Night's Cold Kiss

by Tracey O'Hara

  Oberon’s eyes narrowed. “Were you sleeping with Moretti?”

  Antoinette rocked back in her seat, the metal bit into her backbone. Christian’s hand formed a fist on the table, his knuckles white.

  “That’s none of your business,” she said, pulling her shoulders straight.

  “Everything is my business,” Oberon said. “Now—answer the question.”

  She leaned forward. “Is this how you get your kicks—intimidating women into telling you about their sex lives?” She wasn’t going to let him rattle her.

  Viktor coughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “I am trying to establish why you were in the room,” Oberon said.

  She met and held his gaze. “Because—I—was—his—date,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

  “How fortunate for you,” Oberon said.

  “What are you implying?” she asked, getting seriously pissed off now.

  “As Lucian’s date you had access to the ambassador few other people had.”

  “What are you playing at, Oberon?” Christian asked.

  The ursian gave him a dirty look. “Come on, Laroque. It’s common knowledge that Sir Roger was grooming Lucian to be his replacement in CHaPR—making Lucian the perfect way to get close to His Excellency.”

  “What possible motive could she have?” Christian asked.

  Oberon leaned back and raised his massive hands behind his head, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Ms. Petrescu, it’s no secret that there’s been bad blood between the ambassador and your uncle since Sir Roger classified your father as a renegade. I think that’s more than enough of a motive for murder.”

  He may as well have slapped her upside her face.

  “Now wait a minute!” Viktor came away from the wall.

  “What are you talking about?” Her father a renegade? She’d never heard this before.

  Oberon leaned forward, dark eyes intent and he glanced quickly at Christian.

  “You didn’t know?” Oberon straightened, his brows coming together. “This is…unexpected.”

  Antoinette shifted her gaze from Viktor to Christian. They knew.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Neither Viktor nor Christian would make eye contact, only Oberon’s piercing gaze met hers.

  “Some time ago,” Oberon said, “Roger Wilberforce-Smythe was head of the Venator Registration for the European division. When your father murdered the Aeternus, Dante Rubins, it was the late ambassador who put out a warrant for Grigore’s arrest. But rather than face trial for Rubins’s murder, Grigore drove his car over a cliff.”

  “No.” She leapt to her feet—her chest tightening and her ears ringing. “You lie—my father’s death was an accident.”

  “Oberon, enough,” Christian said. “She knows nothing of this.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. It couldn’t be true. Her father wouldn’t commit suicide.

  “You stay out of this, Laroque—I’ve told you before.” Oberon stood, leaning on his hands across the table. Christian rose to match him—nose to nose.

  Before they could all choke on the testosterone in the room, the door opened.

  “Can I have a word?” a plainclothes detective said, looking at Oberon.

  The ursian glared at Antoinette then reluctantly left the room.

  She turned on Christian. “What is going on?”

  “We’ll explain later.” Viktor came around the table to clasp both of her shoulders. “First let’s get you out of here.” He leaned forward and whispered, “The walls here have ears.”

  Antoinette clenched her fists, her anger rising. The opening door cut off any chance of a reply. Oberon and the detective reappeared.

  “You’re free to go,” the cop said and left the room again.

  Oberon didn’t like it one bit, she could see that written on his face.

  “Then, unless there’s anything else, we’re done,” she said, and turned her back on him. After a few seconds, she looked at Oberon over her shoulder. “Is there anything else?”

  His lips almost disappeared as they thinned and his dark eyes were deadly, but he spun on his heel and left—the door slamming behind him. She dropped the smile.

  “You know it’s not wise to piss off a ursian,” Viktor said.

  She turned on him, curling her fingers into fists. “And it’s not wise to piss me off either.” That wiped the grin from his face. “Enough of these games—are you going to tell me what the hell happened to my father?”

  “Not here,” Christian said.

  Oberon knew two things about Antoinette Petrescu. First, even though the forensic evidence had substantiated her story and cleared her of the shooting, she wasn’t telling him the full truth about Sir Roger’s murder. And second, she was a dead ringer for the new serial killer’s victims. He hated the name they’d assigned to the perp. You’d think that sack-of-shit Roberts, who now headed the VCU, could’ve come up with something more original than “The Fang-whore Slasher.”

  Oberon stood in front of the whiteboard covered with photos and details of the six victims they’d uncovered so far. The before-shots of the women stared back at him. None had the amazing emerald eyes of Ms. Petrescu, but they all had the same lush Nordic blond hair, creamy complexion, and general build. Oberon was struck with the sudden thought; did she match their physical appearance or did they match hers?

  Oberon wished he had access to firsthand information, but since he’d been kicked off the Violent Crimes Unit six months ago he could only access what his contact in VCU could pass him. Thank God for Tony Geraldi. This new killer was vicious.

  The first body had been found floating in the river near Brooklyn two weeks ago. Since then several more had been recovered from the water in the same vicinity as the first. So far they hadn’t uncovered any of the heads. Oberon’s partner, Dylan, who’d left the VCU with him, had theorized the river currents might have carried the bodies away from the dumping place. But Oberon was inclined to think the killer kept them.

