Nayara, sitting in the far corner of the coach, wrapped in ermine up to the neck and trailing velvet and sequins, looked serene and calm as usual. Her eyes were two crystal clear pools of green Cáel could easily drown in. He pulled his gaze away from her face. She looked glorious. If anyone was going to help make vampires palatable and sexy to humans, Nayara was the poster pin-up girl who would do it. If she could lose some of her indifferent air.
“Explain to me one last time how this is going to help vampires’ public image, Cáel?” Ryan asked.
He was sitting next to Nayara, wearing the latest in designer menswear and Cáel had to admit he looked damned good in it. He had the height and build to pull it off, along with the shoulders to fill the jacket very nicely.
Yeah, the pair of them would make a hell of an impression, as long as no one hit one of their sensitive buttons, or messed with them in any way.
Cáel sighed mentally.
Then there was Brenden.
“You’re here because you have to start looking more accessible. So you start blending in. Charity events. High publicity events where the media can showcase you. The more humans get to know and learn about you, the more comfortable they’ll get with you.”
“We have no intention of turning into second string humans, Cáel,” Nayara warned, her voice soft.
“Hell, who would want you to?” Cáel replied. “That’s not what this is about. For the last two hundred years, since you guys stepped out, you’ve stayed segregated. You’ve pretty much locked yourselves away on that station, or else you’ve stayed hidden, passing as human down here, because being yourselves down here was too much trouble. It’s time you took the trouble and made humans look at you. Look at you, accept you. Take you in and learn to live with you, warts and all.”
Ryan grimaced. “What if they don’t like what they learn? What if they don’t accept it?”
Cáel took a breath. “They have to, don’t they? You are what you are.”
Brenden was watching the rows of fans pass by the carriage as it rolled along the street toward the Vienna Opera House where the ball was being held. “Humans aren’t exactly pretty, either,” he observed. “Not when you get right down to some of their less endearing habits.”
Cáel gave another gusty sigh. “For god’s sake, don’t start talking about elimination and breeding in front of the cameras, Brenden. Let’s just stay positive for tonight.”
The carriage came to a halt. Already, blazing light from cameras and spotlights streamed in the tiny windows of the carriage.
“We’re on,” Cáel breathed. The tension in the carriage jumped higher.
The footman opened the carriage door and dropped the step down, then moved to one side, holding the door open. He was bewigged and wore stockings, as if he was from the 18th century, but his frockcoat was made to glitter in the lights.
Ryan stepped out first and helped Nayara out. Then Cáel and Brenden stepped out. The carriage lifted up on its springs as Brenden stepped onto the red carpet, which rolled up the short flight of steps to the graceful arches that fronted the opera house. The ball was an outdoor ball held in front of the opera house, in the public square where the fountain played. Security was paramount for the event, for world dignitaries were attending. The roads in a five block radius had been secured and even the fans lining the route to cheer the attendees had been vetted and screened.
It was this factor that made the charity event more suitable for Ryan and Nayara to attend. Cáel had been easier in his own mind when he had seen the long list of security precautions attached to the event.
But still he worried. Nayara and Ryan were trusting his advice in this matter. That was no small thing.
Ryan glanced around, taking in the camera crews, the fans, the guests making their way along the rope lines, talking to fans and camera crews and posing for pictures. “Right,” he murmured and reached for Nayara’s coat. “Time to show off, Nayara. Finally, I get to see what’s under this.”
He helped Nayara remove the faux-fur coat and handed the coat in Brenden’s direction, but the coat hung in mid-air, until Brenden had the presence of mind to take it from Ryan’s hand.
Ryan was staring at Nayara.
Cáel looked. And ran his eyes over her, from top to bottom a few more times, in slow, lingering appreciation.
His heart squeezed. His body tightened.
The dress was velvet. A deep green colour that matched her eyes and made them glow. It was strapless and clung to every inch of her until it reached her hips, where wisps of chiffon began to appear and the dress trailed behind her. And there were beads and sequins all over it, so that with every breath and move, she shimmered.
