Lucifer (Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Book 11)

by D. B. Reynolds

  Yamanaka stumbled suddenly, his eyes wide with surprise. Lucifer could feel the vampire’s shock at the intrusion, something no powerful vampire would ever expect. Lucifer met his stunned gaze with a victorious grin of his own as he drove through Yamanaka’s resistance and forced him to lower his shields. Not completely, Yamanaka was too powerful for that, but enough to create a vulnerability, a weak spot that Lucifer could exploit, as he reshaped a part of his energy into the same spear tip of power that he’d attacked with earlier. But this time it succeeded, driving all the way into Yamanaka’s chest, and knocking him backward with the sheer force of it, slamming his body against the trunk of his Mercedes, and setting the alarm off in an obnoxious blare of sound.

  Yamanaka stared at Lucifer in confusion in the final moments of his life, disbelief written plainly on his face. This should have been his moment of triumph, the completion of his plan to be rid of Sophia, and to rule a territory of his own. He wasn’t supposed to die, to find his death at the hands of an unknown, an unexpected . . . nobody.

  And then he was gone, dust scattering in the cold breeze as the car’s alarm continued its rhythmic pleas for help.

  Lucifer staggered when Yamanaka’s life finally fled. He was still telepathically linked to the other vampire at the moment of his death, and he found himself fighting for his own life as his awareness tried to follow Yamanaka down that final path. It was Eleanor who pulled him back, who intuited what was happening and reached out with her own solid strength to anchor him to his living body, to the earth beneath his feet, and, more than anything else—the tie that bound him more closely to life than any other—to Eleanor herself.

  Lucifer went to his knees, Eleanor’s arms strong around him, her energy a warm blanket of comfort.

  “Stay with me, Luc,” she murmured. “Take what you need.”

  He realized with a start that she was completely unshielded, her mind wide open and vulnerable. It terrified him, even as it touched something deep inside that she would leave herself so exposed in her efforts to give him what he needed.

  Driven by the need to protect her, he twisted around and pulled her into his arms, covering her with his own shields, which he’d never lost completely and was now rapidly rebuilding.

  “Eleanor,” he murmured, cuddling her close, finding as much comfort in her love for him, as he did in the knowledge that she was safe.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, pulling away so she could see his face and look into his eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

  Lucifer grinned. “You know, he did hurt me. I think you need to kiss me all over and make it better.”

  Eleanor tsked playfully, but then wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I was so scared,” she murmured against the skin of his neck. “When you yelled like that . . .”

  “That was anger, bella, at my own ineptitude. Bastien taught me better than that.”

  “Oh. Well, we can’t let Bastien down,” she muttered.

  He laughed, then gripped her long hair and tugged her head back so he could give her a slow, luxurious kiss. “It wasn’t Bastien I was fighting for, baby. And, it sure as hell won’t be Bastien I celebrate with.” He kissed her again, a loud, smacking kiss. “I’m starving. You up for a blood club?”

  She cocked her head and gave him a curious smile. “A blood club? Like . . . each of us finding a partner to feed from?”

  “Oh, hell, no,” he growled. “No one partners you but me. We’ll find a willing human to share, and then we’ll go home and fuck ourselves to exhaustion.”

  “Oh, my. What woman could resist such a romantic proposal?”

  “You want romance, baby? How’s this? I’m going to take you home and kiss every inch of your luscious body.” His hands echoed his words, sliding down her back and over her ass, squeezing gently, before cruising around to her belly, and stroking upward to cup her breasts, gently squeezing the full globes with his fingers. “And then,” he continued as his thumbs strummed her nipples into eager awareness, “I’m going to spread your lovely thighs, and kiss that perfect, pink pussy until it creams all over my tongue, and then, I’m going to make love to you until the sun comes up.” He licked her cheek, and then the crease of her lips, opening her mouth to his kiss. “Is that romantic enough?”

  Eleanor’s heart was pounding against his chest, her cheeks flushed, and her pupils wide with arousal. She stared at him, and then swallowed loudly enough to be heard. “Sounds good,” she breathed, nodding weakly.

  “Only good?”

