than I was in the penthouse with just him. Not that he couldn’t protect me. Of course, he could, but vampires have an innate dislike of crowded places. It was one thing for Kartel to take me by force from the seclusion of the penthouse, but a very different matter to drag me kicking and screaming through the lobby of the Royal Arms Hotel. And you better believe there was going to be a lot of kicking and screaming.

  Satisfied with my subterfuge, I used the back stairs to the hotel garage and drove across town to the apartment Gabriel had bought me, taking a circuitous route just to be on the safe side. I’m not a very good liar. Actually, I’m total shit when it comes to coloring the truth. My mouth might say all the right words, but my face turns bright red. The equivalent of having the L word tattooed across my forehead. But by the time I pulled into the garage and waited for the door to close behind me, I was feeling pretty good about my chances of pulling this off.

  It took me nearly five minutes to unlock my door. Didn’t help that I wasted four and a half of them trying to force the wrong key. Once inside, I locked the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a sigh of relief. I had protected Tomas as much as I was able to. Of course he wouldn’t be happy with me when he found out I wasn’t at the hotel, but I figured by then this would all be over one way or the other. I’d either be asking his forgiveness or it wouldn’t matter.

  I dropped my purse on the chair and headed for the kitchen and the bottle of bourbon I’d bought as an apartment warming present to me, from me. As I got the bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass, my hands started to shake. So much so, I thought I might drop the glass or the bottle. One I could deal with, but the other would be just a shameful waste of good liquor.

  I stretched my arms out along the length of the tile countertop and clenched my fists, allowing the physical reaction to my stratagem to work its way through me. Bowing my head, I sucked in a deep breath, counted to ten, and then exhaled slowly. I felt better. I held out my hands, pleased to see the tremors had subsided and I was able to open the bottle of JD with no problem. I’d just poured the generous amount I’d promised myself when a voice behind me had me clenching everything in the hope I didn’t pee myself.

  “I’ll take one of those,” my demon said.

  The glass in my hand didn’t fall to the floor, even though the shock of hearing those rich, dulcet tones made my fingers release their hold. Instead it paused in mid-air, with the contents splashing upward over the rim suspended just as bizarrely. Like the face of a small child seeing a magician pull a rabbit from his hat for the very first time, my mouth dropped open, and my eyes widened at the unbelievable reality I was seeing.

  I was vaguely aware that he had moved and was now standing close to me. I was also aware that the only place he could have come from was the narrow sliver of space that existed between the fridge and the wall.

  Had he really squeezed out from that impossible slice of darkness?

  Oh yeah . . . you betcha ass he did.

  Now I knew I was in trouble, because my inner bitch sounded impressed, and it takes a lot to impress her.

  From the corner of my eye I saw his hand reach out and cup the floating glass in his palm, well-manicured fingers cradling the tumbler. The signet ring on his pinkie had a single stone, a ruby, and it glowed like a red-hot coal in the overhead light.

  “Rowan . . . look at me.”

  His voice was oddly compelling, and my need to obey was strong, but I couldn’t take my eyes from the glass. I knew the moment I looked away, or blinked, I would miss seeing the magic behind the trick. And I really wanted to know how it worked.

  “Rowan . . .” The sound of my name came from next to my ear, although he was still holding the glass, and I never saw him move. “Look at me, Rowan.”

  I blinked and missed the secret to the trick. Shit.

  The bourbon fell into the glass with a gentle sloshing sound, but not a single drop was spilled. I turned my head and looked at him, seeing the same figure that had invited me to take tea in a fantasy garden that existed only in the Dark Realm.

&nb
sp; Only he’d taken more than tea. He’d taken a piece of my soul as well.

  “Another Armani?” I asked, referring to the expensive cut of his dark suit. After Gabriel found out that my demon favored this particular designer, he’d asked Tomas to remove everything in his closet that bore the same name. I really hoped the demon wouldn’t make Gabriel give up anyone else, especially not Tom Ford, because I liked the way Gabriel looked in his designs.

  “Yes,” the demon whispered in my ear, lengthening the last letter so he sounded like a snake. “I remember how much you admired my wardrobe the last time we met.”

