Night's Cold Kiss

by Tracey O'Hara

  “Place your hands above your head and step away,” a quivery voice demanded.

  Christian sunk to a crouch, his vision clouded by rage.

  “Stand and put your hands up.” A clearly nervous young policeman stood with his pistol trained on him.

  Christian snarled and twisted toward the direction of the shot.

  “This is your last warning,” the policeman said, his voice cracking.

  Christian heard the words, but they weren’t important—catching Williams’s killer was. People murmured, someone screamed, running footsteps neared, but Christian zoned in on a man crouched behind a potted plant on the inner balcony two stories above wearing a hat and dark glasses. As he lowered the high-powered rifle, a puckered scar running down his left cheek to his jaw showed up from behind his glasses.

  Human.

  Another snarl rumbled in his chest and bubbled up his throat, building to a full-blown roar. The metal click of guns surrounded him but Christian ignored them. Coming to his feet, he started to run, sweeping aside a policeman who tried to block his path, sending the unfortunate man sliding across the floor into a trash can.

  “Stop!” voices yelled from behind, but he didn’t have time to stop or explain.

  The man saw Christian coming and slung the rifle over his shoulder before running. Leaping, Christian made the third-floor railing with ease, then pain seared through his shoulder. He fell two stories to land on his back. A half dozen police surrounded him, all pointing their pistols at his head.

  When the helicopter touched down in the grounds of his estate, Christian climbed out and looked at his house. Nothing had been gained by rushing off to stop Williams. Their only lead was dead and his killer had escaped. Christian had spent an entire day in a holding cell while the police checked his credentials.

  After Intel had vouched for him, they finally let him go with an apology. He’d then returned to headquarters to make a report on Williams’s murder and have the slugs removed. The wounds had healed over and trapped the bullets inside his flesh, which had to be opened again. Anesthetic was ineffective on an Aeternus, so the operation was more painful than the actual shooting.

  Christian’s steps slowed as he neared the house. He’d failed. He looked to the dark window of his room where he’d left Antoinette sleeping.

  Would she be there? The memory of her blood still sang in his body but he didn’t have time to dwell on such things. There were other matters that needed his attention now and he’d already wasted enough time wallowing in his own self-pity. If he hadn’t, maybe Williams would still be alive.

  He entered through the conservatory and headed straight for his room, finding Antoinette still asleep and Lilijana curled up on the sofa chair in the corner.

  His mother stirred as he neared the bed. “Christian?”

  “Mother,” he said, surprised she’d stayed.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Not here,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb Antoinette just yet.

  Lilijana rose and followed him into the next room. “Something big is going on here. Viktor’s death, that girl in there, you rushing off last night; they’re all connected. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Christian sucked in the air through his teeth. Time to come clean. “It appears that The Troubles may have returned to haunt us.”

  His mother cocked her head to the side and frowned. “But wasn’t Dante Rubins behind it?”

  Christian paced the carpet. “Viktor never believed Dante was the sole instigator and it was never technically proven that he was involved at all.” He stopped and looked at his mother. “How did you know about Dante? CHaPR and the Department had ordered the files sealed.”

  “You weren’t the only one Viktor confided in. He didn’t tell me everything, but enough for me to join some dots.” She sat in a large leather armchair, the simpering heiress persona completely gone. At that moment she looked every bit the 752-year-old Aeternus she was. The aura of power rolled off her. Christian shook his head…only a few got to see her as she was now and those times were rare, even for him.

  As if reading his thoughts, she smiled. “The world never gives up secrets in front of a confident, intelligent woman, but a shallow, petulant girl can learn many things if she keeps her eyes and ears open.” She leaned forward in the chair. “Does she know about her father?”

  “Yes, Viktor told her. Not long before he died.”

  “Good, she deserves that much at least. Now fill me in. Viktor only told me about Grigore’s disappearance but not why.” She pierced him with a disapproving glare. “He said you didn’t want me involved.”

  He dragged a palm across his face. “I’m sorry, as always I underestimated you.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “Who were you after last night and what went wrong?”

  Christian told her everything, the full story of Grigore’s disappearance, Williams’s involvement, and Viktor’s investigation, which eventually led to his murder.

  She sat in silence, listening until he’d finished and frowned. Resting her elbow on the arm of the chair, she cupped her chin thoughtfully. “Andrew Williams—he’s that little worm who worked for Sir Roger, yes?”

  “Yes, that’s him. Why?”

  “Valerica knows him. They were lovers.”

  “Since when? I thought Williams preferred men.”

  “More like enjoyed both, like Viktor. She’d been seeing him for at least six months or so—way before Grigore disappeared. He’s not her usual type and when I asked her why, she just said he had his uses.” Her frown deepened. “I wonder if it has anything to do with that group she’s involved with?”

  “What group?” Christian asked.

  “I overheard her on the phone one night talking to someone about a gathering. I thought it must’ve been some new dance club or erotica group and asked if I could go along, but she fobbed me off with some lame excuse. She wrote it down—” She looked at her hands for a moment and then beamed. “The AR club or something like that.”

