by L. A. Banks
"You are of great value to us, Carlos. Might I suggest that you take a couple of my favorite resources as added insurance… something made for special occasions by our Dark Lord on level seven?"
Before Carlos could answer, the chairman dispatched a ceiling transport bat, and Carlos waited for his unspecified resources, trying to stay cool.
A loud commotion beyond the council walls made everyone train their attention towards the sound. Bats screeched in terror, and incessant growls and barks careened through the cavernous space. The front doors flew open, and four super-strength international couriers paired off to restrain the two beasts they held by chains.
Beasts, each with six yellow glowing eyes that ringed the circumference of their huge skulls, stood three feet high at the shoulder, their muscular black chests rippling as they scrabbled against the slippery marble floor to get to Carlos, leaving deep gashes in it as they clawed their way forward. Their jaws were so packed with fangs that they couldn't fully close their mouths, and foamed, slick saliva dripped from them, leaving acid burns in the floor. They flapped their leathery wings, half flying, as they pulled the couriers along the floor, slashing at them with their spaded, double-blade tails.
Almost speechless, Carlos knew he had to rescind the request, "Naw, gentleman. The pit bulls are over the top."
"You don't approve?" The chairman asked with a smile, then sighed. "Next time."
Carlos wasn't sure how to respond. While the offer was generous, this wasn't about a few easily willed creatures that could give him a heads-up with a bark… like a coupla security dogs… dayum. "Yeah, next time. Thanks, though."
"As I said, Mr. Rivera, it's your mission."
"We all clear?" Carlos waited for heads to nod again.
"Make it happen, and bring our cargo back safely," the chairman said with a sly smile.
But before Carlos could reply, a thunderous rumble made all beings in the room look up at the swirling black messenger cloud that was ever-present in the high, open ceilings of the chamber. Intermittent sound waves sent the swirling mass into a noisy, chaotic screech as domestic couriers in bat form were thrown from the smoky whirlpool, and then reentered it, trying to keep their flight patterns. Red glowing eyes blinked in a frenzy of confusion, as wave after wave of sound shocks disturbed their habitat.
"Oh, shit…" Carlos laughed.
"We've been breached at the chamber level!" The chairman stood instantly with the council members. The messengers took battle stances. The hounds raced back into the chamber, flanking the chairman and barking up toward the sound.
Carlos shook his head. "Listen to it. Damn… Can't you hear it?"
The other beings shot their gazes to Carlos, but were still on red alert. Carlos closed his eyes. She's all that… Girlfriend is breaching the breach.
"Explain!" The chairman was in no mood for Carlos's amusement, and snatched the front of Carlos's suit. But confusion loosened his grip as the hounds began to howl.
"All of you, open up on my channel," he murmured. "Your cargo just kicked things up a level."
The Vampire Council came from behind their table, and the armed exterminators formed a ring around them. Carlos extended his hand, placing one on the chairman's shoulder, another on the lead messenger's. He could barely hold his head up as Shabazz's bass line rocked him. He could hear Rider's guitar screaming. A crowd of a hundred thousand was nearly prostrate. He could dig it. The stage was black. Birdcalls and special effects of jaguars roaring had been layered in. Heavy percussion with the bass was breaking the barrier, scattering bats in Hell, a hundred thousand people all jamming, all grooving to the same erotic beat. Drums sounded like thunder. The Vampire Council closed their eyes; the old boys, finally relaxing the hysteria, were catching on.
A sliver of red light hit the stage. Carlos felt the chairman's knees almost give way as the old dude steadied himself against another council member. Then Damali stepped into that crimson splinter, dusted in gold and red glitter. A sheer sheath of blood red netting was all the dress was made of… a serpent covering her breasts and her Venus in a barely concealed wrap of embroidery. She wore a high priestess headdress that had coils in it, seeming almost serpentine as the gold and red in it interleaved into an endless spiral.
When she hit the first chord of the song, her voice almost as low as the bass, bats screamed and he shuddered, sending a collective shudder through the assembled group. Moisture came to his eyes. He inhaled deeply. The others did, too, and glanced at each other, stricken by the power of the sensation. Yeah, he remembered. It had only been a few nights.