  I forced myself to make a slow sweep from head to toe, taking in the stylish cut of his glossy black hair to the Ferragamos on his feet, making sure I paused and frowned every now and then. The same snowy-white shirt was a backdrop for the same blood-red tie, adorned with the same tie clasp and cufflinks, both accented with rubies. “Funny, in this light you look more like a used car salesman,” I said, being deliberately rude.

  “Only if I were selling you a Veyron or a Maybach.” The apparent lack of brand recognition on my face made him laugh. “Still, if the Armani bores you, perhaps something different.”

  The sudden odor of sulfur made my nose sting and my eyes water. I coughed and reached for the kitchen roll, tearing off a square and using it to wipe my eyes. So much for waterproof mascara. Once everything was no longer blurry, I stared at him and gasped. He looked exactly like every medieval illustration of the devil I’d ever seen, complete with horns and cloven hooves.

  It was fascinating . . . and disgustingly revolting at the same time. From the waist up he looked like a man. A powerfully built man, with the well-defined muscles of his upper torso a testament to his fearsome strength. From the waist down he had the muscular hindquarters of an animal that bore a definite similarity to a goat. He was covered with a pelt of black hair from his hips down to—are we really seeing this?—the cloven hooves that supported him.

  His sex was enormous, almost comically so, and completely unavoidable. It hung from the dark fur so the head of his cock twitched against what would have, should have, been his knees. I defy anyone, male or female, not to have stared at it. I swear it looked as if it had a mind of its own, and I’m not completely certain it didn’t, but all I could do was thank God it was flaccid. I didn’t even want to imagine how it would look erect.

  I forced myself to look up at him. To stare at his face. His upper body might look human, but there was nothing human that I could see in the bone structure of his skull. The elongated jaw and sloping forehead told me there was more animal than modern Homo sapiens in their formation. His skin was charred, although I saw no blisters or obvious burns; still it did seem to be stretched tightly over his bone structure. As if he was wearing a mask that was just a touch too small, but had been forced to fit.

  Perhaps it is a mask. Perhaps at the back of his skull you’ll find a zipper or two pieces of Velcro holding it together.

  His eyes, beneath heavy dark brows, were black-rimmed and glittered red and gold, reminding me of the flames in a fire. His ears were strange, pointed at the tip with lobes so long they brushed the tops of his shoulders. And then there were the horns: solid-black protrusions that erupted from his forehead, twisting up over his head in distorted corkscrews.

  He smiled at me, a flash of brilliant white made even more dazzling because of the blackened lips that surrounded them. Only he seemed to have far too many teeth crowding his mouth. Razor sharp and glistening with saliva, they looked like daggers.

  “Is this image more to your preference, Rowan?”

  His voice was gravelly and harsh, but before I had a chance to respond, he held out his arms and twirled for me. A demon parody of a nervous first date seeking approval.

  Well, look at that—he’s got a tail too!

  And he did. Emerging from the thick glossy pelt, it moved, twisting around his waist as he pirouetted, his cloven hooves making a surreal clopping sound on the tiled kitchen floor. I shuddered and knew I had to get rid of this thing before I vomited.

  “The concept of subtlety really is beyond your grasp, isn’t it?” I added enough sarcasm to make the twirling come to an end. “What are you supposed to be? Some sort of bad Halloween costume?” He leaned toward me, bringing his face close to mine. His eyes didn’t just look like fires; I could see actual flames moving in their depths. “And what’s worse,” I continued, “you stink!”

  The last thing I expected to do was make him laugh. Throwing back his head, he let out a great, belly-roaring sound that reverberated around the entire apartment.

  “Not to your taste, eh?” he said as his mirth died down. “Perhaps this, then. They do say the third time’s the charm.”

  He vanished in a puff of smoke—literally!—and materialized in the middle of the living room, and once I turned the corner it was easy to see why. His wings were enormous, requiring more room than the cramped quarters of the kitchen to open fully. The breath caught in my throat.

  They were stunningly beautiful. He was stunningly beautiful.

  Black and glossy, each feather was tipped with red and shone with an iridescent luminosity. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and stood with his legs slightly apart, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet as he watched me, assessing my reaction.

