by L. A. Banks
Yeah, Carlos reminded himself, none of them liked his quick descent to a throne and would have claws readied for him. But talk about rich territory… the castles in Europe were so opulent, especially the German, Austrian, and Dutch holdings, which had such blood spilled in the courtyards that a man might be able to go down on his knees and siphon it from the earth itself, if he'd wanted. France and London were ridiculous, as was Spain… no doubt about it, the European master was gonna be a problem.
The territories of Asia were like that, too. Gothic rich. Horrific wars that went back thousands of years to make Europe's time on the planet seem ephemeral—a damned flash in the pan, comparatively. The Chinese and Indian castles and lair estates demanded pure respect, even down in council chambers—just like the pyramids did.
But the Asian ambassador was cool, smooth about his holdings, didn't have to act cocky—there was no reason for him to be insecure, which is why he was also very shrewd… brother had developed some of the most effective methods of torture and had been around since the days of the Samurai. Yeah, in a few hundred years, he might be able to build his North American and South American line back up, get his holdings in order, and truly represent like he was supposed to… maybe take over one of the old Incan ruins and retrofit it… or perhaps, if his lady liked, go Mayan in his home state, Mexico…
Carlos kept walking, trying to remain relaxed as he watched Damali from a side-glance. If the African master showed, it would definitely come to a pissing contest. His region was so productive right now with bodies from wars, disease, and corruption that it made North and South America with the Caribbean, his territoryùlook like Disneyland. And buried deep in the Congo, with favor from council, that bastard might laugh in his face at the table.
See, women didn't understand shit like this. The crown jewel where the big battle for the Armageddon, the regions Gog and Magog, plus the Middle East, would be annexed to the territory most worthy when the dust settled. He knew each one of the topside masters would want a word alone to lobby him for favor, or assassinate him for a shot at immediate descent. But he was equally disturbed at the way he could feel a dark, thunderous desire sweep through his woman. She liked this shit just as much as he did… the VIP treatment and living very large. He glanced at her. You want this? I'll give it all to you in due time, baby—no holds barred. This is what I'd meant about power.
She just smiled a very sly smile and kept walking.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
"Your room, Councilman Rivera," the butler announced, opening the wide French doors of the suite and standing back to allow Damali and Carlos to proceed ahead of him. He motioned for the henchman to bring in their luggage, and addressed the maids. "Let there be nothing that our honored guests call for that hasn't been supplied." He turned to Damali and Carlos. "Pull the bell tapestry, and they will be at your service."
The ebullient manservant waited as Carlos perused the villa-sized suite. A small Greek-styled fountain running blood with a Grecian stone love seat surrounding it was the focal point in the outer room. A long marble bar was to the left, and was filled with the black private-label bottles that he'd come to know by now contained blood. Tuscany-designed stools faced it, and just beyond the bar, two Egyptian carved stone doors opened out to a castle terrace. To his right was an overstuffed Louis the XIX—style sofa and matching chair upholstered in burgundy satin, with an armoire and German writing desk beside it. Just beyond the fountain was a long, eighteenth-century, plantation-style banquet table with full linen, ornate candelabra, and two high-back, midnight blue silk upholstered chairs.
The spoils of war, Carlos thought to himself, as he checked the ornate stone doors that led to the terrace, coming away satisfied that the light seal on the room was adequate.
"Shall I turn down your bed for you before dawn?" the servant asked, his voice rich and inviting.
"No," Carlos said as he walked toward the bedroom, holding Damali's elbow, "but I do want to appraise the seal in there."
The butler nodded and followed the couple through the inner-room, double-steel doors that were engraved with Hell's crest, down five steps into the sunken inter sanctum. He pulled heavy burgundy drapes away from the terrace's vault doors and stood back as Carlos inspected the room.
Fully keening his senses to detect a possible threat, Carlos spun the heavy gold-plated airlock mechanism that allowed him to pass out of the room and onto the terrace through one ton of banker's steel. He glanced back toward Damali and addressed the butler.
