Night's Cold Kiss

by Tracey O'Hara

  He watched her tender lips suck, her pink tongue lick, and crossed his legs on his throbbing groin. Thank goodness for the table.

  “I really wish you’d stop looking at me like that,” she said, her brow creasing. “What did you want anyway?”

  “Viktor and I are going out.”

  The Lodge was no place for Antoinette. A prestigious club of influential Aeternus members and a few select, but affluent, humans. He and Viktor wanted to catch any rumors that were circulating about Sir Roger’s murder.

  “Where we going?” Antoinette asked, slipping more fruit into her mouth.

  “We’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here. Viktor and I have business to attend to.” He pushed back his chair and walked to the door. “There’s plenty to keep you occupied until we return. I have a well-stocked library downstairs and a training room where you can work out if you get too bored. Susan can show you the way.” He closed the door on her angry scowl and smiled. Payback was a bitch.

  After Christian left, Antoinette paced the room with her arms crossed, her fingers tapping out frustration on her upper arms. What had she been thinking, trying to seduce an Aeternus? She hadn’t meant to, but when she saw Christian’s face, and the way he watched her eat, it was easy to be seduced by the power she seemed to have over him for a brief second. Luckily he hadn’t succumbed to her moment of weakness.

  She’d never been one for sitting around and twiddling her thumbs. Why had they left her behind? They’d probably gone out to feed. She suppressed a shudder at the thought and paced to the other side of the room again. She had a sudden need to see Lucian, see how badly he was hurt for herself. She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs.

  Kavindish appeared as if out of thin air. “Going somewhere, miss?”

  “Just off for a walk.” She took a step toward the door.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, miss.”

  Antoinette placed her hand on her hips. “You can’t let me?”

  Kavindish didn’t bat an eyelid. “The master left instructions that you were to stay in the house tonight.”

  “Am I a prisoner?”

  He remained solid between her and the door. “No, miss, it’s for your own protection.”

  “I don’t need protection. Now, if you don’t move, Kavindish, I’ll be forced to move you myself.”

  “You can try, miss.”

  Without warning she swung a kick at his head. But he blocked it with ease. He may not have looked much, but there was strength hiding under that suit and not even a slicked-back hair was out of place on his head. Not to be put off, she changed tactics and leveled a punch to his face and then brought her knee up, aiming for his groin. Again he blocked both attacks while scarcely moving, his face remaining passive.

  “Well—never judge a butler by his cover,” she said, impressed. “You’re not such a cliché on legs after all.”

  Whatever he was, it wasn’t human. His mouth twitched in one corner, but he remained the picture of impenetrable aloofness. She had to see Lucian, make sure he was safe but she wasn’t getting past this butler. Time to take a leaf out of Viktor’s book.

  Antoinette held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, you win. Maybe it’s for the best after last night. I think I’ll do a bit of reading.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, could you bring me up some hot chocolate?” She gave him a weary smile.

  He bowed stiffly. “Will there be anything else, miss?”

  “No, that’s all.” She turned and made her way up the stairs again, turning halfway to find him still there watching.

  Fifteen minutes later she tightened the belt on the fluffy bathrobe and answered the knock at her door. Kavindish carried in a tray and she pretended not to notice his surreptitious inspection. He was no dummy either.

  But she’d been careful to look the part, right down to her matching fluffy slippers and the book tucked under her arm.

  “Thanks, Kavindish. You can put it on the table.”

  She held the door open for him and waited. He looked at her jacket hanging over the back of the chair and her discarded jeans heaped on the floor. Briefly surveying the rest of the room, he headed for the door.

  “Enjoy your chocolate, miss,” he said with a little half-bow. “Don’t hesitate to ring should you require anything else.”

  “Thanks, I will.” She kept her expression tired, which only made his eyes narrow again. “But I think I’ll return to bed, I’m feeling a little more hung over than I thought.” She yawned widely and stretched. Maybe she’d pushed it a bit too far? The butler didn’t move and looked even more suspicious.

  Finally he bowed again. “Good night, miss.”

  “Good night, Kavindish.”

  As soon as the door was closed, she pressed her ear against it. Nothing. Walking to the table, she picked up the teaspoon and stirred, clinking loudly against the china. Then she dragged out the chair before tiptoeing back to the door. She heard his footsteps retreating down the hall.

  Quick as a flash, she shucked off her bathrobe, pulled her jeans and jacket back on and opened the window. She’d already disabled the alarm and three floors to the ground was no big deal for a practicing Venator.

  Antoinette swung her legs out and lowered her body over the edge, her toes stretching out for purchase on the drainpipe. Once she had a grip, she made easy work of descending the rest of the way. When she reached the ground, she wiped her hands on the back of her jeans and looked up. It shouldn’t be too hard to get back up the same way.

  Something brushed against her leg and she looked down to find Cerberus, his large pale blue eyes regarding her closely. He sat on his haunches, wagged his tail, and his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth.

  “Where did you come from?” she asked, then noticed the stairs leading down to a door with a dog flap.

  “Out for an evening walk, are we?” She dropped and took his head in her hands. “I have to go and see my friend. You stay.”

