by L. A. Banks
Fuck it. This wasn’t the time for shame or games. Carlos looked at the group hard. “You remember what our international messengers look like, don’t you?”
“Huge mothers,” Big Mike replied, nodding. “She made you take one of those, then, forewarned is forearmed.”
Both men nodded.
“But she didn’t die,” Marlene said in an urgent rush. “That may be our only hope.”
“You sure she didn’t?” Jose asked, his voice cracking from his obviously dry throat. “I mean, I’m not trying to be negative, or anything . . . but how do we know?” His eyes darted between Damali and Carlos, then back toward Marlene.
“Jose’s got a point,” Dan chimed in. “No offense.”
“No offense taken. Definitely a valid point.” Carlos could almost feel Marlene’s gasp pass through his skeleton. “We shouldn’t take anything for granted. There were periods when I wasn’t conscious.”
“C’mon, man,” J.L. protested. “Wouldn’t you know if she died on your watch, even if it happened during your daytime sleep?”
A slight smile tugged at Carlos’s mouth. “That’s not necessarily when I was out.” They just didn’t understand.
“Je—”
“Don’t say it, Rider,” Marlene warned, holding up her hand. “If she died in your arms, and came back . . . say within minutes . . . oh, I don’t know.”
“I will kill you,” Jose said slowly, moving forward in preparation for a foolhardy lunge, but was stopped by Shabazz’s arm.
“Gives a whole new meaning to petite mort,” Rider chided, shaking his head.
“How about a grand mal seizure,” Damali whispered, sidling up to Carlos. “Let’s get out of here, baby. We told them enough . . . and I’m hungry. I can tell you’re starved, too.”
Again the room went stone-cold still.
“No,” Carlos said firmly. “Baby, listen. I’ve gotta go to Hell, handle a few things—”
“Do you hear yourselves!” Rider was walking in a circle, arms outstretched. “Where’s my fucking clip?”
“Got one you can borrow,” Shabazz said, tossing Rider the spare ammo clip from his shoulder gear, and pulling Sleeping Beauty from his hip again.
Jose eyed the crossbow that Rider had discreetly taken from his side, noting that it was too far away for a quick grab. Opting for the available, he unsheathed a bowie knife, stripping it from Rider’s belt. In a lightning move, J.L. had snatched the largest knife from the carving set, and had tossed Dan one that was only a bit smaller.
“I take it this has hallowed-earth-packed rhinos locked and loaded?” Rider asked Shabazz with a sneer in Carlos’s direction.
“You know me, brother,” Shabazz said in a tight voice.
“Would you people relax?” Damali said, thoroughly annoyed. “We’re just going out and will be back in a few.”
“No, D. They’re right. That’s how this all got started in the first place. Me and you were gonna go and just talk at Father Pat’s . . . and it got crazy. Then, you were gonna take the shortcut home from Brazil, and wound up staying waaay too long in my Rio lair. Then, St. Lucia was supposed to be a one-night pit stop, but lasted longer. So, I’m out. Remember what I said—no humans, ever.”
“Oh, so you’re just gonna leave—just like that?” Both hands were on Damali’s shapely hips, and the outrage that glittered in her eyes was like a magnet.
Carlos paused, then shook off the temptation. “I have to.” He had to get away from her before he changed his mind.
“Yeah, he does,” Marlene agreed, telling Carlos with one look that it was time to go. “He’s getting stronger, though . . . each time we see him—I don’t know if that’s bad or good.”
“Bad sign,” Rider said fast. “We were real happy to have you on our side down in Hell, and in the Amazon, but turning our li’l sister was not a part of the dealio.”
“You got that right,” Jose said, his voice low and dangerous.
“Mar,” Carlos warned, ignoring the other guardians. “She was made by a master with council-level lineage. Hear me? From all indications she rolls like a female master, not a second-generation.”
“Marlene, what’s he talking about?” Jose stood back to allow Carlos an opening to pass.
