“We’re doing it wrong,” Elizabeth said to Konrad. Sheltering in a café doorway, she held her phone to her ear and watched the passersby as she spoke. “This is just exhausting us. We need to watch his hotel and follow him when he leaves.”
“Taken care of,” Konrad said with just a trace of smugness. “And you’re right. We need to rest, so I’ve organized another team to watch the hotel for us until morning. I’ve sent the others home already. Do you want a lift back to Mihaela’s?”
“No, thanks, Konrad. I’ll get a taxi.”
Breaking the connection, she dropped the phone into her bag and stepped out into the rain, only to come face-to-face with Saloman.
He stood under the café light, dressed in black, with his hair loose around his shoulders, glistening with moisture. Raindrops trickled down his forehead, trembled on his full, sensual lips. Shadows lurked in the deep hollows of his cheeks. His opaque dark eyes held secrets she never wanted to learn. And many, so many, that she did.
“Saloman,” she whispered. “Have you found him?”
“No,” he said. “But I found you.”
Because she couldn’t help it, she let her forehead fall forward onto his damp shoulder. Tiredness consumed her, dragged at her limbs and her brain, and yet his arms around her gave her unreasoning hope and security. Whatever unacceptable powers the sword might give Saloman, she knew that Dante would certainly kill Josh, probably as his first undead meal. Another night was passing and Josh was in more danger with every minute.
“He’s been studying enchantments,” she blurted into Saloman’s coat. “Powerful masking. And he’s staying at the Hilton—the Castle Hilton. The hunters are watching it.”
“I know.”
She lifted her head to see if he meant it or if he was just making her feel better for revealing the hunters’ knowledge. His eyes seemed to glitter as they gazed down into hers.
“Panic is unnecessary,” he said mildly. “Dmitriu won’t turn him.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because I told him not to.”
Laughter caught at her throat and was quashed down. “You can’t reach him, can you?”
“No. But I will. Go home to your hunter friend, and tomorrow we’ll talk.”
He kissed her mouth, a long, sweet kiss, thorough and sensual, but achingly gentle. Rain ran into her mouth; she could taste it on his lips, his tongue.
She didn’t even see the taxi approach, let alone Saloman’s summons, but when he released her, he simply handed her into the car and disappeared into the night.
Since the rain was obliging enough to keep going into the morning, Saloman found it easy to step out of his car under the protection of an umbrella and walk smartly around the corner to the Hilton entrance. He passed an oblivious hunter on the way in, but since the man was looking for Dante and not Saloman, masking was barely necessary.
Saloman let down his umbrella. He didn’t go near the long, busy reception desk, simply strolled toward the stairs and followed his nose to Dante’s room.
“Come in,” the senator called at once to his knock, and Saloman did.
Dante, wearing slacks and a polo shirt, paused in the process of hanging up a jacket. He looked almost ludicrously surprised. Perhaps he’d been expecting housekeeping.
“Good morning, Senator,” Saloman said smoothly. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping in unannounced.”
“Adam!” Dante recovered quickly, closing the wardrobe door and walking to meet him with hand outstretched. “Do you know I’d forgotten this was your home ground?” Saloman shook his hand, learning what he could.
Dante smelled of Travis. In fact, the scent of the American vampire lingered all over the room, as if he’d been here several times. But, more important, Dante had just come from his company, and that of several other vampires Saloman vaguely recalled from his brief visit to Travis in New York. Travis was here in force.
“You’ll have to forgive me for not getting in touch,” Dante said easily. “To be honest, I’m here on the quiet, for health reasons—incognito, you might say.” The senator beamed, and Saloman smiled beatifically back. “In fact, I’m surprised you found me.”
Suspicion lurked behind the genuine curiosity in Dante’s eyes. Saloman dropped his hand. It hadn’t touched Dmitriu, but that wasn’t surprising. Dmitriu would have bitten it off.
