Blood Rising

by Amber Anthony

  Matt eyed Alejandro’s hostile supporters. He was no one to these people, and they had huge political motivation to cheer on his challenger, not the least of which was promotion within the cartel. Thumbing the sharp edge of his blade, he cursed Ronnie inwardly, and abruptly craved an end to this farce. He’d get nowhere with her as long as Dias survived.

  The gypsy orchestra leader had been chosen to drop the silk, based solely on the merits of his outrageous moustache and his bright yellow pocket square. The lanky man fidgeted, waiting for the edge of the moon to crest. Matt and Dias sprang forward when the buttery silk spread on the earth.

  Older, wiser in the ways of the facón duel, Dias took the initial advantage, driving Matt to the field’s perimeter with a volley of thrusts. Each of them slashed at the other, neither catching so much as a fiber of clothing. The blades whistled with preternatural speed. The few observers shouted encouragement to Dias, certain the challenge would end soon with Matt staring wide-eyed and dead. He was determined to surprise them.

  Longing to feel Cat’s soft body alongside his once more inspired Matt to give his all. His calculated thrusts probed his opponent’s fighting style, avoiding his strengths to capitalize on his weaknesses. The more experienced drug lord parried easily, smirking his disdain. Tension coiled in Matt’s gut while he fought for his life. Rapid-fire slashes of their blades carved incisions which healed almost as quickly as they bled. Moonlight glinted on blood-encrusted steel as the knives flashed.

  Matt gritted his teeth and set his jaw with effort. He’d been a goddamn fool to let himself be goaded into this madness! Whatever he thought of Dias as a man, he had to acknowledge his mad skills for dueling. This thing wasn’t turning Matt’s way, and he mustered all his grit and guts to remain in the game. He refused to succumb to the fear that he would never see Cat or Rick again.

  Alejandro’s blade clipped his ear as Matt whirled aside, spraying blood among the crowd chanting for his death. Matt spun on his heel and crouched, more limber than his aggressor. He gauged speed and space in the moon shadow, and pivoted to trade places with Dias. The full moon cast golden shadows on his opponent’s pale face, the hollow of his throat glistening as they fought. Matt swayed from one foot to the other, eluding one more deadly swipe of the blade.

  A woman’s shriek from a patio high above them echoed in the clearing. Startled night birds shivered out of the trees and soared en masse to swoop and swirl above the duelers. Distracted, Dias glanced up. Matt lunged forward, thrusting in close quarters, his double-edged blade catching the black plait at the nape of his opponent’s neck and taking blood, tendon and muscle with it. He retreated as Dias howled with pain and fury, then re-lunged to double thrust, his blade sinking deep into Dias’s shoulder, but missing the throat.

  Alejandro’s eyes bulged with panic at Matt’s unexpected advantage. In the next instant, Matt caught the ivory blur of a woman rushing toward them. Dias teetered forward, blood gushing from Matt’s blade. Veronique crashed into the midst of the duel, oblivious to the carnage on her behalf.

  “He’s dead! Ma Papa! What have you done?” she wailed, her emerald eyes accusing Matt.

  Dias used the momentary distraction to upper cut a thrust into Matt’s gut. Gritting his teeth against the white poker of pain, Matt yanked his facón from the drug lord’s shoulder bone. In seconds, fears converged and destinies were sealed. Veronique’s hands clutched her midsection in despair, Dias froze with the shock of his loss, and Matt capitalized on the temporary lull to drive his blade deep into the elder vampire’s thick neck. Flesh parted like butter, and Matt’s blade severed Alejandro’s dark head.

  Veronique shuddered with disgust when Dias’s head rolled off his exquisitely sculpted shoulders and onto the bloody earth. Matt’s glance raked her with disdain. She was now as she’d always been—totally absorbed in her own drama. Had she felt any part in two vampires dying? Did she feel any culpability in the body before her, or her own sire’s death? No. They were all her pawns, and she was the queen.

  * * * *

  Cat knew the answers to all her questions were in the next room where a pleasant master of ceremonies, who looked more like the warm-up guy for a real estate seminar than an S&M master, motioned participants into seats.