“All I’m hearing is the part about council-level lineage,” Shabazz said slowly.
“Council-levels make masters. Masters make seconds. If he was the one who made her, he just made a topside female master, people. When Nuit bought it, then Damali dusted Vlak, Carlos must have descended—that’s the power shift. Brother just moved a level up in the vamp food chain.” Marlene shut her eyes. “Oh, Lord . . .”
Damali weaved and held her temples. “Mar, please . . . gimme a break!”
“Yeah, Mar. Dead on.” Carlos looked at the team and lowered his gaze. “It went down something like that. Open territory. I was next in line. Mar, see if the book says something about a councilman’s bite. I’m way more than a master these days, sis.”
“Oh, and you couldn’t have dropped that little bit of info on us before we let you take her to your lair in Rio! Are you nuts?” Rider was holding his gun so tightly that it shook.
“Get real,” Carlos said. “I’m a damned vampire, not a saint.”
“As far as us watching her, what does this mean?” Jose asked, his eyes searching Marlene’s face.
Carlos brushed past the Guardians at the door, who gave him wide berth, then stopped in the hallway and turned to look at them all hard. But for a split second his concentration fractured. Something strong and distant was calling him. It was a garbled, muffled, indecipherable call that had become muted within the prayer-guarded walls of the compound. He had to get out of there. Now. He could feel it, knew he had to address the 9–1–1 pulse within his territory.
Shaking the distraction, Carlos glimpsed at Jose, knowing that Guardian would be the weak link in the chain. If Damali needed to feed, Jose was dinner. “What I’m telling you all is, her mind lock is beyond the strength you can imagine—I almost couldn’t fight it.”
“No, you couldn’t, could you?” Damali casually leaned against the refrigerator and smiled. “But you are not leaving me here, with them.”
Carlos ignored her, and kept talking to the group. “The master vamp powers of seduction are deep, trust me. But don’t make me have to come in here and take a body for her—it’s in my nature, what can I say? Don’t ever forget she’s my woman.” Although his statement was issued to the entire group, and his eyes scanned each member of it, his gaze lingered longest on Jose.
“Shit . . .” Rider walked away deeper into the kitchen to get out of Carlos’s possible swing range when Marlene bristled.
“No male in this joint is immune,” Carlos muttered, still holding Jose’s line of vision. “She will do anything to get out of here, and she went into the turn with Neteru strength . . . whatever she got from me, I don’t know.”
“You know what I got from you,” Damali murmured, the barest hint of fang glistened in the fluorescent kitchen light.
Carlos swallowed hard, but motioned with his head toward her. “I want you all to see this, so we’re all clear before I leave. It’s in your best interests not to have any illusions.”
He walked back into the kitchen, stood before Damali, embraced her, and exposed his jugular to her. Her body fit against him, slid against all the right places so smoothly that he fought not to groan—respect for the family. Her hunger was palpable, just like her desire to be alone with him. She raised herself on her toes, pressing her abdomen against his, belly-to-belly, nearly climbing up him to reach just the right spot. C’mon, baby, get it over with, before I drag you out of here. He could feel his lids go to half mast as he struggled to keep his own incisors from lowering. Her family would be traumatized enough, they didn’t need to also witness him feeding from her. But she was mentally coaxing him into a double-plunge. “Uh-uh, not in front of family,” he murmured. They had no idea what resisting this urge was like.
>
“Right. What was I thinking?” she whispered, and then nuzzled his throat. “Later.”
“Just do it,” he said tensely, then shut his eyes, blocking out the stricken expressions of her family.
When the strike came he closed his lids tighter and mentally blocked out the gasp that rattled the group. He’d vowed to never do this in public, but this was necessary, and it took everything within him to break from Damali’s hold without biting her in return. Girlfriend was all pro, had pulled blood from his veins with the intensity of a master, sending pleasure throughout his system to block the pain, a smooth siphon that made sweat form on his brow and caused an involuntary shudder throughout his body. It felt like an eternity as he waited for her to lift her head. He opened his eyes, only to be met by hers and a sexy smile. Her tongue ran over her crimson bottom lip, leaving it moist.
