by Chloe Hart
He shook his head again, and a sliver of panic went through her. Sitting across from him, seeing his steely-eyed confidence and feeling his power, she’d felt safe for the first time since the arrow had whizzed past her ear tonight. With Liz and Jack out of reach in Canada, she needed an ally—and Evan Grant would be a powerful one.
“A hundred thousand.” She’d been planning to negotiate a lot more gradually—anything up to the three quarters of a million she had immediate access to. But she wanted Evan to know she meant business.
He sat back in his chair, his eyes on her. “Anything on the table besides money?”
What could he mean? And whatever it was he wanted, couldn’t he buy it with money?
“I have jewelry. I have some rare artifacts from—”
“Not what I had in mind, love. I was thinking something a bit more personal.”
She felt bewildered. “Like what?”
He studied her through hooded eyes, a faint smile on his face. “I’ve heard stories, you know. About Faery blood. Wouldn’t mind having a taste.”
His words hung in the air between them. Her pulse throbbed, bringing blood to the surface of her skin.
“I…don’t do that.”
He tilted his head to the side. “I can see you’ve never been marked. But there’s a first time for everything, yeah?”
Her face was flaming. Her eyes dropped to the desk, and she took a deep breath.
He sounded so casual about it. And why wouldn’t he? That’s what his club was about, wasn’t it? She remembered the woman who’d come out of this office a few minutes before she’d gone in, her hand pressed to her neck, an expression of dreamy pleasure on her face.
She kept her eyes down, hoping that Evan couldn’t somehow sense the truth about her. That she’d fantasized about vampires from the time she’d learned they really existed.
There were so many taboos in the Fae clans against mating with a vampire or allowing a vampire to bite you that the unspoken edict felt bone deep. Her best friend, Liz, had already come under fire for her relationship with Jack Morgan, endangering her status within the Green Fae clan. The fact that Jack was their ally hadn’t stopped the more conservative Fae from making nasty comments.
Even without all that cultural baggage, Celia knew she couldn’t give Evan what he was asking for so casually. Liz had told her a vampire’s bite wasn’t just a simple exchange of bodily fluids. It was a deeply emotional and sexual experience—for the person being bitten, anyway, if not always for the vampire—and not to be taken lightly.
And blood shouldn’t be given as payment. She was sure that kind of exchange went on in Evan’s club all the time, but she wasn’t about to sink to that level. She might be scared and desperate, but she wasn’t yet at the point where she was willing to sell her body—any part of her body—to buy security.
“I have a boyfriend,” she heard herself say, though she’d only been dating Danny a month…and though she doubted Evan would care. He’d probably bitten hundreds of women who had boyfriends or husbands.
He froze for a second. “If you have a man, where the hell is he? It’s his job to protect you.”
An oddly Victorian attitude for a supposedly amoral vampire. “He’s human,” Celia said defensively. “We’ve only been dating a little while, and…and I haven’t told him about the supernatural stuff yet. He doesn’t know I’m part Fae. He doesn’t know Faeries exist.”
“Sounds like a hell of a relationship.”
She bristled at that, but since she had no desire to discuss her love life with Evan Grant she decided to let it go.
“The point is, my blood isn’t part of our negotiation. I’ll give you two hundred thousand dollars to let me stay here, under your protection, for one month. I think you’ll agree that’s a very generous offer.”
“No.”
She blinked. “You don’t think it’s generous?”
He shrugged. “The offer’s fine. But I won’t be taking you up on it.”
Her hands tightened into fists. It actually hadn’t occurred to her that he might turn her down. She’d had the impression that Evan Grant would do anything if the price was right. “Three hundred thousand.”
He grinned at her. “I wouldn’t mind sitting here a while to see how high you’ll go, but the truth is, you interrupted me in the middle of a meal. I’d like to get back to it.”
The image of that other woman flashed before her mind’s eye.
“You’d do it for blood, but not for money?”
He shook his head, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I wouldn’t do it for blood, either. I was just jerking your chain before, to see how red your face would get. You’re cute when you blush.”
A swirl of emotions clouded her usually rational thought process. Evan wouldn’t let her stay here. And he was making fun of her. She was in danger of her life, and he was making fun of her.
“You mean…you weren’t even serious? About wanting my blood?”
He shrugged again. “Like I said, I wouldn’t mind having a taste—but blood is blood. I’m guessing the rumors about Fae blood being special are exaggerated. And you’re just an eighth, right? Mostly human, like you said. Not that I’ll turn you down if you want to lose that particular brand of virginity. But I wouldn’t offer you a rusty nickel for the privilege of biting your lily white throat, much less the protection of my home. I’ve got no shortage of willing necks.”