"Can my wife close these easily?" he asked, not waiting for an answer as he strolled out to the terrace and glanced down the two hundred foot cliff-side decent into thunderous surf.
"To be sure, Councilman," the butler replied. "These have been balanced to Masonic-level specifications."
Carlos nodded, satisfied, and snapped his fingers to call his dogs. "I want one on the terrace and one posted outside in the hallway at all times—and only I feed them."
The butler again nodded, the small retinue of staff watching Carlos's every move, occasionally glancing at Damali. Carlos scanned the steepled ceiling over the bed, his eyes narrowing to be sure there was no light source that could cook them both at dawn, then his gaze slowly roved over the crŠme and burgundy raw silk wallpaper to ensure there were no hidden panels or secret doors that could be opened. He nodded to the butler to pull back the drapes surrounding the bed that sat in the middle of the floor fully curtained by thick Turkish tapestries, his gaze scanning the lush Moorish textiles on the double-wide king-sized bed.
His eyes took their time sliding over the exquisite Egyptian cottons, raw silks from Asia, and burgundy goose-down duvet. The bed sat up high on a three-foot solid marble pedestal, but after assessing it, he nodded. He just needed to first be sure that there was no portal beneath the bed.
The huge French armoire, antique dresser, and ladies vanity sans mirror checked out. But the bathroom could pose unimaginable risks. He and the butler shared a knowing glance, and one of the maids came to Carlos's side. He leaned in to her throat and caught her scent as her eyes slid shut. He could feel her near ready to arch into his hold. Definitely vamp. She'd do.
"Would you mind turning on the water sources for me?" he murmured to her, giving Damali a glance to be cool and remain steady.
"As you like, sir," the female vamp said, her voice husky as she left his side, beckoning him with her eyes to follow her.
All burgundy marble surrounded them, gold fixtures looming out from the oversized, kidney-shaped Jacuzzi canopied by sheers. The maid ran the tap, and dipped her fingers in the thick spray as it gurgled loudly to demonstrate that no holy water sabotage had been committed, smiling when the tension left Carlos's body. Then she switched another lever so that pure blood ran into the tub, then pulled her hand back and licked her fingers. She then went to the double sink across the room and performed the same test, even testing the commode and bidet for him.
Upon his nod, the maid sauntered past Damali at the door and stood by the butler, her appraisal of Carlos nearly a challenge to the first lady.
"Thank you," Carlos finally said. "Everything appears to be in order."
"Do summon us, sir, should you or your lovely wife require anything before dawn."
Damali watched the staff back out of the main vault door, and then hastily exit the suite. She moved like someone punch-drunkùa little wobbly on her feet, staring at first one thing then another, glancing back to Carlos, and then shaking her head.
"This is outrageous," she whispered.
He smiled. "Care to take a stroll on the terrace?"
He came to her side and ushered her to the smooth, centuries-old stone lookout post of the fort, watching the night wind lift her locks and caress her hair. He brought her to the railing and chuckled to himself as his dog got up grumbling at having to move to accommodate Damali.
Somehow the insistent pound of the surf, the sting of the salt air in the most precious hours of the n
ight, drew his arms to encircle her while she stared out, her back melding against his chest… the smell of her hair an intoxicant.
"You happy?" he asked into the crown of her head as he kissed it.
"This is gorgeous," she murmured, closing her eyes. "At this height you almost feel like you're wind, part of it, as though you can fly."
"You can," he said, chuckling deeper in his throat, but was slightly disappointed when she shook her head no.
"You sure?" he asked, baiting her.
"This place can make you lose focus," she said wisely, but snuggled against him nonetheless.
"Ahhh… the mission," he said, his tone amused. "Maybe I was too hasty when I said I didn't want to be distracted by you while here, mi tentacion."
She chuckled low and sexy. "It was the security check that made me remember."
Carlos glanced back at the bed. "Yeah," he said on a long sigh. "Oh, man…"
"This joint ain't no joke, Carlos," she said very quietly, her tone cautious, breaking the mood as her body tensed. "It's built like a fortress."