Cáel lacked the terminology to describe the dress more accurately, although he knew the female assistants in his office would demand details he wouldn’t be able to supply.
“Beautiful,” he croaked.
Nayara smiled. “Thank you.”
Brenden tossed the coat into the carriage. “We’re holding up the line,” he said.
Ryan took an audible breath. “Cáel, for the sake of symbolism, you should escort Nayara.”
Cáel nodded. He tried to school his face, to hide his eagerness. Then better sense reasserted itself. “Both of you,” he said. “Together. With me.”
Ryan’s brow lifted. “Alright,” he agreed. He smiled at Brenden. “You’re on your own, Brenden.”
“As it should be,” Brenden growled. “If I’m going to be a target, I’d rather be a lone target and not take anyone else down with me.” He squared his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”
Cáel patted the big man’s shoulder. “Security is the highest, Brenden. Relax.”
“After the last ten days of the nets called for my head on a plate? I don’t think so. But you’re the boss tonight, boss.” He nodded toward the opera house. “Let’s go.”
The carriage pulled away, leaving them alone at the end of the red carpet. Cáel lifted his arm, so that Nayara could slide her hand under it. Ryan stepped to her other side and did the same. She moved forward along the red carpet, the dress trailing out behind her. Cáel stayed abreast.
“I’ve spent generations keeping my face out of the news,” Nayara murmured. “This feels very unnatural.”
“You’ll get used to it. This is a whole new world,” Cáel assured her. “Look, there’s the first reporter now. Just smile and say hello. I can do the talking unless they ask you a direct question. Keep it sunny and superficial.”
“Hey, they’re the vampires!” someone in the crowd called out.
“We’ve been recognized,” Brenden muttered from behind them, sounding unhappy.
The rope line holding the fans back was only fifteen feet away from the red carpet and even Cáel could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. But the fans had all passed security checks.
“Vampires!”
“Blood suckers!”
“Keep it cool,” Cáel murmured. “We were expecting this after Brenden’s clip.”
Ryan lurched forward. “Watch out!” he snapped. His hand shot forward and down, like a baseball player catching a ball. Something red crossed Cáel’s field of vision, too fast for him to see it properly.
Ryan caught it and lifted it up. He snarled toward the fans. His teeth had descended.
Brenden moved. Cáel felt it, because he moved so fast the air displacement left by his abrupt departure created a tiny whirlwind that plucked at Cáel’s jacket tails and hair.
Brenden reached over the rope line and closed his fingers around the throat of one of the fans.
Instantly, a dozen camera lights were turned on him.
Ryan was staring at the fan struggling in Brenden’s grip, while he held his hand up in the air. He squeezed and what looked like blood dripped from between his fingers. His incisors were still visible as he snarled at the fan in Brenden’s grip, fury etched on his face.
Screams went up from the crowd.
Cá
el closed his eyes.
“It’s tomato juice,” Nayara said calmly. “They threw a tomato at me.”
“That’s not what it looks like on the cameras, though,” Cáel replied, feeling sick. “Let’s just get inside.”
* * * * *
“You were protecting Nayara,” Cáel said. “It’s your nature. I get it. It’s done now. Let’s just move on.” He was sitting on one of the uncomfortable wrought iron chairs at an angle, his arm propped on the back of it, while he rubbed at his forehead.
Nayara studied him. He wasn’t tired, because both she and Ryan had been monitoring his sleep patterns and knew he was getting at least adequate amounts of sleep now. So what did the stressed note in his voice mean?
Yes, this was bad. But there was something deeper working away at Cáel that she didn’t understand.
Ryan turned his chair around backwards and straddled it, resting his arms on the back and his chin on his arms. “Well, you said humans needed to get to know our real natures. They just got a great demonstration of our real natures, up close and personal.”
