by Wendy Nikel
“I certainly hope Carlos likes his ladies covered in scars,” Jules muttered. “Damn you, Maddox.”
As Jules plucked a shard from her ankle, someone knocked on her motel room door.
Had she been careless while driving home, so high on human blood and that delicious kiss she hadn’t noticed she was being followed? If Maddox had found her, Jules’s night was about to get a lot worse.
She straightened and quietly crept to the door, looking around for anything she could use as a weapon, but the room was rather bare. She couldn’t imagine Maddox paralyzed with fear as she threatened him with a boot, as she’d done to Carlos. Shit.
Jules pressed herself against the door, steeled herself, and then peered through the peephole.
A smile bloomed across her face, and she swung the door open. “What changed your mind?”
Carlos’s jaw dropped as his eyes scoured Jules’s naked body. Without a word, he pushed his way into her motel room and slammed the door behind him. He pulled Jules tight against himself with an urgency that forced her onto her tiptoes. She dug her fingers into Carlos’s shoulders and smiled, suspended in the moment—but not for long. Jules wove her fingers through his hair and brought his perfect mouth to hers. She dove into the kiss as she once had dove into the Pacific—with careless freedom and complete abandon.
Jules coaxed Carlos’s mouth open with her tongue and explored the taste of him—cold rainwater and the sky at night. She nipped his bottom lip as she guided his trench coat from his broad shoulders and tugged his shirt over his head.
Jules grazed the cold marble of Carlos’s chest with her fingertips before pouncing upon him again, causing them both to tumble to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs and discarded clothing, a moment sixteen years in the making.
Steeling herself, Jules dialed Lavinia’s number.
“I need access to my lab, Vinnie.”
“Jules, it’s so good to hear from you. Are you okay? And why do you sound so… happy when you’re being hunted?”
Jules snorted. “I’m fine, Vinnie. At least, for now. Listen, I was just offered a big job I can’t turn down. It’ll set me up for a millennia and help me escape this shitty situation I’m in. That’s why I need the lab. Just one last job.”
“Cassandra will slaughter you if she finds you here. She’s been invited into the king and queen’s inner circle, so everyone around here is on high alert. Night and day, Jules. The guards have these, I don’t know, suits that repel daylight now so they can patrol all the time.”
Fuck. Of course they do.
Jules sighed. “That’s a less than pleasant development, but we can handle it. Leave getting past the guards up to us. I just need you to leave a few doors unlocked and disarm the alarm system.”
“Wait a second. Who’s ‘we?’”
Shit.
“Me and a new friend.” Jules massaged the spot between her brows. “This job’s too big to do alone.”
Silence on the line. Jules winced. Lavinia had to come through, or else she and Carlos would have to come up with a new plan. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time. “Vinnie, this is a matter of life and death.”
“That was melodramatic, even for you.”
“But was it effective?”
Lavinia sighed. “Okay, okay, I’ll help you out. When are you coming over?”
“In a few hours.”
“Jesus, Jules.”
“No rest for the wicked.”
“Fine.” Lavinia paused. “This job isn’t about synthetic blood, is it?”
Jules couldn’t lie to her sister. “No.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not, but you’ll find out in due time.”
“That isn’t ominous or anything,” Lavinia said.
Jules laughed.
Lavinia’s voice was sweet when it lit up the line again. “This crazy request aside, you sound good. A little manic maybe but giddy or something.”
Jules smiled and gazed across her motel room to where Carlos lay dozing on the dirty carpet. “I am good, Vinnie, for the first time in a long time.”
On the back of Jules’s motorcycle, Carlos inched his hips forward in the seat and pressed his delightful weight into her. She imagined the pale expanse of his chest and the half-moon curve of his ass. Distracted, she slowly veered to the left. The motorcycle jolted suddenly, its front tire hitting a yellow road divider. Jules snapped to attention and corrected course.
Carlos’s lips tickled her ear. “You’re going to get us killed.”