He laughed, letting her go. "It is a fortress, baby. That's what I'd been telling you. All primary master lairs are. They're set up for battle." He turned her around, cradling the sides of her face so they could more easily transmit thoughts. Nuit's lairs were nothing by comparison—because he'd lost favor, was rogue, and on the run.
When she nodded, he dropped his hands to her shoulders. The familiar embrace which always led to a kiss was definitely why he called her his temptation. There was so much more he'd wanted to say, but didn't dare chance it—especially not when she straightened his tie, and brushed a piece of invisible lint off his lapel, then touched his cheek.
The warmth of her palm radiated through his skin, and her eyes were so deep, dark, intense as she opened her gaze and sent back a quiet message. I feel it, too… but I'm worried for you, baby. These bastards will try to kill you. I'm not trying to lose you on my watch.
He smiled and kissed the inside of her palm, electrified by her protective instinct regarding him. He nodded. Indeed they would try to assassinate him. But it would sure be worth it. No telepathy needed. She smiled, gently removed her hand, and began walking back into the room. When she looked over her shoulder, he wasn't sure how to read the all-feminine message. Was that a yeah, okay? Or a yeah, I hear you, but no, not tonight? She shook her head then chuckled at the faint disappointment that threaded through him.
"You hungry?" he said, trying to sound casual.
"Pulling out all the stops, Mr. Councilman?"
He had to laugh at himself. "Aw'ight. I'll stop." He went up to her and traced her cheek. You like this, don't you?
She smiled, which was enough of an answer. He watched her sit down on the side of the bed, sinking into the soft feathered oasis, then run her hand over the plush linens, luxuriating in the feel of the textures. He wanted to touch her like that. To pleasure her the way only one of his kind could. Surely she didn't want to give all that up… and not tonight?
Vaguely he remembered that the Aussie would be waiting for him down in the study. If he weren't a head of state, he would have made the bastard wait. But Damali needed to stop playing with him, because he wasn't about to go downstairs with an oral erection. The fact that she'd chuckled let him know she knew exactly what she was doing.
"You ain't right, woman," he said, smiling and running his tongue over his teeth.
"It's the castle," she murmured. "The energy here is so dark, so all-consuming," she murmured. "Makes it hard to concentrate…"
Her comment snapped him back to awareness. "Yeah," he said, on guard. He closed his eyes and held out his arms, sensing their environment with total concentration. Just as he'd expected, every stone in the place was charmed down to the mortar, designed to protect the residing master at all times. Some stairs weren't real stairs, no rooms were impenetrable to the castle's owner, no seal was solid, unless McGuire wanted it that way.
It was having a drugging affect on Damali. Getting her high, sedating her survival instincts, making her so looped that she'd draw him into a sure seduction—that's what he'd felt coming from her in the halls! Normally Damali wouldn't care a damn about a gilded cage—wasn't her style. It would definitely make her open to another master's pull, just like it had fucked with his confidence as he walked the long corridors.
"Get up off the bed. Now," Carlos said, becoming further enraged as Damali looked up, dazed, unzipped the back of her dress and stared up at him.
"I'm impressed," he said to the nothingness. "But you're pissing me off." Dark energy concentrated within him, making the tips of his fingers and center of his palms burn as he spun slowly, sealing the lair with his own power against power, will against will, his council-level strength discharged with a crackling streak of fury that scorched the walls, the ceiling, the doors and terrace. The dogs bayed and howled while he released his protective seal around his temporary lair and all of those within it.
Every wall and surface instantly blackened, then normalized. Immediately he felt the sensual pull lift and the energy in the room calibrate to his command. He began walking the perimeter of the room as Damali stood on wobbly legs and zipped up her dress.
"What the hell just happened?" she whispered, her voice tense and her eyes cleared of the seductive haze.