  Ice twisted in his gut and he sat heavily on the sofa. “Are you sure?”

  Lilijana leaned forward in her chair. “What is it?”

  “AR—the Aeternus Re-Awakening cult Dante started a century ago. And it was under that banner he carried out the assassinations more than sixteen years ago. If Valerica was involved, Viktor would’ve told me.”

  “If he’d known.” Lilijana sank back into the chair with a sigh. “Valerica was pretty angry with him for not contacting her for all those years.”

  “Then I may not be able to keep my promise to Viktor after all. If the AR are involved—nothing will be able to save Valerica.”

  Antoinette opened her eyes and a smile stole across her mouth as she stretched, feeling unusually delicious.

  “So you’re finally awake,” Lilijana said from the chair by the bed.

  “What time is it?” Antoinette croaked, her throat parched.

  Lilijana passed her some water and Antoinette gulped it down. It tasted sweeter than the finest wine.

  “It’s just gone midnight,” Lilijana said, taking the empty glass from her and placing it back on the nightstand.

  Christian’s nightstand. It all came flooding back. “What happened? Where’s Christian?”

  “You’ve been asleep for over twenty-six hours. You’ll feel weak for a little while, though we gave you a small transfusion to help you regain your strength.” Lilijana helped Antoinette to sit forward and plumped the pillows behind her. “Kavindish will bring up some broth shortly.”

  He’d left her behind. Bastard.

  Lilijana tucked the covers around Antoinette, avoiding her gaze. “Don’t be angry with Christian, he did what he thought was best.”

  “He could have told me,” she hissed.

  “Would you have been so generous if you’d known?”

  It was Antoinette’s turn to look away. “Probably not,” she admitted.

  “We
ll then.” Lilijana continued to needlessly arrange the bedding.

  Something went wrong.

  Did Williams get away and now they had nothing? Was Christian okay?

  Her throat constricted. “Tell me,” she croaked.

  Finally Christian’s mother stopped fussing and sat back in the chair. “I’ll let Christian fill you in on the details, but he did stop Andrew from catching his flight.”

  Antoinette sighed and fell back into the pillows. He was okay at least. But something else wasn’t and she could see pushing it wouldn’t yield any further information from Lilijana. It suddenly occurred to Antoinette this was the first time Lilijana had spoken more than two civil words to her.

  “Why are you being so nice?” Antoinette asked.

  The Aeternus didn’t answer at first, her brow crinkled—as much as her smooth brow could. Finally, she said, “You didn’t hesitate. Even with your past and your prejudices…you risked yourself to help Christian when he needed it. And I’m very grateful for that.”

  Heat rose to Antoinette’s cheeks. It’d been her pleasure—literally. But she wasn’t about to tell Lilijana that.

  “I’ve learned a lot about the Aeternus in the last few weeks, especially from Viktor.” She paused, thinking of him with fondness. “In the short time I knew him, he taught me more than I’d learned in a lifetime as a Venator.”

  Lilijana’s features softened. “He did tend to bring out the best in all of us.”

  She loved him. Antoinette had the feeling this was the real Lilijana, stripped of all pretense and disguises.

  Kavindish entered carrying a tray and Lilijana’s demeanor changed instantly. “About bloody time—I rang for you hours ago.” She stormed through the door, but closed it gently. There was more to Lilijana than met the eye. Antoinette would never underestimate her again.

  “Good evening, miss,” Kavindish said, placing the tray over her legs and shaking out a napkin. Was that a twinkle in his eye? Did the corners of his mouth twitch a little?

  He lifted the cover on the broth and saliva filled her mouth as she inhaled the rich aroma. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until then. The tray also had two boiled eggs, toast, fruit juice, and coffee.

  Kavindish laid the napkin in her lap. “Enjoy, miss.”

  “Where’s Christian?” she asked.

  “He’s indisposed at the moment but will be with you as soon as he can.” Kavindish bowed and left her alone.

  That was the second person who’d dodged her questions about Christian. Her loudly rumbling stomach distracted her from further worry for the moment and she fell upon the food. Spooning the hot soup into her mouth, Antoinette burnt her tongue. More cautious this time, she allowed it to cool on the spoon and picked up some fresh crusty bread spread with a generous amount of butter. The meal was simple but filling and the strength flowed back into her tired limbs.

  With her appetite satiated, something else gnawed at her. Hunger still sat heavy in the pit of her belly, but not for food. Her body tingled all over, her groin heavy and nipples taut.

  She’d been dressed in a nightgown, instead of what she’d worn the night Christian had…

  Oh my.

  The memory had her body singing in tribute. Every nerve ending tingled, every fiber thrummed, and she realized what it was she hungered for. There’d been no release for her, and now her body demanded it.

  Moving the tray aside she slipped from the bed and padded barefoot across the room. Her bags sat in the corner. Strange, she hadn’t brought them with her. She’d ask Kavindish later.

  Antoinette quickly changed into some training gear before picking up her weapons’ case. Christian would have a training room here somewhere in the house, probably the basement. She’d try there first. Physical activity would help her work off some of this pent-up frustration.