Her cheeks burned. He was treating this like a joke. He was treating her like a joke.
“I’m sure that’s true.” She rose to her feet. “Well, I’m sorry we’ve both been wasting our time.”
She fought to stop the burning in her eyes from turning into real tears. She would die before she’d let herself cry in front of this cold-hearted bastard.
“No problem, love. It was mildly entertaining. Give Jack my regards.”
“On the off chance I’m still alive when he gets back from Canada, I will.”
She winced inwardly when she heard the words come out of her mouth. It sounded like a little girl’s defiance, along the lines of, you’ll be sorry when I’m dead.
Considering Evan had made it clear he didn’t care if she died or not, it was a particularly empty shot.
“Goodbye, Mr. Grant,” she said, thankful her voice didn’t tremble.
She headed for the door, walking stiffly, and had her hand on the knob when she heard his voice behind her.
“Wait.”
She kept her hand on the knob, turning her head to look over her shoulder.
He seemed as relaxed as ever, except for a little tension around his jaw. “If the Fae really wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Maybe this was just a warning. If you’ve got the brains God gave geese, you’ll make things right with your people. Offer to stop doing whatever it is you’re doing. If you won’t do that, then get out of town until your mates are back.”
She stared at him, unable to remember ever hating someone as much as she hated Evan Grant at this moment. “Thanks for the advice.” She was still clutching her checkbook, and now she made a show of poising her pen above it, ready to write. “Do I owe you anything for that?”
He shook his head slowly, his brown eyes unreadable. “Not a penny. Good luck to you, Ms. Albright.”
This time she didn’t answer. She just turned the knob, went through the door, and closed it behind her, pleased that she managed not to slam it.
Only when she was standing in the hallway outside his office did she realize she’d left the arrowhead behind. She debated going back in there, but only for a second. She’d already used her magic to sense the poison on the tip; she doubted she’d be able to learn anything else from it.
And if she were lucky, Evan Grant would touch it accidentally and die a horrible, lingering death.
Chapter Three
Evan had to fight every impulse in his body to keep from following her. He was determined to overcome the atavistic urge assailing him—the urge to go after Celia Albright and
stand between her and danger. The urge to shield her with his body from anything that dared threaten her.
What the hell was happening to him?
His incisors had been tingling from the moment she’d walked in the door, but he’d been able to tamp that down. He might have reacted that way to any pretty girl. But the more they’d talked the stronger the feeling had become, until the moment she mentioned she had a boyfriend.
In an instant, it was all he could do to control his demon. He’d felt blind rage at the idea that she belonged to someone, and an unaccountable need to mark her as his own. And then to hear that the man was human, unable to protect her…that he didn’t even know who she was…
But then, by dint of ferocious effort, common sense had reasserted itself.
He was too smart to get in the middle of Fae politics—or whatever Celia Albright was mixed up in. He needed to get her out of his place and make it clear he would not offer her protection.
So he’d acted like an asshole, and driven her away. Mission bloody well accomplished.
He’d been worried she might beg or plead or cry, and he’d steeled himself against that. But she hadn’t done any of those things.
She’d just left.
Evan rested his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands. What if she was right? What if her own people really were after her? It was hard to believe she could represent any kind of threat to the Fae, no matter what she’d found out about that green shit they drank. But what if he was wrong?
Not that it mattered to him, he reminded himself. He was well clear of whatever situation Tinkerbell had landed herself in. The Fae had killed his maker, and no matter how much the bastard might have deserved it, his memory of their cold-blooded assassination had made him permanently wary of any interactions with that particular race. No way would he do something as stupid as offer sanctuary to one of them.
When he raised his head again, his eyes fell on the arrow she’d laid on his desk. It had come within inches of her, she’d said. And it had been dipped in poison.
Without warning, his fangs burst from his gums. He realized that he was trembling with the desire to kill—to kill whoever had sent that thing towards her, whether it was with murderous intent or merely to convey a warning.
His hands clenched into fists. He couldn’t give into this. He was no Jack Morgan, gone soft-hearted over humans and Faeries, risking his life to protect others. He was Evan Grant, and he cared first, last, and only for himself.
That was his credo, and it had stood him in good stead for the last seventy odd years. He’d decided a long time ago that he would never put anyone or anything ahead of his own interests.
Especially not a female. He’d seen good vamps turn into blithering idiots when that primal mating urge took over, and he’d only ever felt contempt for them. He felt contempt for any male who acted like a fool over a woman.
An image of Celia Albright flashed before his mind’s eye. She’d surprised him more than once. He’d pushed her buttons deliberately, and she’d stuck around gamely. She’d been frightened, but she hadn’t let her fear make her irrational. She’d come here with a purpose and a plan, and even when her plan failed she hadn’t given way to emotion.