  “Welcome to the Gaoler, my friends,” he boomed. “I’m Nicolai Mares, your orientation host. You may call me Nic. We’re happy to see so many attractive, warm-blooded initiates joining us. Let’s take a moment to go over precautions before we get to the fun part.” The crowd vibrated with excitement. “I’m hoping all of you read your contracts and followed the listed suggestions?” He beamed at them as if he were discussing dental health. “Everyone prepped with vitamin C and B? Abstained from aspirin and Ibuprofen? Have to watch those anticoagulants!” He stopped to run his fingers appreciatively over the exposed nipples of a nearby fan who squeezed in close to the stage. She giggled invitingly. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, baby? Everybody has their safe words, right?”

  Heads nodded. What is a safe word, Cat wondered. Somehow, she felt she might need one. Is it like a mantra?

  “I’m gonna assume none of you have fed a vamp before, though you may already know quite a bit about Dom/sub relationships. So, a couple more suggestions. Don’t get scared and jerk away. All the vamps here are experienced, and will make it good for you if you give them the opportunity, so don’t choke up.”

  Inexplicably, Cat’s left wrist throbbed, and she rubbed at the scar she was told was a result of the auto accident. Now that she looked closely, there were two ugly puncture marks. Could it be…

  “If you feel light-head, we want you to speak up right away. We always have orange juice or something a little stronger for fortification. Last, but not least, stay with the vamp you’re assigned to. Just like a school dance, it’s bad manners to leave the one who brung you.” He smiled charmingly. “The last thing we want is two vamps fighting over a donor. Naughty donors who cause trouble won’t be invited back.”

  Nicolai turned once again to his giggling admirer. “Miss Angelica has offered to help me demonstrate the most popular feeding positions.” He picked the delighted woman up as if she weighed nothing, and then settled them both on a fainting couch, draping her over his lap. He caressed her neck with his lips while he extended her arm to demonstrate. Cat shivered.

  “Some areas, such as the wrist or arm, are considered the most casual, least intimate sites to feed upon.” He winked at the crowd. “That’s something you might see between virtual strangers; vamps and donors who are grabbing a quick eat-and-come in the lounge area.”

  In a single motion, he unzipped the demonstrator’s bustier and let her tits spill out. The crowd buzzed excitedly.

  “There are more intimate positions your vampire is more likely to reserve for the privacy of his or her dungeon. This area here.” His fangs dropped, his face paled and his eyes shone like opals. He licked sensuously along the woman’s throat. “Yum…or this.” He lapped at her nipples. “Is tasty.” He winked. “The best.” With lightning speed, he flipped the girl onto the bed of the fainting couch, spreading her knees wide, and exposing her completely to the gasping crowd. He rewarded them with a devilish grin. “Vamps are fast. The best place, is here.” Nic scraped his fangs between her legs along her femoral artery, and Angelica squealed.

  Cat squirmed in her seat. Okay, vampires are real.

  * * * *

  Matt dropped the bloody knife from numb fingers, and gaped at the grizzly tableau as the stunned crowd enveloped Veronique and Dias. Juan was at his side in seconds, drawing him urgently away before the mob could organize themselves to give chase.

  “You are a marked man, senor. We run, or you die.”

  Matt nodded, dazed. His side hurt like a son of a bitch. Had Dias’ blade been coated with silver? He clutched the wound and let Juan spirit him into the woods where the young man stripped. Now what? Matt wondered crossly.

  “Your pants, senor.”

  “Ye
s, these are my pants.”

  Juan leveled a bold look at him. “Take them off.”

  Matt’s look challenged his. “What?”

  “Take them off and take these.” He thrust his uniform into Matt’s hands. “My motorcycle is in the employee parking lot, the only red Ducati. Here is the key.”

  Matt stared in surprise. Juan threaded his fingers into the longish hair at Matt’s temples, and hard masculine lips covered Matt’s. Outraged, Matt jerked away, his fist connecting with the young man’s jaw. Juan reeled back, still upright.

  “Sir, you have to hit me harder. Knock me out. Otherwise…”

  A smile crept over Matt’s face as he realized the young man’s intent. “Goodnight, Juan, and thank you.”