“Want some?”
He ignored the generous invitation. This was not the time or place. Winded from her feed before he’d hunted and fed, he kissed her hard and staggered away from her, fighting the urge to take her to his lair to finish what she had started. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with the back of his fist, his mouth practically watering. Humiliation made his face burn, but he looked at her team, nonetheless. “Now, do you see what I’m talking about?”
Quiet tears streamed down Marlene’s face. Dan turned and vomited on the kitchen floor. Rider and J.L. were taking in slow sips of air. Jose’s face crumbled and he turned toward the wall. Shabazz and Big Mike stood motionless, their eyes moist, their glares unmoving.
“Fix this shit, Marlene,” Shabazz finally grumbled. “Tonight. I don’t want to ever see this bastard in our compound again.”
“She’ll be all right for the next twenty-four hours,” Carlos said without emotion. He understood. It was horrifying. And there was no one to blame but him.
His fingers traced Damali’s cheek as he watched her begin to normalize—but her family would never be the same. “I’ll be back,” he told Damali, “and Marlene is going to make this all right. Stay in, and don’t fight them when they try to help you—promise me?”
She nodded and pressed her fingers to his throat wound, then licked them. That was Big Mike’s last straw. When the big brother broke down and cried openly without shame, Carlos was out. He couldn’t watch pain like this. They were family.
The ground was pulsing. Clouds of bats filled the night sky, screeching his name. Council had sent out an all-points bulletin for him. He could tell by the look on Father Pat’s face that Marlene had already filled in the Covenant. News traveled fast, especially bad news. They all stood on the cabin steps, not speaking, but he knew a new round of prayers now barred him entry to what had been his safe house. Father Lopez, the youngest of the priests, looked away as silent tears slid down his brown cheeks. The Moor, Asula, was practically gray. Monk Lin turned away and swallowed hard.
“But I love her,” was all Carlos could say. “No matter what.”
“I know,” Father Pat said quietly, his tone gentle. “But now we have a situation. It’s greater than you can imagine, and the timing . . .”
“Do whatever you can to get her straight.”
The old priest nodded. “We’ll do whatever we can. We’ll take a blood supply to her. In two days, you won’t be able to.”
“Thank you.” That was all there was left to say before Carlos turned toward the night wind and was gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
CARLOS’S GAZE narrowed on the dark blue horizon as he opened his arms, feeling the wind gather about him. Going down to Hell alone was not an issue at this point. One more night of freedom—for what? He was so worried about what might happen within the compound that he just willed himself to council chambers without waiting for the formal VIP escort that was on its way.
As the earth split at his feet, emitting a black cloud that swirled around him, pulling him down, he could sense slippery things reach out for him, then think better of it. Even the demons knew he was not to be messed with right now.
As soon as he landed in the black-stalactite-studded outer council chamber corridors, the messenger bats screeched their confusion, gossiping wildly, stirring their putrid ammonia-ridden stench. Several hooded domestic couriers stepped out of the sulfur fumes, and materialized from behind slick stalagmites, their eyes glowing red.
Two scythes dropped before him, blocking his approach, and the bolder of the two messengers that stopped him hissed its concern.
“Master Rivera, it is customary to be escorted to chambers by VIP escort at your level when the chairman has summoned you. We believe your furlough expires tomorrow night. Then and only then does your full installation as a councilman occur.”
The tunnel went silent, all entities waiting for the proper response. From the corner of his eye Carlos could see the narrow path that led to the molten sea of Perpetual Agony that surrounded the main chamber. For a moment, the sight of the howling, begging, lost vampire souls within it gave him pause. Their relentless shrieks always made the hair stand up on his arms, but that would be the last thing he’d have to worry about if the chairman decided he didn’t like what he had to say.