  Antoinette pulled a pair of slip-on shoes from her pocket and slid them on before standing to zip her jacket. Jamming her fists into her pockets, she took a step toward the street and the dog followed.

  “Cerberus, stay!” she commanded.

  He sat again and tilted his head to the left, giving a little whine. She felt the dog watching her all the way down the narrow alley between Christian’s brownstone and the one next door.

  Before stepping into the street, she glanced back to see him still in the same position. His tail flapped merrily. She shook her head, glanced in both directions, and then quickly walked a couple of blocks before hailing a cab.

  When Antoinette arrived at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Manhattan the reception desk gave her Lucian’s floor, but told her it was past visiting hours and she couldn’t see him until the next day.

  Like hell.

  A little thing like visiting hours wasn’t going to stop her when she’d gone to all this trouble. She lifted a white coat from an empty doctor’s lounge and slipped into the stairwell.

  When she reached Lucian’s floor she crept out into the deserted hall. A couple of nurses sat at the station talking quietly.

  Nothing else smelled like a hospital—chemical sterility covering the scent of sickness and death. Antoinette had a plan to distract one of the nurses, but not both.

  Then, as if by divine intervention, one of the nurses stood. “I could do with a coffee. Want one?”

  “Oh yes, please,” the other said. “I’d give my firstborn for a hit of caffeine right now.”

  “Honey, I’ve seen your firstborn and you’d need a lot more than a cup of coffee for me to take on that little hellcat,” the first nurse said.

  “Well, it was worth a try.”

  They both burst out laughing.

  This was her chance. When the first nurse disappeared Antoinette crept around the corner into a room and hit the call button beside a sleeping patient before dashing
behind the door in the opposite room. Once the second nurse answered the buzzer, Antoinette zipped out and scanned the station charts for Lucian’s room number. She found it.

  Outside his room sat an empty chair where a guard should’ve sat. Antoinette bit back her anger and peered through the small glass window. A pale figure lay in the only bed, his head bandaged. She slipped in just as the second nurse returned to the station mumbling something about budget cuts and faulty equipment.

  A small fluorescent light on the wall above Lucian’s head cast his face in shadows, his eyes sunken and dark. She moved closer. His breathing was deep and steady and a bandage was clearly visible across his naked chest.

  With the guard missing, she was afraid to leave him alone and after smoothing the covers at his side, she sat on the visitor’s chair in the corner to watch over him for a while. Every now and then, one of the nurses would come, take his obs and write them in his chart. And each time Antoinette managed to hide behind the privacy curtain. Lucian remained asleep throughout it all, heavily sedated.

  The visitor’s chair was lumpy and dug into her hip, but she wriggled around to get as comfortable as possible. Forming a cushion with the white doctor’s coat she tucked one foot underneath her bottom and crossed her arms. Lucian’s constant deep breathing lulled her mind; her head grew heavy…

  “Antoinette?” someone croaked, jolting her awake.

  “What?” she answered, her heart beating rapidly. At first she wasn’t sure where she was.

  “You were whimpering,” the same voice said.

  The fog cleared, Antoinette sat forward and Lucian’s large intelligent eyes regarded her kindly from his bed.

  “I must’ve fallen asleep.” She stretched the stiffness from her neck and yawned. “Sorry.”

  He struggled to sit forward. Antoinette jumped up to put a pillow behind his shoulders, making it easier for him.

  “What are you doing here? Not that I’m sorry you are.” He sank back gratefully into the pillows, pain whitening the area around his eyes. “What were you dreaming about? The shooting?”

  It had been Dante again, but she avoided his gaze and shrugged. “Maybe—I can’t remember.”

  “Neither can I.” He reached up and touched the bandage around his head. “I’ve tried, but I just can’t. Apparently the blow I received from the coffee table on the way down not only knocked me out but gave me some kind of amnesia.”

  “So you didn’t see the shooter at all.”

  “I’m afraid not.” He frowned, looking at her more closely. “Why, what happened?”

  She waved away his concerns. “Nothing, just too many nightmares.”

  “Nightmares?”

  She sighed. “Yes, I’ve been dreaming about my mother’s murder lately. I even thought it was Dante who shot you—but now I’m not so sure.”

  “You witnessed her murder didn’t you?” Lucian asked. “Maybe the trauma of Sir Roger’s shooting brought on some post traumatic stress.”

  “Maybe—but what I remember the most is the absolute power he had over me. He made me watch as he slit my mother’s throat.”

  For a split second the image of Dante ascending the stairs holding out the doll she’d dropped sent a chill through her and she wrapped her arms around herself.

  “You know, I’ve only just remembered my dolly,” she whispered.

  Lucian tilted his head, frowning. “Your dolly?”

  She felt a tear slip down her face. “I’d wet myself and dropped my doll in pure terror. Dante picked it up and tried to get me to take it when my father arrived home. I remember reaching for it and…”

  “And?”

  She focused on him. “Later, when everything had died down, I looked for my doll. Papa had had it made especially, to look like me, and it was my favorite toy. But I never found it. To this day I don’t know what happened to it.”