“I just caught sight of you heading into the hotel and followed you up.” It wasn’t strictly true. He’d sensed Dante’s presence very suddenly, almost as if he’d “teleported” into the city from nowhere, and tracked him here. Saloman wondered, vaguely, whether the hunter had seen him too, or if Dante had learned to mask himself from fellow humans.
The ability to enchant was a rare gift in humans, and Dante appeared to be a fast learner. There could be a reason for that—Dante could be of mixed race, descended from a union lost long ago in the mists of time between a human and one of Saloman’s living people. He could be one of the few in whom the normally dormant gift—modern science would probably call it a gene—was active.
Saloman did not care for that idea. Lonely as he was as the last of his race—he didn’t count modern hybrid vampires—he still would not welcome Dante as a member of it. If anything, the presence of the “gene” would make him even more dangerous to the world.
“Always charmed to meet up with an old friend,” Dante said jovially. “We can do lunch, if you like—although I’d appreciate it if you kept my presence here to yourself.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Saloman said. “I really just dropped by to thank you for Torrent Defense.”
“Good little company,” Dante said, missing the point. “Glad you came on board. I built it up myself from nothing, still own the largest share.”
“Ah, not anymore,” Saloman said. “I do. There’ll be a few production changes. I see the future in electric-powered cars.”
He smiled into Dante’s eyes and for an instant felt the senator’s sheer, unveiled fury. Dante had taken his eye off the ball, distracted as he was by his pursuit of immortality. And despite those higher concerns, it still rankled in a very human way that more of his business had fallen into his rival’s hands.
But he recovered fast. He shrugged eloquently, even managed a short laugh. “Well, my friend, if you think electric cars will make you more money than state-of-the-art tanks, you go ahead. Thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem. By the way, your friend Josh Alexander is in Budapest too. Did you know?”
Dante was hardly going to admit to knowing that. For Saloman, the question was merely a prompt, a matter of learning what he could as Josh entered the senator’s mind. But Dante was good, not merely a politician and diplomat, used to hiding his thoughts and feelings, but also, it seemed, a Method actor.
Saloman caught only the tiniest glimpse, so faint and swift as to be almost unreadable, of a stone room, like a cellar of some kind, bare and damp, and Josh huddled in a corner, perhaps tied. The room was dimly lit, and dark shadows leapt up the walls, threatening. Vampire presence. And another shadow, the black shape of a man with his arms chained above his head—Dmitriu.
He felt the rush of Dmitriu’s joy in the unexpected link, blotting out the terrible hunger. As he’d hoped, Dante’s thought, although it barely included Dmitriu, had provided the boost he needed to reach his friend.
And then the instant was past. There was no time to send either comfort or information. Dante, banishing the inconvenient memory, was instead remembering Josh at his house party in Scotland, and the tenuous connection broke. No matter, it was enough for now, enough to give Dmitriu hope. Enough for Saloman to work on later, in peace. Now that the link was established, it would be easier to re-form, and from that, he should eventually find Dmitriu’s location.
“Josh in Budapest? Really?” Dante marveled. “My, this is turning into a positive reunion.” The smile in his eyes faded slightly. “You don’t suppose he came because he discovered I was here, d
o you?”
“Why should he do that?”
“I have this feeling he still blames me for the theft of his sword in Scotland. He thinks I’ve got it!”
“Silly old Josh,” said Saloman.
Perhaps it was Adam Simon’s unexpected visit that had set him on edge, but Dante found the journey through the tunnel from the castle even more distasteful than usual. It was a long and uncomfortable walk, with him bent double for much of the way, with unspeakably grimy water dripping onto his neck at frequent yet never anticipated moments.
Worse than that, he was only too aware that their pretended work area, which covered the man-sized hole Travis had created between the tunnel and one of the castle’s duller basement rooms, could not remain undiscovered for much longer. As it was, the ticket staff were beginning to recognize him. The man today had made a joke about the frequency of his visits and how much he must love the castle. Dante had been forced to play the stupid tourist, gushing about the wonderful history to be found in Europe as compared to the States.