  “Great,” she amended, her heart still triple-timing. “When do we leave?”

  “Right now. The air around here is a little dusty for my taste,” he added, with a wink.

  Eleanor groaned. “You were doing so well.” She stood and offered him a hand, pulling him up with a strength that still surprised him. “Let’s go. I want the full, promised ravishment, and that takes time.”

  Lucifer laughed and looped an arm over her shoulders. “One ravishment coming up. But first, dinner.”

  “Hmm. No,” Eleanor said somberly. “First I must phone my lady.”

  Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

  SOPHIA STEPPED BACK, swiping her forehead with one arm to get rid of the sweat. She was in the gym, sparring with Fausto, who was one of her regulars. All of her sparring partners were skilled in multiple martial disciplines, and all-around self-defense. But each of them had a particular talent or two that forced her to change up her fighting skills, depending on which of them she sparred with on any given night. Fausto, for example, was a highly skilled swordsman, which one might think was an unnecessary talent in this modern age. Except that, in Sophia’s case, her opponents were very likely to be hundreds of years old, meaning they were often more comfortable with a blade than a gun.

  Sophia herself was from a time when the sword was a man’s first choice of weapon, but as a female she hadn’t been expected to defend herself at all. And until she’d become Lord of the Canadian Territories, her life as a vampire hadn’t involved much in the way of self-defense either, beyond that which she could accomplish with raw power alone.

  It was Colin, naturally, who’d insisted she become a fighter. A warrior queen, he’d called her. And, fortunately, the vampire symbiote had agreed with him. No one knew how it worked, but everyone agreed that the symbiote made vampires more aggressive and more violent than they’d ever been as humans. And those few who were gifted with the power to become vampire lords were the most aggressive of all. Added to a vampire’s superb physical abilities, that aggression made her a deadly combatant . . . when she finally put her mind to it and stuck to the killer training regimen that Colin designed for her—”killer” being more than just a euphemism, in this case.

  She was grateful for that regimen now, because her people were under attack, and she was prepared, both mentally and physically, for whatever her enemies threw at her. But also because right now, the speed and violence of the sparring floor forced her to think about something other than the latest nightmare scenario her brain had conjured up for Colin’s torture.

  Perhaps sensing her distraction, Fausto produced a knife from somewhere. She’d never figured out where he carried all of them, but she was ready for it regardless. He’d drilled this into her until it was pure muscle memory that had her reaching out with her power to cripple his blade hand, even as she attacked him physically, moving faster than even most vampires could follow, catching the blade as it flew from his fingers, then twisting around to yank his head back and place the blade at his throat.

  “Give,” he rasped, his Adam’s apple sliding beneath the sharp edge of the knife. He slapped the mat at the same time, making his surrender clear. Sophia wouldn’t have harmed him, not intentionally, but they hadn’t always gotten along, so he probably figured it couldn’t hurt to be sure. He’d been born in the same era, the same pa
rt of Spain, as Sophia, and she still carried a great deal of anger and resentment against the men of her past. It had taken her some time to get over it and see Fausto for himself and for the skills he could bring.

  She released him in a single, smooth move, lifting the knife and standing up and away before he could react. That was another lesson she’d learned from Fausto. That she should never put all her faith in an enemy’s surrender. Always be prepared for the double-cross, for treachery.

  “Excellent disarm, my lady,” he said now, coming gracefully to his feet.

  She nodded, but kept her distance . . . and his blade.

  He grinned, and took up a defensive position of his own, ready to continue sparring. But even as Sophia rocked on her feet, preparing to move, she was struck by a blow she couldn’t have anticipated.

  Death. In that first second, she thought her own heart would stop. Until the truth hit her—it was Darren Yamanaka who’d died. He was sworn to her, and that made him hers, but, despite the physical blow of his demise, she was having difficulty finding any grief in his death. She quickly stepped back, out of range, one hand up in an unnecessary signal to Fausto, who’d seen her reaction and known something terrible had happened, something that demanded his vampire lord’s attention. And that was all he needed to know. She wanted to keep this death very close to her vest for now.