Her voice had quivered the tiniest bit, but that was all. He remembered the way she’d answered him when he’d told her to give Jack his regards. “On the off chance I’m still alive when he gets back from Canada, I will.”
He stared down at the arrow as, unbidden, an image came to his mind of Celia Albright lying on a city sidewalk with that thing piercing her heart. Those green eyes open but empty, never again to sparkle with intelligence or determination or life.
He closed his eyes and took a deep, unnecessary breath.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
He opened his eyes and said it louder. “Fuck!”
Then he surged to his feet and went after her.
She was gone by the time he found Shank by the front door. “Which way?” he asked sharply.
“Celia? She went towards the Charles,” his bar manager said, looking puzzled. “But I thought she said you wouldn’t—”
“You’re in charge for the night,” Evan told him, and then took off down the street towards the river.
He spotted her after a few minutes, walking swiftly down a deserted side street towards a college neighborhood, and felt a surge a relief. At least he hadn’t sent her out of his club and straight into the arms of death.
He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should make his presence known. But what the hell would he say to her? I’ve changed my mind, I can’t bear to think of you coming to harm, please let me take care of you?
No. No fucking way. He might have an unaccountable urge to protect this girl, but he hadn’t transformed into a poncy idiot. He’d follow her home, just to make sure she got there all right. Then, once he knew she was safe for the night, he could decide on his next move. Maybe he could detail Shank to protect her. He could order him to lie about it, too—tell Celia he was acting on his own, without Evan’s knowledge. Or maybe he could—
He heard the sing of a bowstring a millisecond before he felt the arrow. But in that millisecond he dove for the ground, which probably saved his life.
Even as he felt the shaft pierce him, his first thought was for Celia. She was only half a block ahead of him.
“Celia! Run, goddammit!”
She spun around just as an arrow whizzed past her. He forgot the searing pain in his back as he shot to his feet, reaching out with his senses and moving with blinding speed.
There, jumping down from the fire escape. With a roar he sprang forward and fell on the archer, knocking the crossbow away and pinning his foe to the ground.
He felt his lips curl back in a feral snarl. He hadn’t killed in more than six decades, but he was going to make an exception for this—
Woman.
The archer was a woman, staring up at him with defiant hatred.
He froze, staring down at her. Then he heard an amused voice behind him—a voice he recognized.
“Hello, Evan.”
He jerked his head around. Hawk Blakestone was standing a few yards away, lighting a cigarette as casually as if he were in Victoria station, instead of standing beside an old friend who had an arrow sticking out of his back and his hand around the throat of the woman who’d just shot it at him.
“Good to see you, Hawk,” he said, his tone almost as cool as the other vampire’s. “I’m a bit busy at the moment, but if you’re in town for a few days maybe we can catch up some night. The first round will be on me.”
Hawk took a long drag on his cigarette. Evan felt the woman beneath him stir, and he tightened his grip on her throat. She stilled immediately. As Hawk let the smoke curl out of his mouth on a slow exhale, Evan glanced around to see if Celia had run as he’d told her. She was nowhere in sight, so she must have.
In spite of his own somewhat precarious situation, tension eased from his muscles at the knowledge that Celia was safe.
Finally Hawk spoke. “I’d love to toss back a few with an old friend, but I’m not in town for long. I’m here on a job.”
Hawk had once been an assassin—the most feared assassin in the vampire underworld. Then, about ten years ago, he’d dropped out of sight. Word was he’d gone into retirement.
Something had obviously lured him out.
“A job,” Evan repeated. “Well, well. I can’t recall pissing anyone off lately—no one rich enough to afford you, anyway—so I’m assuming you’re not here for me.”
“Not you, no.”
Evan glanced down at the woman he’d captured. She had a mane of silvery blonde hair spread out on the asphalt, and green eyes filled with loathing. Her mouth worked for a few seconds and then she spit at him.
He used his free hand to wipe the saliva from his cheek. “Her?” he asked.
“No.”
“Pity,” he muttered.
He had a feeling he knew exactly who Haw
k was in Boston to kill, and the assassin’s next words confirmed it.
“Celia Albright’s the name. The girl you shouted after a minute ago.” Hawk took another drag on his cigarette. “Be a shame if she means anything to you. Because then I’d probably have to kill you, too, to keep you from interfering.”
Jesus.
Someone had taken a hit out on Celia. Someone powerful enough—or rich enough—to tempt Hawk Blakestone out of seclusion.
He looked down at the blonde. “And what about you, love? Have you been hired to kill Celia, too? Popular girl, that. Knows how to win friends and influence people.”