"Goddamn . . ."
The chairman nodded. The hounds walked in an agitated circle.
Even the counselor shook his head, but the look he issued Carlos cut like a blade inside Carlos's mind.
Unable to dislodge himself from the vision, Carlos listened to the sultry sounds she made. Damali's echoes of lovemaking, a preamble to her lyrics, decimated him. He opened his eyes and his gaze caught the counselor's expression of pure hatred. It was an eerie concoction, Damali's voice juxtaposed with Vlak's venom. Interesting that his hatred competed so virulently with the pull of the Neteru's voice. He didn't know such a thing was possible.
Carlos glanced around at the other men. Each of them, even the chairman, had been thoroughly seduced by her sultry tone. Their eyes were closed, heads slightly leaned back, as though offering their throats for a sure siphon… their fangs had lowered, and they seemed to be breathing through their barely parted lips. His line of vision went back to the counselor, who fought against the erotic rush Damali produced, his jaw set hard, and his fangs dropped to battle length, not passion length. Something was wrong.
"Don't you hear me calling…" she crooned like he'd never heard her voice before. "Don't you feel me wanting… don't you know… don't you know… ooohhhh, yeaaaah, baby… 'cause you know when you do what you do… In the dark… where you do what you do what you do to me, baby… Yeeesss… I'm calling you, Carlos…" she murmured, talking to the cheering crowd, and then resumed her saxophone wail, sliding up and down the octaves with her voice as though it were her hand tracing his spine.
"In the dark… blood running through my deep river baby… Sisssss… Ohhhhh. In the dark, you feel what you feel when you feel it, baby… Night's not the same without you in me, baby…" Then she stepped forward, causing Brazilian police to redouble their efforts, dropped her voice, stretched out her arm, beckoned with one finger, while sliding her other hand in an aching motion down her side. She whispered, the crowd roared, Carlos swallowed hard.
Now she was talking co-modena, cash shit. Was challenging him. Whispering into the mic all sexy, walking to the front of the stage. Carlos shook his head, noting that his council's eyes were slits.
"You know you want this… so stop playing with it… before it burns you, baby. I can't take it… I'm burning up. Need the night to cool it off." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, leaned her head back and belted out another line full throat. "In the dark—"
"I'm out!" Carlos broke from the group. "I told you this package was da bomb. Worth any bullshit I gotta go through to protect it. Any questions?" He walked, no longer concerned about the dogs, as the old vampires just looked stunned. An international exterminator stepped forward.
It nodded at its squad, which nodded in return. "We follow your orders… Damn… You did that?" The exterminator fell back into formation, simply shaking its head.
Carlos gave a brief nod of recognition to the international team. He liked them already. Could hang like his old squad, and were so different from the domestic couriers that got on his nerves. Yeah. Recognize.
The chairman, slightly out of breath, held himself up using the table, glancing at the screeching, disoriented mass of domestic couriers and then the full council. "Give this man whatever it takes to contain this cargo! Whatever is required!" He was breathing hard as he tried to make his way back to his throne. "She was doing 'the righteous light acts' before Rive
ra infected her, now look at her in just ten nights."
Quiet fell over the group as another disruption sent the bats screeching again. The chairman had tears of appreciation in his eyes. His voice was a mere whisper as he stared at Carlos in awe.
"In just ten nights, Rivera…"
The six-vampire squad simply appeared in the center of the concert throng that was mesmerized by the performance. There was no need to even be smooth. The few people standing nearby started, but obviously assumed that Carlos and his bodyguards had advanced from behind them in the crush of the crowd.
He glanced at his messengers who were immediately hit with the adrenaline rush. "You're showing fangs, and it ain't cool. Chill, blend in, and remember what I said. Not here. We all need to fan out. Give me some space. Vamanos!"
Damali's voice was ripping him apart, but he scanned the terrain as his messengers dissolved into nothingness. The adrenaline level of the audience, the sweat, the blood, was making him shaky. It was clear that if Damali performed like this during a ripening, he'd have to kill five guards and take out council. Shit. Get-high was everywhere, too. Nearly buzzed, Carlos tried to keep his focus on his only target. Damali.