  Almost from the beginning, she’d suspected Darren had been the one who betrayed her, and kidnapped Colin, but in the absence of clear proof, she’d cautiously, and grudgingly, given him the benefit of the doubt. And now he was dead, but his death alone didn’t give her any answers. Had he died at the hands of her enemies or her allies? A moment’s reflection told her it was probably the latter, mostly because Eleanor had warned her not to trust him. And Eleanor was still alive. She wanted to call her and demand to know what was happening. But she held back. If there was a battle going on, Eleanor didn’t need the distraction, and Sophia trusted her to call as soon as she could.

  So, she waited. Not patiently, but she waited. Eleanor had a unique ringtone, so there could be no question of who was calling. But Sophia obsessively checked to be sure the ringer was on, that it was loud enough for her to hear while she showered and dressed, and then she tucked the phone in her pocket as she stood staring out the big picture window in her office, all the while telling herself there were a million and one things she should be doing instead.

  When the call finally came, she snatched it up mid-ring.

  “My lady,” Eleanor said, sounding breathless.

  “You killed him?” Sophia asked. There was no reason to say who “him” was. They both knew.

  “Not I, my lady. It was Lucifer. But there was no question of his guilt in Colin’s kidnapping.”

  “The fool,” Sophia murmured, but privately her thoughts were less prosaic. Lucifer. Sophia wasn’t thrilled that it was Aden’s big hunter who’d killed her enemy. Lucifer was too clever and far too powerful for her peace of mind. Powerful enough to make a play for her territory. Not today, maybe, but give him a few more decades to expand his skill and experience, and he might very well be looking for a territory of his own.

  And now, he’d killed Darren Yamanaka, which effectively gave him the three Canadian cities that Darren had ruled. Not formally, since the cities were in her territory, and he’d need her blessing to take them, and to get that, he’d have to swear fealty to her. But if he decided to fight her for it, to demand the cities as his due . . . . It would be one more battle she’d have to fight in a war that was already full of pitfalls and betrayal.

  “Can your Lucifer be trusted?” Sophia asked bluntly. She knew that Eleanor loved the handsome brute, but Sophia was confident that the female wouldn’t be so swayed by his pretty face that she’d betray her sworn lord.

  “Absolutely,” Eleanor assured her. “We weren’t hunting Darren; it just happened. We were subtly reconnoitering the tunnels where we believe Colin is being held, when Darren suddenly exited the location. He was completely alone, and so Lucifer seized the opportunity to eliminate a powerful enemy with no witnesses. And Lucifer doesn’t think Darren’s power was enough to cause an identifiable ripple. People will know someone died, but not who. Which means his allies won’t know he’s gone before—”

  “I knew,” Sophia interjected sourly, but then forced herself to admit, “But he’s right. Unless Darren had children that I don’t know about, no one but me—and you—will know exactly who it was that died. But you said you thought Colin was there. Did you see . . .” Sophia couldn’t ask the question, couldn’t bear to know what Eleanor might have discovered.

  “We didn’t see him, my lady,” Eleanor said gently. “We didn’t get that far into the tunnels before Darren emerged. But we have reason to believe that’s where he’s being held. We tracked down and questioned the human who guided Darren and the others to an unfinished and abandoned section of tunnel. The twin brother of this human works for one of the vampires who—But that’s not important. What is important is what he saw when he was there, including a prison cell and at least one sleep chamber for vampires. Lucifer and I are confident that’s where we’ll find Colin.”

  “Excellent. I can have the jet prepped and be there—”

  “Forgive me, my lady,” Eleanor interrupted. “But you can’t tell anyone what I’ve just told you. And you cannot come here. Too many people will suspect the reason for your trip. If Darren’s allies get the smallest hint that we know Colin’s location, they could move him, and we’d have to start all over again. Lucifer and I will go in first thing tomorrow night. From what we’ve discovered, visits by Darren and the others are sporadic. Most nights, there are only a few guards on hand. And since Darren was just there tonight, the odds favor us for a rescue tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow,” Sophia whispered. “Why not tonight?” she asked suddenly, suspicion about Lucifer’s loyalties blooming once again.