  His uppercut to Juan’s chin laid the boy out flat just in time. His bloodthirsty pursuers were on the hunt, though luckily moving in an adjacent direction. Matt circled back to the employee area of the resort, hoping Juan’s gaudy aftershave permeating the uniform would disguise his own scent, and give him some lead time.

  The bike started without a hitch, and Matt was confident he made a miraculous escape until ominous black SUVs surged past him headed toward the airport. Luckily, it hadn’t occurred to them to identify the anonymous bellman on the motor bike. It looked as if the airport was out as an exit strategy, though. He’d have to use the docks, and he’d better get there fast, and onto a departing ship before they figured out where he’d gone.

  * * * *

  Matt’s tribulation in the hold of a freighter, filled with coal, lasted for over seven hundred interminable nautical miles and two days. He spent the majority of the time pissed off that he was unable to access the Maynard plant. He was now certain Veronique produced Humanité there, and the cartel may have been using it for street drugs.

  After the debacle with Dias, he was bound to be persona non grata, at least in Colombia, and probably with Ronnie as well. It was a misstep even the most polished seducer would not be able to overcome. Maybe money? Veronique does like money. Would it compensate her for the loss of her lover and sire all in one night? He doubted she had deep feelings for anyone but herself. Still, if she cast him in the role of villain, it would impossible to win her forgiveness. What would compel her to relinquish a substantial amount of Humanité to him?

  Grubby, coal-coated, blood-starved and exhausted when he reached their club in Puerto Rico, Matt was snubbed by the socially acceptable. The looks he garnered in the tattered stevedore clothes he’d stolen en route made it clear he was a fashion don’t. Hopefully, he’d be able to find something decent to wear before he headed home.

  * * * *

  Cat began to sweat. Memories converged on her, and all at once the chilly room was way too hot. It spun. Her breathing accelerated alarmingly, and blackness closed in on her from the edges of her vision.

  The feel of an icy cold towel at the back of her neck, and another against her forehead slowly brought her around. She blinked into consciousness, and found herself lying on a tobacco-colored leather couch in a space lit by geometric Tiffany lamps, and surrounded by bottle-green walls. Her heart pounded. She’d been in this room before.

  Cat blinked to clear her vision. An elegantly tall man with chiseled good looks and a strong muscular body gazed down at her. He was impeccably groomed in tuxedo pants, a pleated shirt, open at the neck and an air of complete command.

  Cat sat up slowly, catching the towel across her forehead before it dropped to the floor. She twisted it in her hands, reluctant to meet his gaze.

  “Look at me.” His voice was deep and sonorous, and brooked no denial. Her gaze snapped up to his. “What were you thinking?”

  “I had questions. I needed answers,”

  His lips formed a straight line of disapproval. “Answers about what?”

  “About Matt…me…us.”

  “So, you came here without him?”

  His look was skeptical, but it gave Cat hope. Obviously, he knew who Matt was.

  “I had to. He’s gone.”

  “If Matt’s cut you off, no one here will touch you.” From the look on his handsome face, Cat could tell she was about to be shown the door.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, but he remained impassive. “They won’t even admit he exists or that vampires exist.” She gasped through a sob. “They won’t tell me anything at all.”

  His expression lost its chill, replaced by confusion. “Who are they?”

  “Rick and Georgia, they told me I was crazy.”

  He sank onto the leather chair opposite her, his large hands steepled in front of him. “I think you’d better tell me the whole story.”

  Cat’s stubborn chin jutted out. “I think you’d better tell me something first.”

  He eyed her speculatively. “What would that be?”

  “Your name, and what you are to Matt and Rick. What you are to this place?”

  She watched him fight to squelch a grin. “You may call me Master Adam. I am the manager of the Gaoler. Matt and Rick are the owners.”

  “Matt and Rick own a sex club for vampires,” she muttered. “Well, I suppose that fits. Where is Matt?”

  “Tell me your story.”

  As Cat recollected her scraps of memories and feelings, Adam’s demeanor softened. Once the pace of her confession slowed, she was wrung out. She stared at him dully, and Adam the Master became Adam the Counselor.

  “So, does Matt exist or not?”