“You are a distracting instigator,” Jules shouted into the wind. “And last I checked, vampires can’t die from motorcycle crashes.”
Carlos chuckled as Jules turned into an alleyway and decelerated a few blocks from Cassandra’s house. She braked smoothly and planted her feet on either side of the bike. Carlos stood and kicked back to dismount. Jules followed suit and secured the motorcycle with its kickstand. She adjusted the messenger bag slung over her shoulder and then felt a pair of strong hands on her hips.
“Thanks for the ride,” Carlos said.
Jules smiled wickedly, recalling the kind of ride she’d given Carlos just an hour earlier. “Any time.” She stood on tiptoe and nibbled his earlobe.
“Now who’s the distraction?”
Jules gave him a playful shove and shook her head. She pointed down the street. “The house is about two blocks that way. I didn’t want Cassandra or the guard to hear the bike. Lavinia said there might be some cronies patrolling.”
The impending dawn was blessedly overcast, providing Jules and Carlos natural cover as they traversed the empty streets. Still, they walked quickly as the sun stretched and threatened to blossom over the horizon. Jules and Carlos glanced around nervously as they moved, the threat of being ambushed looming as large as the clouds overhead. Despite Lavinia’s warnings that members of the royal guard had set up watch around Cassandra’s house, there wasn’t a gray uniform in sight. Perhaps they were on break, tossing back blood shots at a nearby bar, Jules mused. All joking and ruminating aside, she was grateful for the stroke of luck for this particular mission. She was sure it wouldn’t last.
As they approached the house, Jules shuddered. While she was confident Lavinia would come through on her promises, she feared Cassandra would sense her presence within the house and, well, smite her without a second thought. Jules stretched her fingers long, curled them into fists, and flexed her wrists to work out some nervous energy. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Jules turned the knob, pushed the front door open a crack, and waited. No alarms, no noises within—nothing but sweet silence. So far, so good.
Jules and Carlos tiptoed through the foyer, pausing and waiting when they stepped on wooden floorboards that groaned softly beneath their weight. Ever so quietly, Jules opened the door that led down into the basement. When they descended the stairs, relief poured over her, and Carlos squeezed her hand in reassurance.
Jules’s former lab was draped in white sheets, rendering all of her equipment angular, stationary ghosts. “I’ve barely been gone two days.” She snatched the fabric off one of her lab tables and a burner. “Good to know how easily I’m discarded.”
Carlos caught her wrist, and her eyes flicked up to meet his. “Jules.” He said her name like a prayer, with audible reverence. “She doesn’t matter anymore.”
Jules nodded. “You’re right.” She swung the messenger bag off her shoulder and deposited it on a counter. “Let’s get to work.”
From the messenger bag, Jules and Carlos produced twenty-seven small syringes, two gas masks, and two pounds of irradiated garlic.
“I’m so impressed I can’t smell this,” Carlos said.
“You can’t smell it yet,” Jules said. “Storing it this way decreases its pungency and makes it easy to smuggle and sell. But as soon as we add heat, there will be fumes. Better put this on.” She tossed Carlos a gas mask.
“And you’re positive Cassandra and Lavinia wo
n’t smell or hear anything?”
“Positive. The whole place is scent and soundproof,” Jules explained. “It wasn’t when it was first constructed. Cassandra said it was too big of an expense. But she also hates the smell of star anise.” She winked at Carlos. “Guess what kind of infusions I made the first month I had this lab.”
“You’re evil.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Jules put on her mask and adjusted the straps. Just as Carlos was preparing to do the same, an ominous creak sounded from the top of the staircase.
Jules’s chest constricted. Carlos stood still as a statue. Together, they listened and watched as someone descended.
When Lavinia appeared in the harsh light of the lab, Jules ripped off her gas mask. “Vinnie, you scared the unliving bejesus out of me!”
But Lavinia wasn’t listening. She leaned heavily against the doorframe, her brown eyes wide and transfixed on Carlos. Her mouth hung open in a limp O, and she craned her neck forward. She clumsily detached one hand and pointed. “You… You’re… Um, Jules, what’s Prince Fabian doing here?”