  “Lucifer challenged and defeated Darren Yamanaka less than an hour ago, Sophia,” Eleanor said gently. “Obviously, he won, but he was also injured. He needs blood. We both do if we’re to be at full strength for tomorrow night’s operation. We hope we’ll only be facing guards, but we have to be prepared for anyone.”

  “Of course. Forgive me.”

  “Oh, no, my lady. There is nothing to forgive. I try to think what I’d do in your shoes, if Lucifer were the one being tortured, and I cannot even imagine it. You’re strong, and so much braver than I could be.”

  Sophia understood that Eleanor wasn’t referring to vampiric power. It went without saying that she was stronger than all but a few vampires on the whole fucking planet when it came to that. For all the good it did her in this situation. But Eleanor was referring to something else, to her decision to leave Montreal and return to Vancouver to defend her territory and her people, leaving Colin’s rescue to someone else. What Eleanor didn’t understand, however, was that it wasn’t really a choice. Being a territorial lord was a heavy burden, one that forced your hand in so many ways, unless you were a monster who didn’t care how many of your people died to serve your personal ambitions.

  She wasn’t brave. She was bound by her people, and trapped in a way she might not have accepted if she’d known the cost.

  “I will call you the moment we know something, my lady. The moment he’s safe.”

  “Keep yourself safe, too, Eleanor. And I suppose I must thank that handsome devil you’re so fond of for eliminating the traitor.”

  “I’ll convey your gratitude,” Eleanor said with a hint of laughter, but then grew serious once again. “There are more traitors than him. We haven’t identified them all yet, but you must be careful.”

  “Yes.” A delicate chime sounded, as a new message popped up on her cell phone. “Until tomorrow, then,” she said, and disconnected without any further good-byes. She was a modern woman, but had been bor
n in a country and culture that was filled with superstitions, and bidding someone “good-bye” was like daring the gods to interpret the words for themselves.

  Besides, there was nothing good about what she was about to do. Eleanor and Lucifer were hunting for traitors in the eastern half of her territory, but she’d begun her own hunt here in Vancouver. She’d been too soft-hearted, too much like her Sire, who’d thought only of the pleasures of life. What had happened to Lucien would never have happened to Raphael, or any of the others. And she couldn’t help thinking she was as culpable in Colin’s torment as Lucien had been in his own. She’d been too benevolent in the way she ruled, and others had seen it as weak.

  No longer. She was questioning everyone. No one was safe. And if it took pain to get the truth, then that’s what she’d do.

  She glanced down at the clothes she’d chosen for the night. All black. Perfect. It wouldn’t show the blood.

  Montreal, Quebec, Canada

  “YOUR SOPHIA DOESN’T trust me,” Lucifer commented, and Eleanor thought he sounded more amused by it than worried.

  “Lady Sophia doesn’t know you like I do.”

  “And thank God for that. I mean, she’s a beautiful woman, don’t get me wrong, but—”

  “You should stop talking now.”

  Lucifer laughed. “You know I love only you, bella.”

  “Uh huh. That’s the place, up there on the right. Purple awning.”

  He ignored the blare of horns as he swung to the right-hand curb, coming to a stop in front of Montreal’s busiest blood club. One of the valets opened her door, and Eleanor climbed down from the SUV, noting the long line of humans waiting for admission. It seemed unusually busy for a Tuesday night, but then, she wasn’t in Montreal all that often, so maybe this was normal. She knew about this particular club because she’d been here once before, during a visit to the city with Sophia. Ironically, her guide on that visit had been Darren Yamanaka. His duties as master of the city had included oversight of the various blood houses and clubs in Montreal and its suburbs. He’d assured her at the time that this particular club was the most exclusive of them all, the one that attracted a better class of humans, which meant they had money and/or prestige. They were the city’s elite, or at least, the elite’s offspring. As with any exclusive venue, vampire-controlled clubs were very selective about whom they admitted. And just as human chefs insisted that their food look good as well as taste good, so, too, did vampires. Doormen surveyed everyone who sought entrance, and admitted only those who looked acceptable.