  I hated myself for the way I was responding to him. His physical appearance was all male—except for the wings, of course—but even those I could relate to. How could I not? Formed from the same ball of light that had made Gabriel, he and my vampire lover were, for all intents and purposes, brothers. Looking at him, I could so easily see Gabriel standing in his place, dazzling as the angel he had once been, only with wings that were neon blue instead of glorious black.

  Now my demon folded his wings, tucking them against his back as he came toward me and stopped. He smiled. His teeth, though still impossibly white, were now more human in size, shape, and, I assumed, quantity. The features of his face were similar to those he adopted with his Armani persona, although now there was a touch more of the exotic about him. Perhaps it had been there when he was Mr. Armani and I just hadn’t noticed. He held his hand out to me.

  Why are you on your knees? Are you praying?

  I had absolutely no idea. I certainly didn’t recall assuming the position of a supplicant. He bent forward, and his hair tumbled over one shoulder. It fell to his waist and had the same glossy sheen as his wings, without the red ends. His body was a healthy bronze color, a natural hue that owed its pigment to genetic code instead of a tanning bed.

  I placed my fingertips in his palm, feeling the blush rise to my cheeks, and grateful to see he was wearing black leather pants. I couldn’t decide if my embarrassment was because he was clothed or because in his previous manifestation I’d seen more than I expected to. My apparent look of relief at his wardrobe choice did not go unnoticed. He gave me a quizzical look and asked, “You prefer me partially clothed?”

  “Well, a girl does like to be surprised every now and then,” I said, getting to my feet.

  “Something to remember.” He widened his smile. I wasn’t sure how I should take that, but I wasn’t going to ask for clarification. “As is this image that pleases you.”

  “It’s okay,” I lied. The last thing I wanted was to hand him something he could potentially exploit and use against me. “A bit theatrical, with all the Vegas showgirl feathers.”

  “Liar,” he said, as he narrowed his eyes. In his current form, they were black with shards of red and green glittering in their depths. “Your body betrays you, Rowan. Your heart is beating so fast you can scarcely catch your breath, and I can smell your lust for this image before you.”

  I wanted to remind him that he was the liar as well as a trickster and deceiver, but I couldn’t. Not this time. I didn’t love him, and I never would, but the sudden lust I felt for him, while unexpected, was also very real. In my head I wanted nothing more than to feel the physical sensation of having that bod
y touch me . . . taste me . . . fill me.

  ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?

  My inner bitch shrieking like a banshee was better than a cold shower. I snatched my hand from his and took a step back. He looked mildly disappointed.

  “Almost,” he murmured.

  “Why are you here? What do you want with me?”

  There was a rustle, a snap as if someone was treading on dry twigs, and then his wings were gone. And now I was alone with a really hot-looking guy with waist-length black hair wearing nothing but snug leather pants. I took in a deep breath to clear my head and caught the lingering scent of anise. His scent.

  “I’ve come to give you a gift,” he said.

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Oh come now, don’t be churlish. What kind of a groom would I be if I didn’t want to give my bride-to-be a wedding gift?”

  Groom? Bride-to-be? Wedding gift?

  He was out of his mind, completely and totally off the deep end. Except he ruled the Dark Realm, and although I was fairly certain a good many of the inhabitants were clinically insane, I doubted the jailer was. Too risky. Then again, who knew what passed for madness in such a place.

  “I don’t remember discussing marriage with you,” I said slowly. “And I don’t know why you would think I would ever agree to such a thing.” Frantically I pulled up the memory of our last meeting, running it through my head like an old 8mm movie. Had I agreed to this and didn’t remember? No, I was certain there had been no mention of matrimony. I stared at him. He was too calm, too collected. He knew something I didn’t. I wondered if he was trying to change the rules of our agreement, trick me into defaulting, but deep down I knew his pride would never allow that.

  Even demons have a code of honor. Admittedly it might not be one most other people would agree with, but then again, how many folks have ever entered into such a bargain with the ruler of the Dark Realm? I stared at him, and he looked back at me, a half smile playing on his lips. He wasn’t here to try to change something in the agreement between us in order to give himself an advantage. He was here because he already had that advantage. Something had already changed.