Jules crossed the lab, grabbed her sister’s shoulders, and got right in her face. “Vinnie, what are you doing here?” Lavinia didn’t respond, so Jules gave her a shake. “Vinnie, right here. Focus. What are you doing?”
Lavinia’s focus snapped onto her. “This is the friend you’re working with for this final job?”
Jules shook her head. “Vinnie, you don’t want to get involved. You don’t even know what we’re doing.”
“I know the kinds of things that get you excited, Jules. The things that make you happy. Like letting wild animals out of their cages. Maybe you could use some help?” Lavinia raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly.
“It’s going to be dangerous,” Jules warned. “There’s a lot that can go wrong.”
“I know.”
“We’re working with garlic, and we don’t have an extra gas mask,” Jules said. “I have goggles and gloves, but your throat is going to burn like hell.”
“I’ll be fine,” Lavinia said resolutely, standing a little taller.
“Damn, you’re serious,” Jules marveled. She took Lavinia by the hand and walked her over to Carlos. “If you’re going to help us out, there’s someone you need to meet. Lavinia, this is Carlos, and he thinks Prince Fabian is a fucking joke.”
This time, Jules had to wear a disguise, too, partially due to her newly acquired fame as the Republic’s Most Wanted and also because a skirt would allow her to conceal the fourteen syringes of garlic saline she had holstered to her thighs.
“You look quite pretty,” Carlos said when she slithered into the folds of taffeta. He handed her a brunette wig to hide her blue locks.
“Enjoy it now,” Jules said, flipping the wig onto her head. “It’s probably the only time you’ll ever see me in a skirt.”
She was wearing black leather shorts underneath the flouncy material and planned to rip off the skirt as soon as the action started. The offending garment was essential to fool the guards and gain entrance to the palace. Past the gates, the burdensome fabric might inhibit her from grabbing for a syringe of garlic saline at just the right moment, so the taffeta had to go.
Now, the skirt billowed in the breeze as Jules drove them to Vlad’s castle on her bike. Carlos sat behind her, his identity, like hers, concealed by an elaborate disguise that included Jules’s signature accessory, a motorcycle helmet.
As they neared the castle, Jules’s nerves jumped and pattered. The gruesome trophies stared eyeless down on them, reminding her of all that was at stake. This was it, her moment to take back everything that had been stolen from her. Gratefully, she had an ally ready to jump into the fire with her. If they were going down, Carlos was going with her.
As Jules cruised to a stop at the security gate, her stomach somersaulted wildly. She muttered a profanity under her breath. The gravity of the situation swelled before her, and she morbidly wondered how far she and Carlos would get before they were skewered like kabobs.
No, no, no, don’t think like that.
Carlos must have sensed her apprehension because he gave her shoulders a squeeze.
”The nature of your business?” a redheaded guard snapped.
Jules removed her helmet slowly so that her wig stayed put and flashed a cursory glance at the guard’s gold nametag. “Bernard, is it? We have information about the fugitives the king and queen are trying to catch, Juliet Hammond and Carlos Riveras. We’ve been tracking them and know their current whereabouts.”
Bernard did not look impressed. In fact, he looked suspicious. He turned his gaze to Carlos and grunted, “You. Take off the helmet.”
And this is it, the moment we’ll be found out. How many times has Bernard seen Prince Fabian? He’d probably recognize the crowned prince if he were dressed in drag.
Jules remained stone-still as Carlos took off his helmet. Today, he was wearing the same wig he’d worn at Oscar’s, and Jules hoped the cascading locks concealed the sharp relief of his jawline and the telltale smirk that overtook his lips without him knowing. Damn him for having distinguishing—and dreamy—features.