Cáel gave a half-laugh, then another, that turned into a low series of chuckles. He turned on his chair to face the table properly and sighed. “Let the chips fall where they may?” He reached for the champagne. “Pity you guys can’t enjoy this stuff. For champagne it’s not so bad.” He lifted his glass. “Salute!” He drank deeply, then pushed back his jacket sleeve to consult an old fashioned wrist watch. “There’s someone I want you to meet. They should be here any time soon. Where is Brenden, anyway?”
“Dancing,” Nayara said.
“He found someone who will dance with him?”
“Lots of someones,” Nayara replied. “He’s a novelty. He just donated a million dollars to the charity. Money buys all sorts of popularity.”
Cáel peered around the curtain drape that gave their table a little bit of privacy from the main dance floor. “I believe he’s getting the hang of this. Ah! There he is.” He stood up and waved. A man with actual reading glasses and street clothes weaved his way around the tables, heading toward them. He had blonde curly hair and sharp earnest brown eyes and he was carrying a satchel.
Cáel took him by the arm. “This is Lyle Bean. He’s a writer and researcher. He’s going to write your biographies.”
Nayara blinked. “What?”
“Are you fucking kidding, Cáel?” Ryan exploded, sitting up.
Cáel calmly pushed the nervous Lyle Bean onto a chair and sat back down himself. “You’ve declared yourselves public figures tonight. How long do you think it’s going to take before the muck-raking biographies hit the market? You have to get your own out there before they do. The real version. Not sanitized, not sweetness and light. It will be hard-hitting, no holds-barred truth. An honest and fair look at your lives. We want humans to know you and vampires. This is the perfect way for them to know all about you.”
Fear bloomed deep inside her. Nayara shook her head. “No, Cáel. I can’t. You don’t understand. We’re not talking about a simple eighty years, or even a second generation’s worth, like you. Do you know how many bad memories, sorrows, hurts...how many old friends we’ve had to bury and deal with over our lifetimes? You’re asking us to dig all that up.”
Ryan shot her a glance. She read gratitude in it.
Cáel glanced at Lyle. “Give us a minute.”
“Sure.” He clutched his satchel to his chest and hurried away.
Cáel turned back to face them both. His gaze was steady. Calm. “I know exactly what I’m asking for.”
“Do you?” Ryan insisted.
“You think I don’t know about Salathiel?”
Nayara flinched.
“About Eire, Ryan?”
Ryan drew back, his face shocked.
“About the fact that you’re really Basque, Nayara, although you let people think you’re from the Mesopotamian basin?”
Nayara couldn’t stop her gasp of shock. “No one knows that, except...” She glanced at Ryan and saw that he was staring at her. She shook her head. “I don’t tell people because...” She stopped. How could she even speak the words?
“Because then you would have to explain that you came to Constantinople as a slave, not a free woman,” Cáel finished softly. “And you bargained your way out of the slave pits using your body and sex. But by then, you were already a vampire.” He glanced at Ryan. “A slave’s life was a harsh one.”
Ryan exhaled heavily. His knuckles on the back of the iron chair were white.
Nayara gripped the rich cloth on the table. “But how do you know that?” she demanded of Cáel.
Cáel shrugged. “Lyle Bean. I said he was a researcher. He’s very good at his job.”
“He’s already done the research?” Ryan said.
Cáel nodded. “I just want him to put the...well, the human face on the facts and figures now. He has to tell the story that they make up.”
“It’s a story that covers at least three thousand years, Cáel,” Nayara said. “He will have to be very selective.”
“Is he very good?” Ryan demanded.
“I think so. He pulled together the facts about you two. I have hopes.”
“Facts are one thing. What you’re asking for now...that’s something else entirely,” Ryan said. He pulled in another breath, one that lifted his shoulders and settled them. “I will make a deal with you, Cáel. We will do this, Nayara and I, with some provisos.”
Cáel rubbed at his jaw, considering. Nayara watched his pitch black eyes glittering in the low candlelight, the thick bordering lashes surrounding them, as he considered the matter. He really was an extraordinarily attractive man...for a human.