  The victims were all human. Serial killers usually belonged to the FBI but here at the VCU headquarters they were taking an interest due to the fact all but one of the victims were known fang-whores and spikers and were in constant contact with the parahuman community. It could be the work of a dreniac—but the killings were too controlled, too precise.

  The sixth victim had been a runaway and probably new to the game, given no record. Oberon learned from a copy of the report Tony had managed to get him that they’d had to use the tattoo on her hip to identify her remains.

  The victims had dozens of shallow slashes to the torso and limbs. The lab reports said the wounds were made while they were still alive, resulting in exsanguination. Hours of immersion in the river destroyed any trace evidence, if there was any to destroy in the first pace. This guy was smart.

  Six victims in a fortnight and yet nothing in the last few days. He should be concentrating on this business with the Ambassador’s murder, not obsessing over a case he no longer had a right to. But that ass-wipe Roberts wouldn’t know a serial killer from the piss in his pants.

  Oberon turned to face Antoinette and her Aeternus pals as they came down the passage, and crossed his arms as he leaned against the table. He fixed his eyes on the woman.

  She met his gaze, then flicked to the case whiteboard behind him.

  “Are you all right?” Christian asked.

  She seemed about to say something then took a step closer. “Is this the Fang-whore Slasher case I’ve been reading about in the papers?” she asked Oberon, her gaze remaining fastened on the case board. “Are you working it?”

  “Do you see that?” Dushic whispered to Laroque, looking from the victim photos to Antoinette and back to the pictures pinned on the whiteboard.

  The Aeternus nodded.

  “And you think he’s targeting them for their profession, hence the name the Fang-whore Slasher.” Her frown deepened and she moved around the desk tak
ing a closer look at the photographs. “But I think they’re just easier to access—he’ll start taking others soon.”

  I was thinking the same thing. “Why do you say that?” Oberon asked curious to her reasoning.

  “The fang-whores will start to get wise. Look at the way he slices them—so deliberate, each cut precise and probably slowly over hours.” She turned around and looked at him. “He’s having way too much fun to stop, don’t you think?”

  “It doesn’t really matter what he thinks as he no longer has any interest in VCU cases.” Roberts came out of the office to stand in front of the case board and crossed his arms. The ass-wipe. “We gave you access to the witness to ask your questions, Oberon. I think you’re finished here.”

  The roar rushed up from his toes and he gave it voice. Catching the edge of the table, he heaved it against the wall. Wood disintegrated into flying splinters and papers fluttered all around the room. He breathed in through his nose and out his mouth, trying to calm the bear side of himself. It was exactly what got him demoted in the first place. Roberts sure knew how to push his buttons. One day he would get back at that little prick for kicking him off the team. But today was not that day. With one final glance at Antoinette, he turned on his heels and marched toward the exit.

  15

  Strangers in the Night

  Antoinette burst out through the doors onto the wide stone stairs. The sun would be up within the hour, but for now the night’s cold kiss chased away some of the temper burning her cheeks. She felt a little calmer as she breathed deep, but was still very pissed.

  The two Aeternus followed her, and then a cell phone started to ring. Christian pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open, cutting off the strains of Frank Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night.”

  Viktor looked at her, his mouth clamped shut, his eyes glittering. Christian didn’t notice as he put the phone to his ear, and then he straightened almost to attention.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be right there…” He flipped the cell closed, a scowl crinkling his forehead. “The boss wants to see me. Drive her back to my place and bring her up to date on Grigore. Take my car.”

  He tossed the keys to Viktor, who snatched them out of the air. After Christian disappeared inside, Viktor turned to her.

  “Sinatra,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought he grew out of that phase.”

  The tension burst and she giggled, until she remembered her father and the laughter died in her throat.

  “Come on, you’ll need a drink for this,” Viktor said, taking her arm.

  He led her down to the underground parking garage and a new black Audi S5 coupe. He held open the door while she climbed in then came around to take the driver’s seat. The engine roared into life with a throaty purr and within minutes they were making their way through the city, Viktor expertly handling the car at breakneck speed.

  The velocity pumped adrenaline through her bloodstream—just what she needed right now. She sighed and sank back into the leather seat.

  “Feeling better?” Viktor asked, double clutching and shifting gears.

  “Yes, actually.” She glanced over at his profile. Strange that this man, this Aeternus, knew exactly the right thing to say and do. “So tell me about my father.”

  “Not yet.” He took the next left hard, cutting into the other lane and missing another car by mere inches.

  Antoinette fought the urge to throw her hands in the air and whoop with excitement and nerves.

  Viktor took a hard right roaring along a narrow side street then out into another road, the back end sliding before Viktor accelerated, gaining traction to bring the car straight again.

  Weaving in and out of the slight traffic, they soon reached a brownstone. Viktor pulled into an underground garage and cut the engine. Antoinette regretted the ride was over.

  He flowed out of the driver’s seat in one graceful motion and came around to open her door before she had a chance to gather herself.