“I didn’t send for a courier, because the international one I summoned broke protocol and reached for my package.” Carlos gave the smaller, domestic couriers a threatening smile. “I had to . . . fire him. The chairman needs to know about things like that. Besides, I’m responding to a nine-one-one.”
At once the corridor erupted with screeches and squeals of delight—juicy gossip always fed the blind. The messengers raised their scythes, and hissed their approval, signaling that Carlos could pass.
“How did you kill him?” a voice echoed behind Carlos.
“Tore his arm off when he reached for my package then ripped his heart out.”
A chorus of delighted squeals cheered Carlos as he walked away.
He crossed the bubbling pit on a six-inch band of earth and once at the massive, black marble double doors, Carlos steadied himself before reaching for the golden, fanged door knockers and submitted to the required serpent strike on his hand that would identify his black blood for entry.
The doors slowly opened, and he was once again standing before the ancient power center. His footsteps echoed on the black marble floor veined with blood. Carlos held his head up, his jaw set hard, his eye contact with the chairman never wavering as he approached the pentagram-shaped council table. Dense smoke from the iron wall torches plumed in a spiral upward, joining with the everpresent black transport tornado that circled high above in the ceiling’s arch.
Everything seemed to be in order, calm. He nodded at the chairman, who returned the gesture, lacing his long, clawed fingers together under his chin. Carlos then acknowledged the two remaining council members, detecting a level of nervousness.
“Mr. Chairman,” Carlos said in his most confident voice. “Gentlemen. It is good to be back at this table.”
The chairman stood and issued a sly smile with a raised eyebrow, and put his hands behind his back. He took his time rounding the table, his long onyx-colored robe making a soft swishing sound as he neared Carlos. The blue blood within his veins moved slowly under his paper-thin gray skin. And although that was a good sign that the chairman’s mood was calm, even the cloud of transporter bats high above in the arched ceiling fell eerily silent.
“How were the islands?” the chairman asked, his tone cooing, almost amused.
“Fine, sir, but that’s not why I’m here, right? You sent a high-priority message for me to . . .” Carlos’s statement died as he watched the chairman continue to move toward him.
The chairman circled him slowly and Carlos knew better than to move. His body temperature dropped to a nervous twenty-eight degrees when the chairman came close enough to rip his heart out.
“You had one more night before your furlough expired.” The chairman put a hooked claw to his lips and made a little tsking sound. The other senior members shook their heads, then
began filling their golden goblets with blood that oozed from the table’s pointed edges.
“Mr. Chairman, we’ve got major problems topside,” Carlos said firmly, his chin still held high, his gaze level with the chairman’s.
“I know we have major problems topside!” the chairman shouted, fangs suddenly eight inches and growing longer by the second as he grabbed Carlos by the throat. “We got a visit from the seventh level last night. They sent harpies to inform us that that the Neteru might have turned. Speak to me, now!”
The force of the chairman’s grasp was crushing his Adam’s apple, but Carlos managed to croak out, “She’s not turning. She’s in flux.”
The chairman dropped him and began to pace. “Explain,” he said in Dananu.
Thinking fast, Carlos threaded every truth he knew with the best lies. The fact that the senior council member had asked the question in the old language was not good, but it also meant that he was unnerved by the level-seven inquiry, and that was potentially advantageous.
“As you gentlemen know, I have been protecting this package since the day I was turned.” Carlos took his time. This had to be an airtight game. “After the incident in Brazil, where we lost Counselor Vlak, and with Nuit’s seat also open, our council was suddenly and extremely vulnerable. We need five points of the pentagram territories inhabited by a throne-level master to keep the power flow at peak levels.”
“Dispense with the history,” the chairman snapped, his patience gone. “Explain the flux.”
“You gave me a month to work on her, to keep her confused, in an open state. I marked her, and even her family had its guard down after my team’s performance in Brazil.”
Carlos glanced at the still-seated councilmen, who nodded their approval, and he could feel his body temperature begin to normalize as the chairman moved away from him to take a seat at the table. But their icy glares said they were waiting for more answers.