  The training room was in the basement and much bigger than the one at his New York house. She took her sword from the case and fell into a fighting stance on the mats. Within minutes she lost herself in the familiar pattern of kihon—the solo mastery of fundamentals.

  “You should be resting.” Christian’s velvet voice interrupted her mid-swing.

  23

  Blood, Sweat and Heat

  She turned to find him propped lazily against the doorframe, unreadable behind dark sunglasses.

  She dropped the tip of her sword to the floor and turned, unprepared for the fever burning through her veins at the sight of him. “I’m pissed at you.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that you’d be incapacitated by my feeding, but I was desperate.”

  “I’m really pissed that you know me that well.” She returned to practicing.

  “You need to rest,” he said gliding away from the door and into the room.

  She didn’t interrupt the routine she stepped through. “What I need is a good, active workout.”

  “Care for a sparring partner then?” he asked.

  Oh God, yes. “No.”

  “Really? If it’s exercise you’re after, I can help.”

  I bet you could. “I prefer to train alone. I find it more relaxing.”

  “I thought you wanted an active workout,” he said, throwing her words back at her. He took off his glasses and placed them on the counter by the door, his eyes mocking. “Are you afraid?”

  “Of you? Pffft!” Her indignation was a little too loud in the large room. “No.” Damn him.

  “Then spar with me.”

  He had her over a barrel. “Fine.”

  His eyes gleamed as he crossed to the far wall and hit a button. A panel slid up, exposing a vast number of different weapons.

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s an impressive collection.”

  “Shall we use bokken or steel?” he asked, looking at her over his shoulder.

  “Steel of course.”

  “Then use this.” He tossed her a sheathed katana, which she snatched easily out of the air. She put hers aside and held the Japanese sword level with her eye as she pulled the blade out two inches. It gleamed, even in the dimmed florescent lights. She slid the sheath off slowly, inch by inch drawing out her anticipation.

  Antoinette swung the sword, testing the weight. It fit as if made for her hand. The balance was perfect. This was a true Samurai weapon, a thing of beauty made by a master swordsmith. She flicked it to the right then with a twist her wrist twirled the blade in a full circle at her side.

  “Nice,” she said trying to appear nonchalant.

  Christian repeated her moves with his own weapon as they squared off. Circling to the right, one foot in front of the other, she twirled her sword and sized him up.

  “Kata or freeform?” he asked.

  “Freeform—definitely freeform.” She didn’t want to dance set steps, she wanted to go hell for leather.

  Confidence gleamed in his eyes. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Antoinette narrowed her eyes, watching every nuance, every action; the way he held the sword, each step he took as she waited for him to make the first move.

  He glanced left, but she wasn’t about to let such an obvious ploy force her to react too soon. His mouth twitched and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

  “So tell me what happened with Andrew Williams.” She stopped, and held her sword high and ready.

  “He was assassinated right in front of me. I learned nothing except that I was close to discovering who he was afraid of.”

  Shocked, she dropped the point of her sword and came out of her stance. “He’s dead? How?”

  “Shot in the head.”

  “And the assassin?”

  He dropped his gaze and stopped circling. “He escaped.”

  “So, what now?” She straightened and gripped the sword.

  “I don’t know yet, but I may have a new lead to check out.”

  “Like what?”

  “Are we sparring or not?” he asked, circling again.

  She fell back into her previous stance and C
hristian mirrored her, both waiting for the other to attack first. Antoinette wasn’t about to be goaded by Christian’s stony countenance into striking first. With a tilt of her head, she turned her left palm upward and jerked her fingers toward her in a “come get me” gesture.

  She barely had time to block his lightning-fast attack. The vibrations of the strike convulsed so hard up her arms she almost dropped her sword.

  “Hey, no fair,” she cried. “That was your Aeternus strength behind your strike.”

  “Who agreed to be fair?”

  “If that’s the way you’re going to play it then.” She darted forward and sliced open his shirt diagonally across his chest. His eyes dropped to the damage—a thin scarlet line appeared then immediately started to heal.

  “How did the assassin escape from you? Are you losing your touch as Intel’s finest?”

  “Now you’re really asking for it.” He grinned, but his eyes held a darkness as he ripped off the remains of his shirt and discarded it.

  He began twirling the sword easily, again sidestepping in a circle. “I was shot by airport police.”

  Antoinette kept her eyes firmly fixed on him. Not that she could tear her gaze away, even if she tried. His alabaster torso was straight out of a Greek legend. “So did you think to clear it with them first before you pursued a suspect on their turf?”

  Pale he might be, but each muscle rippled in exquisite definition. His brown nipples contrasted nicely, as did the thin line of black hair trailing down his abdomen just below the hollow dent of his belly button and disappearing into the waistband of his low-slung sweatpants. Her gaze kept going down to the taut quadriceps bunching beneath the fabric. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, but it too had gone dry.

  “No, I didn’t have time nor did I want them to give the game away. You would’ve done the same thing.” Then he came at her again.

  She ducked under his raised arms and spun, landing an openhanded blow to his side. The air whooshed from his lungs, he turned and grinned.