He'd purposely surfaced deep enough in the crowd that she wouldn't be able to see him because of the angle of the lights. He was pretty sure that she wouldn't be able to sense him, either, if he could just be cool. Chill. Father Patrick was right. He was getting stronger. The old man was also right about another thing, too. The pull to power like this was hard to ignore. Almost as hard to ignore as Damali up there.
The only thing he could hope was that she'd be so engrossed in the performance that she'd be too distracted to pick him up. The scents and vibrations were so intense all around him that, even as a master vampire, with superior tracking capability, he was having a hard time. She would, too. Then, she lifted her head and looked in his direction, again moving to the front of the stage. He let his breath out when she then walked to the other side of it. Yeah, for a moment she'd detected something, but had done a smooth, theatrical recovery.
But girlfriend was wearing that red dress and her voice was like a magnet. However, he was not about to get any closer. Wasn't advisable. Over here, the Covenant's prayer line wasn't a ground wire to keep him anchored. Over here, Damali's compound fortress wasn't a prayer beacon reminder. Over here, there was no distance between him and the call that was kicking his ass. He was going to have to eat soon. Ever since he'd embarrassed himself and had flipped out on her in the woods, he was not going near her. Not like that. Definitely not in front of his squad. He had to conquer that shit, first.
The smell of perspiration-soaked concertgoers perfumed the air and was almost asking too much of his restraint. With that strong vibe coming from the crowd, plus watching Damali holler up onstage, anything could jump off. He just hoped his exterminators could be cool. He sensed for them. They were. Odd. It was as though their transmissions were blocked. Council? Something wasn't right. He then looked back at the stage. Damn, one woman creating all this havoc.
That's right, he had to remember that he was angry with her, too. She'd had some other man all up in her face. Not that he could necessarily blame the brother. However, it was a matter of principle.
Carlos glanced around the audience which was in a state of near hysteria. On the other hand, what was he going to do, off fifty thousand, who all had the same thing running through their minds even while their women and other females swayed to the music beside them? Crazy. He just would not look at the stage, is all. He could hang. But the whiff of Neteru she was sending his way was murder. Yet, it didn't make sense. Damali wasn't ripening, wasn't due for seven more years.
He fought it at first, but then gave in to a deep inhale. The sensation of her scent filled his nostrils, coating his tongue, his throat, and slid down his insides like some sweet, forbidden fruit. He ran his hand over his jaw and ran his tongue over his teeth, holding himself in check. Damali never smelled that thick, that dark, that positively…
A female hand traced up his back and touched his shoulder. Startled, he turned abruptly and looked into a pair of dark brown eyes that nickered green. The beauty standing before him was almost his height, and her well-toned arm had the muscular structure of a female bodybuilder. Her skin was flawless, like highly polished mahogany, and her hair was in a hundred jet-black braids that hung down her back. La vampira, if he'd ever seen one.
She smiled a half smile of recognition, showing a little fang. Carlos's eyes traveled down her stacked body. All she had on was a crocheted black bra, her coffee-bean-brown, hard nipples peeking at him through sections of it. A sheer black sarong, and what appeared to be a thong under that, covered her from the waist down. He could feel her entering his thoughts, dredging current vocabulary from it. Okay, cool, she was a foreign vamp chick. If she needed vocab to communicate with him, with a body like hers, no problem—even though he didn't generally deal with other females, being hooked up with Damali and all.
Then again, there was something a little primal about her, if not were-demon. It was in the green flicker in her eyes and in the shape of her jaw, which was slightly wider at the chin where lower incisors would be. Always a dead giveaway. But her top incisors were awesome. Vamp all the way.
He studied her ears, which came to a very subtle point and laid back against her skull. If he didn't know better… But he wasn't registering anything demon, and his squad hadn't bristled. Nah, she wasn't a were. What she was, was fine as shit. If she had a thing for the were-shapes, that was cool. The old vamps had to stop being so prejudiced. Needed to embrace a few personal choice differences. Not all were-demon forms were disgusting, especially packaged in a vamp body like that.