  A chill shivered down her spine and the images of the headless bodies pinned to the VCU crime board popped into her head. When she first looked at those faces all pinned together, they reminded her so much of her mother. If Dante is alive, then he’s the Fang-whore Slasher, she was sure of it.

  Lucian reached out his hand to her, his face pale and concerned. She shouldn’t be boring him with stories from her past. He needed rest.

  She stood up beside his bed. “It was a long time ago, before Sergei and Katerina took us in.”

  He sat up a little straighter. “When are you going home?”

  “I’m not, at least not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to stick around for a bit, check out some things myself.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At Christian Laroque’s house for the time being. Viktor and he—” She wasn’t ready to share the information about her father with anyone else yet. “My uncle asked them to keep an eye on me, in case the killer came back. Not that I need looking after,” she added hastily.

  That’s right goddammit; I’m not some fragile princess, who swoons at the mere hint of trouble. Anger at her uncle resurfaced but she bit it back. This was neither the time nor place to vent.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” an angry voice interrupted them.

  17

  After Hours

  Antoinette spun to find a woman’s silhouette filling the doorway, hands on hips.

  “I just wanted to make sure my friend was okay.” Antoinette looked at her watch, three A.M. She’d been here for hours. “I was able to walk in here with no one to stop me. Shouldn’t there be a guard or something?”

  The nurse’s stance softened. “He should be there but seems to have wandered off again. Anyway, that’s beside the point. Visiting hours ended long ago, you have to leave immediately.”

  “Can’t you give us five more minutes?” Antoinette asked.

  “I’m sorry I can’t.” The nurse’s shoulders sank as she stepped closer to the bed to check on Lucian’s pulse. “It’s against regulations.”

  “Then I’ll come back tomorrow, I mean later today,” Antoinette said to Lucian.

  “I won’t be here. I’m being transferred to my house upstate. I have my own security and medical team on staff.”

  At least he’d be safe and she wouldn’t have to worry.

  “I’m sorry, but you have to leave now,” the nurse said.

  “Okay, okay.” On impulse she leaned forward and kissed Lucian’s forehead. “Be careful.”

  “You too.” He gave her hand a final squeeze. “And if you need anything, let me know. The Academy will know how to contact me.”

  As she left the room a fat security guard sauntered up the hall with a magazine tucked under his arm, hitching his belt.

  He saw her and puffed his out his chest. “Hey, you can’t go in there.”

  “I’ve been in there for several hours. I think it’s more important to know why you abandoned your post at least twice tonight. That man in there has been shot—someone tried to kill him. You’re supposed to protect him. Where were you?” She pulled the magazine from under his arm.

  Playboy. Disgusted, she tossed it back. It bounced off his chest and dropped to the floor.

  His face flushed deep red, his mouth opening and shutting like a suffocating fish. “I had to take a leak.”

  “Well, while you were taking a leak, I was able to walk into Mr. Moretti’s room completely unchallenged. If I’d been the killer, your charge would be long dead and you’d be in some deep shit.” Antoinette felt the heat rising up her face, burning her ears. Not totally true, but this fat fuck doesn’t have a clue.

  The rent-a-cop shuffled his feet and looked everywhere but at her, then straightened his shoulders. “Who do you think you are? You can’t give me orders.”

  “Look pal, I have connections with two of Intel’s top agents and I know Oberon DuPrie personally.” The guard paled at her slight stretch of the truth. “Lift your game and I won’t mention I made this little impromptu evaluation. But next time I’ll report yo
u to your superiors and if anything happens to Mr. Moretti, I’m holding you responsible. Not her…” Antoinette pointed at the stunned nurse, “not the hospital, but you.” She punctuated the last word with a poke to his jellyroll stomach.

  Antoinette spun on her heel and strode toward the lift. The elevator chimed its arrival and as Antoinette hit the down button the nurse looked sourly at the pathetic excuse for a guard then grinned at Antoinette, giving her a double thumbs-up.

  She left the hospital and hailed a cab, asking the driver to drop her several blocks from Christian’s house. She needed time to think.

  She was less than two blocks away when the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Then she noticed footsteps echoing off the pavement behind her. She stopped. So did the footsteps. Just one set. She didn’t fear ordinary muggers and hoodlums, but something in her gut told her that wasn’t what followed her.

  She jammed her hands deeper into her jacket pockets and started off again, quickening her pace. So did her pursuer. When she reached the next street she ducked around the corner and pressed herself against the wall, holding her breath, listening to the footsteps growing closer. All of a sudden they stopped.

  She waited. But no one came. Then the footsteps started again. This time from her left and down the street she’d turned into. It was the same rhythm to the steps, the same tempo echoing off the deserted street wet with the dew of the early morning.

  Whoever it was had gotten ahead of her. The fine hair along her arms rose in solidarity with the ones on the back of her neck. A chill crept over her. She knew it was him. Dante!

  Antoinette crossed the street quickly and continued in her original direction. So did the footsteps of her pursuer.

  Enough of these games. She slowed down her steps. The footsteps grew louder behind her; the skin between her shoulders itched and prickled with expectation. After another minute she spun, hoping to catch him off guard. But again there was no one there. He was toying with her.