Grasping for a means of distraction, Jules reached into the pocket of her skirt and produced a fake ID she’d all too easily procured from her dealer. “I’m sure you’ll need to check this.” Jules waggled the ID in front of Bernard’s face, and thank God, her frantic movements proved effective. Bernard took a little side step toward Jules and snatched the plastic card from her fingers. He made a big show of examining the ID, but as he did, Jules was aware of his other hand moving to his belt where his stakes were holstered.
Jules’s palms tingled, and she felt energy coiling in her legs, her body preparing to bolt should things go sideways.
Of course, she couldn’t bolt. Not now. Not here.
In a flurry of moment, Jules dismounted the motorcycling, reaching beneath her skirt to extract a syringe from her thigh holster.
She discarded the protective cap, lurched forward, and plunged the needle into the guard’s neck. As she pushed down to deploy the garlic saline, Bernard let out a sharp cry of pain. Jules kept her eyes focused on the guard’s neck, watching as his pale skin first turned a bright scarlet, and then began to melt like a crayon in the sun. The sickness spread quickly throughout his body, liquefying his face, his shoulders, and his chest all at once. A moment later, the guard’s husk of a body slumped to the ground. Dark blood spilled from his corpse and crept toward Jules’s boots.
As she looked down upon her destruction, Jules waited for nervous tremors to rock her body. She paused, expecting her chest to grow tight with remorse or regret. But those emotions never came. Instead, feelings of dominion and retribution swelled through her. She felt mighty and unstoppable.
The empty syringe felt right in her hands.
Perhaps I’ve found my noble cause.
Carlos’s voice interrupted her introspection. “What you’re feeling right now, my little fire starter, is justice. You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
Jules smiled at him and ripped the taffeta skirt from her waist. “I’m ready,” she growled. “Let’s burn our cage to the ground.”
Jules’s biting sneer must have tipped the guards off that she and Carlos were there to fuck some shit up because, without a word, two men in uniform with wooden stakes charged them as they approached the entrance of the castle. Jules hurtled forward into the fray, fangs bared, wind whipping through her blue hair.
Jules swooped low to avoid the tip of one of the guards’ stakes and then kicked his knee with enough force to hyperextend it. But the guard kept coming, swinging his gargantuan fists, ready to pummel her into the ground. Jules dodged and weaved, avoiding most of his advances. Despite her agility, she took a couple punches to the head, which rattled both her brain and her resolve. The world spun and Jules hunched over, her hands on her knees during a moment of reprieve. She spit out a mouthful of blood.
“Is that al
l you got, lowblood?” the guard asked.
The insult lit a fire deep in Jules’s chest, and she charged forward. She swung her small fists and landed a couple punches, sending the guard stumbling backward. Taking advantage of the guard’s disorientation, Jules plucked a syringe from her holster and pitched forward, stabbing at the body part closest to her. The syringe sank into his arm, and Jules pressed down to release the garlic saline. The guard screamed and, with his good arm, swung his stake at Jules’s throat. Jules stumbled backward, and her shoulders met stone, the tip of the stake slicing the air in front of her. The guard raised his weapon, fire in his eyes and fury burning off him in waves. Jules closed her eyes and waited, sure she’d soon be the recipient of a death stroke.
When the guard finally struck her, it wasn’t with the stake. Instead, succumbing to the poison of the garlic saline, he crumpled at her feet, a heap of red, melting flesh. Jules opened one eye, then the other.
She looked to her left where Carlos stood blood-spattered over his first kill. He turned to her, clutching an empty syringe, his hair deliciously disheveled. “You okay?”
Jules was better than okay. A thrill rumbled through her like a wild river. Excitement and anticipation shuddered up and down her spine. Jules smiled as she connected the dots. She felt this way because, for the first time in a long time, she was on the hunt again.
Jules stepped over the heap of viscera that was once a guard and kicked blood from her boots. “Three down, twenty-four to go.”
“That’s my girl.” Carlos dropped the empty syringe and approached her. He pointed at the imposing door that would lead them into the castle. His voice was low and conspiratorial when he spoke. “There will likely be another two guards on the other side of this door, perhaps more if they heard us coming.”