The trouble was, the process shouldn’t be taking this long. When Travis had discovered the tunnel and they’d first captured Dmitriu, Dante had never imagined having to keep him chained up for several days. The bastard was holding out for mere spite. He, Grayson Dante, should by now be immortal, gaining strength with every feed—and one of his early meals would be bloody Adam Simon. He should have been watching his shares, his companies, anticipating this—but honestly, what were the rest of the shareholders doing, allowing that fool to take over? To use the company’s specialist skills to make electric cars, for God’s sake!
Dante quashed the anger rising all over again and rounded the bend with some relief. There, in front of him, was the stone chamber with its iron door and locks duly repaired by Travis’s henchmen. Dante suspected it had once been a hideaway for treasure, possibly built to hide arms and gold and religious treasures from the Turks. He liked to think the Hungarians succeeded in this, that when the Turks were eventually expelled over a century later, the Hungarians simply walked down here and removed the treasures again.
Whatever its original purpose, though, it suited Dante’s perfectly. A thick stone chamber built within a junction of underground tunnels. Layers of stone and earth formed a natural mask, making protective enchantments both easier and more effective.
And according to Travis, no one had been in these tunnels for centuries.
“Why not?” Dante had asked. “I’d have thought vampires at least would have thrived down here.”
Travis had shrugged. “There are other tunnels around here, full of tourists. And this part runs too near the river, probably. Most vampires don’t care for running water.”
Dante had listened to the faint lulling water rush of what had to be the river Danube close by. “Don’t you mind?”
“No. I never yet heard of a vampire who drowned.”
Dante knocked loudly on the iron door. It opened at once and closed behind him as soon as he’d slipped into the chamber.
Travis and his four vampire bodyguards, including the one who’d let him in, sat in a circle on the floor playing cards with the remainder of Dante’s own men—he’d brought in two new ones to replace the dead. They all gambled together with a bizarre mixture of dollars and Hungarian forints, as if they had equal value.
“Is it dark yet?” Travis demanded. “I’m starving.”
Dante glanced anxiously at Josh as he walked toward him, checking his neck for puncture marks. “You haven’t touched him, have you?” he demanded.
“Fuck off,” Josh snarled. It was bravado. He knew he would be Dante’s first meal. A descendant of an Ancient’s killers would make a powerful first meal to follow his welcome drink from Dmitriu, the exchange of blood that would turn him.
“Three hours until sunset,” Dante said, turning to face Dmitriu at last. Still in chains, hanging from the wall, he rested his head back against the stone as if he were asleep. His expression was tranquil, but Travis had already explained to him how the vampire’s nerves would be jumping like a junkie’s without a fix. Gaunt, pale as alabaster, Dmitriu resembled nothing more than a statue. A statue in a torn white shirt.
The tattered clothing, however, was the only sign he still bore of the vicious fight that had eventually captured him. The wounds of his beating had healed, the trailing blood and dried scabs reabsorbed into his body. Dante hadn’t known whether to resent the inconvenient speed of his healing—since Travis had refused to take the trouble of beating him some more—or be impressed with such power, which would replicate in himself just as soon as Dmitriu gave in and agreed to turn him.
“Ready to exchange blood?” Dante said to him now, as he’d said many times over the last two days and nights.
“No,” said Dmitriu without opening his eyes, as he’d answered every time.
“What are you doing there, Dmitriu? Conserving your energy?” Dante tried to provoke him. “What the hell for?”
“Killing you.” The vampire’s eyes opened, and in spite of himself Dante shivered in mingled fear and longing. “Without possibility of revival.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Dante asked with mock interest, indicating the chains that held him. Dmitriu merely curled his lip. Dante knew an urge to go closer, to whisper in the vampire’s ear and use the sheer force of his personality to persuade him as he’d persuaded so many others to his will. Vampires were not immune to strong humans, after all. But on the other hand, Travis had borne in on him the importance of keeping his distance, not just because of Dmitriu’s speed and unpredictability, but because once out of the chamber and the tunnels, he’d betray the scent of everyone he touched to every watching vampire in the city.