“State your terms,” he told Ryan.
“The book only covers the time from when Nayara and I met. Nothing about our lives before then. Nothing about her slavery. Or my life in Ireland.”
Cáel looked like he might protest, but then he nodded. “If we’re to have a book that comes in under one thousand pages, that seems like a good place to start it. Alright.”
Nayara carefully let out her breath to hide her shakiness as relief left her trembling. She didn’t know if Ryan had done it deliberately, but he had allowed her to avoid revealing just how old she really was and just how long she had lived in Constantinople before she had met either Ryan or Salathiel.
But Cáel must know. If Lyle Bean had done his research, as clearly he had done, then the only way he could have learned of her slavery was if he had spoken to her maker. That her maker still survived was a pleasant surprise to her. He was still passing as human, for he was not amongst the Agency personnel.
Cáel had read the research. Cáel knew.
Nayara wasn’t sure if she liked that or not.
“My second proviso,” Ryan continued.
Cáel grinned. “Go.”
“I’m presuming this Lyle Bean is intending to do some sort of interview process? We spill our life stories and he tidies up the narrative?”
“Something like that,” Cáel confirmed.
Nayara could feel herself tightening up just at the idea.
Ryan shook his head. “Not going to happen.”
“Why not?” Cáel asked, his tone reasonable.
“That kid is way too young and he’s too nervous around us. He doesn’t know vampires. He’s not used to us. He’s not comfortable. How are we supposed to open up and talk about stuff we haven’t spoken about for centuries to a kid who jumps whenever we raise our voices?”
Cáel smiled a little. “But you have an alternative proposal.”
Ryan nodded. “The kid can give you his recording equipment and his questions. We tell you our stories. And you get to listen. To every boring hour of it.” Ryan grinned.
Cáel opened his mouth.
“That’s my terms, Cáel. That last one is non-negotiable. Clear your calendar, cancel your appointments, tell ‘em you have an incurable disease. I don’t care.”
Cáel grinned. “Fine. N
ow, if you don’t mind, I’m going to ask Ms. Nayara for this waltz.” He stood up and offered her his hand. “Would you do me the honour?”
Nayara glanced at Ryan, who shrugged. She rose and let Cáel lead her onto the dance floor. He moved her gently into the Viennese waltz. He was a very good dancer. Nayara relaxed and let herself enjoy the beautiful dance without danger to her toes or the hem of her dress.
“I know how to keep secrets,” Cáel said.
She looked up at him, startled. Up into his black eyes. They weren’t twinkling now. They were solemn.
“You were worried,” he added.
“Especially when you told Ryan I had been a slave,” she replied. “Very discreet of you.”
“The muckrakers would have found that out for themselves. Ryan deserved to know that much,” Cáel replied. “Do you not realize how admirable that makes you? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She could find no answer for that.
“It’s the fact that you were brought to Constantinople in three hundred and fifteen, only ten years after Constantine founded the city, that you want to hide from Ryan, isn’t it? Ryan didn’t arrive in the city until ten years before the walls fell, in fourteen fifty three.”
Nayara bit her lip. “Ryan is much older than that. He spent years in Ireland—”
“I know,” Cáel said softly. “I know, Nayara. I read all the research, not just yours.” He spun her out of the way of slower dancers. “I like the ruby necklace you’re wearing, by the way. I thought redheads couldn’t wear rubies, but you seem to be able to.”
Nayara gave him a smile. Small talk. He was reverting to small talk. Why? Did he think she was angry? That he had probed too deep?
“I notice that you’re still wearing that Celtic medallion as well. You never take it off, do you?”
Her heart jumped and started to beat. “I...no. I don’t.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. It was bad enough that they were dancing, basically hip-to-hip and that he could probably feel the fright that had just tripped through her.
“Is it Ryan’s, Nayara?” Cáel asked.
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