"I'm gonna address it later," he said. "But the room was charged, every carnal act ever performed in here left a residue." Carlos smiled. "That's cool. I'm gonna assume that our host did this to make our stay more comfortable," he said, going to her and holding her face. But you and I know that sonofabitch did it to set me up, to totally distract me while I'm here. "I'll have to let McGuire know that although I'm council-level, unlike the old boys, I don't need Viagra."
"Damn," she said, taking a short sip of breath.
He held her face tighter. This is why I told you to stay by my side at all times. That if you have anything important to tell me, you do it like this. Understand?
Satisfied when she nodded, he released his hold on her. But he watched her cock her head to the side and walk past him. What could she hear that he and his dogs couldn't? Then a light mewling sound made him almost run to catch her. He knew what it was before he saw it.
Pacing quickly to her, he rushed over to the large in-room dining table by the blood fountain. Damali's gasp was so visceral that it made him snatch her arm, spin her around hard, and physically cover her mouth with his hand. With his eyes he told her not to panic, but panic reflected back at him regardless. Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth, his eyes steady on hers, as he lifted the large gold-domed serving tray cover and looked down. Not now, D. Not now. Don't scream.
"It's a baby," she said, her eyes darting to the door and toward the infant. "They delivered it on a gold platter."
"Listen to me carefully," he said low, controlled and slow. "Of course they did. You are the wife of a head of state, and they said they'd leave dinner in the room, si?" He nodded to get her to follow his lead. "If you aren't hungry, you still have to sample it—" He stopped her gasp, snatching it in his fist on the wind. "Or it will be taken as a serious affront, to—"
She broke his hold, whirred toward the tiny bundle on the table, swept it up, although saying nothing. But her eyes said it all as she pressed the struggling thing to her chest, and then scanned the room. He could tell she was looking for an escape route, somewhere to flee, and he watched her back away from him, moving with the agility of a lioness as she stalked toward her luggage. No, do not draw the Isis on me in here! Are you nuts? Come to me!
A wave of panic rocked his system as he pried open her quickly closing mind. That crazy woman would actually attempt to rappel off the balcony—a two-hundred-foot drop over the Great Barrier Reef, baby in arm, Hell-dogs in an attack flight pattern after her? He put his hands on his hips and stared at her hard. What you gonna do, hold the Isis between your teeth?
You cannot have it! Game over, man! You all are fucking crazy—a baby?
Oh, hell no!
Her mind was so strong and her words so fierce that he sat on the edge of the table, hoping his deliberate distance would calm her down.
Bring it to me, he told her after a moment. I won't hurt it. Trust me.
She nipped him the bird, and began cooing to the now bleating bundle. The sight of her transformation was disorienting, and the timing was profoundly bad. He could smell it, Neteru in full force, no vamp trace in her.
You have to nick its finger with the blade and press a dab of blood to your lips—then let me kiss you.
Her eyes widened in horror, but he was thankful that she didn't speak.
Listen, I don't do kids. He waited until she began to relax before probing her thoughts again. But when I go downstairs, McGuire has to catch the scent off me… has to know we've fed. Again, he waited until she glanced down at the infant and then back up to him, this time less unnerved. That's the only way I can safely transport this baby out of here without starting an international incident tonight.
It bothered him that she took her time retrieving the small Isis dagger from the Louis Vuitton trunk, as though she didn't completely trust him. But as he watched her kiss the tiny cheek, nuzzle it, and cradle the child in her arms, it did something to him. So strange a juxtaposition… her protectively holding the baby to her body while brandishing a weapon, her arm cocked, biceps drawn taut with the other arm. Her eyes were soft as she tenderly looked down at the baby. Then she shot him a lethal glance that told him she'd cut out his heart if he as much as blinked wrong. Damn, that was some powerful shit.
She walked closer to him, tucking the blade under her armpit so she could hold the infant more firmly. She gave her finger to the baby and a tiny fist gripped her index finger. When the baby brought her finger to its mouth to suckle, hot tears rose in Damali's eyes.
"Look at him, Carlos." Her words came out in a rush. "So innocent, and hungry, and scared. Oh my G—"