Conflicted, he hesitated. What was he saying? Was he on crack, or some shit? Vampires didn't deal with demons, were-demons, or any other variety. Yet she smelled so fucking good—no demon tracer at all. She smiled and he struggled to remember that… he already had a woman… the one onstage that had called him up from Hell. So who was this one who was all up in his grille?
Despite his resolve to distance himself from possible trouble, he took his time to enjoy the stranger's ample, firm, melon shaped breasts, and the way her tight waist sported a gold hoop in her sunken navel. Right under it was a silky trail of fiat, wispy black hair that dipped under her low-slung sarong. His mouth went dry. The knot in the side of the skirt's fabric exposed a well-curved, well-toned hip. She opened her thigh a bit, and he noted that her equally toned perfect legs were longer than his. Dayumm, she was fine. He studied her face, admiring how her feline, almond-shaped eyes blazed over high, chiseled cheekbones, and her jaw was squared to a strong chin. She arched an eyebrow, and an electric current passed through him, just imagining the bite she could probably deliver.
"Is it later, yet?" she asked in a seductive tone that he could hear despite the ear-splitting decibels of the music.
He'd watched her lush mouth work with the words, and saw the glistening gold ball that pierced her tongue. Damn, it was her—the voice that had been in his head, cracking his skull for over a month. Her hand went to his chest. He now had his back completely to the stage. Her palm burned him, sending a scorching heat down his abdomen toward his groin. Face to face, this was definitely some strong vibe. Wasn't shit here to block it. Calling upon his last reserves of discipline, he grabbed her wrist.
"Do I know you?" He'd meant the question to come out with more threat in it, but damn, just look at her.
"Do you have to know me?"
Okay. A player. He could dig it, but now was not the time, if ever.
"Need to know a little somethin', somethin'. I don't just roll like that."
"Oh…" she clucked her tongue, coming in closer, and making the ball on it bounce. "I thought your kind was notorious for being down for whatever. Certainly not monogamous."
The statement backed him up. His mind had to adjust. He could hear Damali behind him, crooning her song… but he was single, after all.
And she had had some guy up in her face. He had never been monogamous in his life, or accused of such slander. This fine woman had just challenged him and called him a punk—knowing he was a master vamp. Was she mad?
She laughed. "My bad," she whispered, her other hand dipping low, stroking the part of him that was rock hard.
"What are you?" he asked, allowing her to touch him for a moment. Then he collected himself enough to halt her stroking. He used his energy to push a small opening in the heaving crowd so he could claim some space and get his head together.
She stepped in closer, and the scent of her was disorienting. Carlos shook his head to clear it. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at the stage. He was smelling Neteru everywhere, and it was making him high. In fact, he was tripping so badly at the moment that he swore he'd caught a whiff of fully ripened Neteru again.
"I'm something you've needed for a long time," she murmured. "And much better than what's up there begging for you with no pride… us older women don't go there." She backed up, cocked her head and smiled wider. "Have fun with the little girl for now, but let me know in a couple of nights—or I'll find you again. Don't make me have to look for you. That won't be pleasant."
"Hold up," Carlos said, starting to get pissed off. Nobody told him some shit like that and then walked, fine or not. Plus, he didn't like the disrespect toward Damali. She needed to check herself. "If I'm interested, I'll let you know."
"Whatever," she said coolly. "But when you're done with the young girl, come find a real woman." She sauntered back over to him. "The double plunge I've got will knock your head back." Her voice dropped an octave and her scent thickened around him. "Remember, baby, she can't even bear fangs." She licked his throat before he could stop her, and was gone.
Stunned, he stood there for a moment just looking at where she'd been. This was no ordinary vamp, or average lower-level vapor move. This was some smooth, almost master vampire level shit… But she smelled like Neteru? Ripe Neteru—that had drugged him out of his mind for a few seconds… Enough to make him turn his attention away from Damali? Oh, hell no. This was real crazy. Female master vamp? At council-level strength… was there such a thing? No.