And this, more than any other, was Saloman’s city.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Dmitriu said with dignity.
“Come on, Dmitriu,” Dante urged. “What do you have to lose? Do what I ask and you’re free and clear of here. I’ll even let you have a bite of Josh before you go, provided you leave the bulk and the kill to me. Then you can go on a spree.”
“I don’t recall asking your permission.”
Dante smiled. Behind the muttered response he detected the dreadful, mind-numbing tiredness, the hunger that was tearing him apart. “Doesn’t it drive you mad?” he said softly. “Just hanging there, smelling the blood in Josh? In me? Watching those guys come back every night, replete with blood, while you just continue to hang here like a piece of meat, starved of energy? It’s easy, Dmitriu. Just turn me. Exchange your blood, the blood of Saloman, with me. . . .”
Dmitriu laughed. It was a weak sound that gave Dante hope despite the defiant words that followed. “If you want Saloman’s blood so much, why don’t you just ask him?”
“You’re closer,” Dante said with a quick, sneering gesture toward his chains.
“Not much.”
Dante frowned. “What do you mean by that?” He took a hasty step closer, then, remembering Travis’s advice, jerked back again. “Is Saloman in Budapest?”
“He’s coming for you,” Dmitriu mocked.
Travis, from his position on the floor, threw his cards down and said, “No, he isn’t. I’ve met him, and I’d smell him if he was here.”
“You?” Dmitriu sneered. “You couldn’t smell your own grandmother if she were lying rotting beside you.”
But Travis’s words had caught Dante’s attention for another reason. “You’ve met Saloman? When? Where?”
Travis shrugged. “In New York. You just missed him, in fact.” He scratched and yawned, and Dante, used now to the American vampire’s body language, knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth. He couldn’t quite work out how it mattered, though, and right now he had more pressing concerns.
Striding toward Travis, he said impatiently, “Can’t we speed this up? We can’t hang around here indefinitely, you know. Why don’t you rough him up a little? Torture him or something?”
Travis shrugged and got to his fee
t, regarding Dmitriu with his head leaning to one side. “No point. The hunger is torture enough. If he can stand that, he can stand a few broken bones and bruises. Besides, he heals too fast for it to be worth the effort. If you want my opinion, he’s never going to give in, so you might like to consider some other options so we can get the hell out of this fucking boring tomb. I’ve got business in the States.”
“What other options?” Dante demanded.
Travis shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door, his gaze on the sword that lay in the far corner, wrapped once again in Josh’s father’s old coat—more to keep it from tempting Travis’s henchmen than to hide its presence. “I could turn you.”
“Your blood is strong,” Dante allowed curtly. “But it’s not as strong as his. Saloman’s child and Saloman’s sword will enable me to face Saloman.”
Travis said smoothly, “Except that you’re giving the sword to me.” “I meant Saloman’s sword in my turning, that’s all. I haven’t forgotten our deal.”
“Good, because however strong he makes you, I can still enforce it.”
“Point taken,” Dante said steadily. “But you mentioned options. Plural.”
Travis waved one impatient hand at Dmitriu and stuck it back in his pocket. “Just make the bastard drink from you.”
Dante blinked. “Make him? Force him?”
“Sure. He’s weakened with hunger. Two of my guys can hold him while I push his teeth onto your neck. Once your skin’s pierced and he smells the blood, I doubt any force on earth could stop him from drinking.”
Dante stared at him thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you suggest this before?”
“Didn’t think he’d be this stubborn.” Travis sighed and took both hands out of his pockets as he straightened. “Also, it’s not so certain, is it? We can ram your neck into his teeth, and while the next step—him drinking your escaping blood—is highly likely, it’s not guaranteed. We’d just have to hope enough gets down his throat.”
Blood Sin (2) Page 26