  “Come on, I’ll buy you that drink,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She allowed him to lead her into the house and to a large drawing room. A butler appeared at the door shortly after they arrived, carrying a silver ice bucket.

  “Welcome home, Mr. Dushic. The master called ahead and told me of your guest.” He bowed to Antoinette before placing the bucket on the bar. “Please ring if you require anything else. The master said he will not be home until nightfall and asked me to make up a room for the young lady.”

  “Excellent, Kavindish, I’ll ring when she’s ready to retire,” Viktor said, crossing to the bar.

  While he busied himself with the drinks, Antoinette looked around. She guessed the “master” was Christian and the room, like his airplane, held the finest of furniture and books. Not that she knew one fine piece of furniture from the next, but it looked expensive and it was definitely a man’s room full of wood and leather.

  Viktor strode across the room and handed her a balloon glass of brandy.

  “Please, come and sit over here,” he said.

  She sank down next to him on a leather two-seat sofa. “So did my father commit suicide?”

  “No,” Viktor replied.

  Relief washed over her. As a Venator she could think of nothing more cowardly, and as a daughter she could think of nothing more selfish.

  “So it was an accident,” she said.

  “No,” Viktor said again.

  “You mean he was murdered.” She knew it, her father had been an expert driver.

  Viktor took a sip of his drink. “No.”

  Now Antoinette was confused. “What do you mean—no?”

  “We set it all up—your father and I—he didn’t die in that car accident.”

  Antoinette’s glass slipped from her fingers and hit the floor. Amber liquid spilled out onto the fine, expensive carpet but she didn’t care. A numbness crept up from her stomach, through her chest and into her face.

  “Here,” Viktor put his own glass to her lips. “Take a big sip, you’ll feel much better.”

  She covered his hands with hers and guided the brandy to her mouth. The fiery liquor ran down her throat and stung her eyes. She fought back the urge to cough, instead taking another large, shaky sip. Viktor let go and picked up the fallen glass and placed it on the table. He reached over to pin an errant curl behind her ear. She frowned and batted his hand away. How dare he?

  “You remind me of Grigore when you’re angry. He’s been my closest friend for over a decade. You are so alike it’s scary—the same moods, the same look in your eye, and the same drive.”

  All this time…her father had been alive all this time and she never knew. “Why did he leave us?”

  “He couldn’t take you on the run with him, he was a wanted man. We could never prove Dante killed your mother, and the Guild weren’t so sure. We only had your identification and the word of a six-year-old didn’t hold much sway.”

  Antoinette remembered going through thousands of mug shots only to point him out from a newspaper article on a Paris society event.

  “Where is my father now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. About a month ago he called me and arranged a meeting between me, him, and a mysterious inside source from the Guild. This was just after the assassinations started. He contacted me saying he had news of a conspiracy involving the Guild and somehow it involved your family as well. I showed up, they didn’t, and I haven’t heard from him since. It was shortly after that I contacted Christian for his help.”

  Antoinette stood, throwing the brandy balloon across the room. It shattered into a thousand pieces against the wall, brandy staining the paintwork. She had to get away from Viktor or she’d kill him. “So Christian’s in on this too. What is his part in this game you’re playing?”

  “Christian’s job was to deliver you and your little brother safely to your aunt and uncle. He had no more idea Grigore was alive than you did, until recently.”

  “And, Sergei, did he know?”


  “About your father being alive, yes—about his disappearance, no. Grigore contacted Sergei two years after his supposed death. He needed to know how his children were being looked after.”

  All the years she grieved for her parents—and all along her father had been living half a tiny world away. She felt so betrayed.

  After trying to sleep the day away, Antoinette felt on edge as she stood with her uncle outside Christian’s house. He took her hand in his, but she pulled away. It still hurt too much.

  “Lishka…” he pleaded.

  “I’m not a child anymore,” she snapped and turned away from his hurt expression. “You’ve lied to me my entire life.”

  “It was for your own protection as much as his. If you’d known your father was alive, you would’ve tried to find him. We didn’t know who was watching and it was too dangerous. Please come home with me.”

  In a matter of hours, Antoinette’s whole world had been turned upside down. And even though she knew Sergei had done it to protect her, she still found it hard to forgive him. Viktor she could understand—he didn’t know her—but she’d trusted her uncle. She turned to look at him and her heart broke at his pain-etched expression.

  “I can’t go home, Uncle.” She reached out and cupped his cheek. “Not yet anyway.”

  “So, you’re staying,” Christian said, melting out of the shadows.

  Antoinette swore. She’d wanted this moment alone with her uncle.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “She can stay with Viktor and me here,” Christian said to Sergei. “You won’t need to worry.”

  Damn him. She swallowed and held up her chin. “I can look after myself, thank you.”

  “Why do you want to stay so much?” Sergei asked.

  “To find Dante and kill him.” If she hadn’t imagined the whole thing like everyone seemed to think.

  “Lishka, Dante is already dead,” her uncle said in the tone he used on his students.

  “I have to find out for sure, Uncle. His eyes were so cold, and the way he said “You taste just as sweet as your mother’.” She shivered at the memory of his slimy tongue against her flesh. “It was him.”