  “Yes, Matt does exist. At least, he did. I assume he’s still alive. What happened, why he and Rick took the extreme measures they did…I will not begin to speculate, and I won’t risk leading you down the wrong path.” Cat drew in a deep breath and started to protest before he held up an arresting hand. “Don’t ask me. It will get you nowhere. You need to go back to New York and talk with Rick. You can call him from my office.”

  Cat viciously dug her fingers into the sofa cushions, furious with the frustration she met at every tiny advance. “Oh, what, call the guy who lied to me for months, who denied being a vampire, denied Matt even exists? Call that guy?”

  She clenched her hands in irritation, and it was on the tip of her tongue to suggest Master Adam fuck off when her fingers closed around a scrap of silk. She pulled it up, ready to shake an admonishing digit at him when she stared at the lavender silk and lace in her palm. She was deluged by memories.

  This was her thong. She and Matt had been in this room. They’d been fighting, and then loving…and… Her gaze flew to the bed, and within seconds, she was upon it, pulling out the leather cuffs still affixed to the bedposts.

  She gasped and shook the cuffs at Adam. “I remember these! I remember Matt…” She shook as tears of relief flooded her eyes. “We were here. This is his room, isn’t it?” She swept away his silence with a wave of her hand. “I know it is. He calls it his playroom. He doesn’t like the connotation of dungeon.” Cat ripped the coverlet from the bed, and then snatched up the pillow below it. It still smelled of Matt, his singular fragrance, woody and sharp. She sobbed as she clutched the pillow to her as if she could absorb the comfort of his touch from it. “He was here with me…it was real. I’m not crazy. It was real.”

  Adam approached her cautiously. She watched him wearily as he settled next to her, and dragged in huge gulps of air, almost hyperventilating. He wrapped a consoling arm around her.

  “I honestly don’t know what’s going on, Cat,” he whispered, smoothing her hair with one hand and letting her cry against his chest. “The only ones who can give you the answers you’re looking for are in New York. Go home.”

  “I’m afraid. I’m so afraid to find out the truth.”

  “Matt’s a lucky guy. If he lets a woman like you go, he’s an idiot.”

  She gazed around the room, every sight a memory now. “He brought me alive in this room. Awakened a part of me I didn’t know existed.”

  Adam’s gaze was profoundly serious. “Have you considered there are some doors better left closed? If Matt did everyth
ing he could to remove your memories and hide your past with him, it was certainly for your benefit.”

  Cat’s voice turned hard. “I don’t see how.”

  Adam stood, held out his hand to guide her out of the playroom, his look implacable. “Then go back to New York and ask.”

  Chapter 21

  Cat luxuriated in the warmth of his body snuggled next to hers.

  “No.”

  “No, never?”

  The joy in his deep masculine voice reinforced his answer. “Couldn’t happen in a million years.”

  He was warm, his flesh velvet over lean muscle. His morning stubble bristled against her neck, and the room smelled like sunshine after a long rain. His fingers played as his hands spanned around her waist, and she nestled into his awakening erection.

  “Then what was it? Some cosmic thingamabob?” Cat smiled.

  “It’s not…” Matt’s voice wavered as his interest diverted to the hill and valley of her hips and thighs.

  “Then we can be…”

  “Our lives together will be mortal. Our love will have no end, but…we’ll age and gray and wrinkle.”

  “Until we look like the shuffling couples in Central Park? I don’t understand.” Cat dragged a nail down his forearm to watch the mortal changes on his tanned flesh. “Where are your fangs and opal eyes?”

  “That was—”

  She bit lightly on his bottom lip as she travelled her thumb over his long eyelashes. She noticed the dusting of pale freckles across his forehead, evidence of his time at the beach.

  The broad bed and soft sheets caught their tumble. Flesh met excitedly only to retreat and return. Sweet sweat covered them as their play roughened. It was a slow, comfortable fuck, cooled by a soft dawn breeze, caressing their damp flesh.

  Cat found some ironic joy in biting his shoulder, marking him, and watching it welt and redden. There was no instantaneous healing, no immortal transformation. On the verge of his climax, at the second when he lengthened just that much more, she was shaken.