Iron & Velvet (Kate Kane, Paranormal Investigator #1)

by Alexis Hall

  Then I yanked my arm away, trying to break its grip, but it just clenched harder with its mouthparts. Worst kisser ever. Grabbing the tentacle with both hands, I tried to rip it in two. It felt rubbery, lumpy, and slightly wet, like a condom full of vomit. Worst stress ball ever.

  When another tentacle whipped out and latched onto my biceps, I realised that, tight jeans or not, I had to get a knife or I was fucking dead.

  Unfortunately I was kind of attached to a flying squelch monster and couldn’t reach. I hooked my knee up to my chest and started to work my trouser leg upwards, while trying not to overbalance and present my head as a deliciously available target. Least dignified escape ever.

  Finally, I got my dagger free. It wasn’t particularly sharp—there’s a reason we wanted to get out of the Iron Age—but you can run somebody through with a poker if you put enough weight behind it. I put enough weight behind it.

  I drove the dagger through the monster’s skin and gouged. There was a spray of ick and the tentacle flopped to the floor. The end still stuck to my arm went on suckling, my blood trickling uselessly into a puddle. Well, great. And then two more tentacles hit me, pulling me into a squirming embrace.

  Well, fuck.

  Here lies Kate Kane, killed by a bloodsucking monster in the Knightsbridge flat of a far more attractive bloodsucking monster. Beloved daughter. Sorely missed.

  There was a horrific rending noise and an explosion of offal. I found myself face-to-face with Julian. She was grinning and holding in her outstretched hands the flaccid, dripping remnants of Mr. Squidgy. The rest of him was spattered across the walls. And the floor. On the bed. In the bath.

  “Honestly,” she said, “the lengths some people will go to for a threeway.”

  I pried off the still twitching tentacles. I was starting to feel lightheaded from loss of blood and lack of sleep. “Just so you know, I’m not shagging you in here.”

  “Any excuse to get me back in the sink. Are you all right?”

  “Fine.”

  Julian took me by the wrist and checked the marks. “You’ve lost quite a bit of blood.”

  “Yeah, it’s on the floor.”

  “Do I need to get you to hospital?”

  “No, I’ll be okay. I just need a shower.”

  “Great.” She grinned. “I can languorously soap monster guts off your heaving bosom.”

  “My bosom does not heave.”

  “Well, I’ll need to make an independent assessment.”

  We had a utilitarian shower in which we did, in fact, just shower. Mr. Squidgy had sort of taken the edge off. Whatever I might have told Julian, I was actually feeling a bit shit, and I probably wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding it. I ended up leaning in a corner while Julian gently sponged me down in a thoroughly non-erotic manner. And then she wrapped me in a big fluffy towel, gathered me into her arms, and carried me to the spare room. I was too knackered to object or to fully appreciate how weird it was to be picked up and carted about by a woman nearly a foot shorter than me. I just crawled gratefully under the duvet. To my surprise, Julian snuck in beside me.

  “Um, I’m kind of wiped out.”

  Julian gave an immense yawn. “Look, just because I’m Prince of Sex, that doesn’t make it a constant obligation. It’s after sunrise and I just kicked the arse, well, the flagella, of a killer tentacle monster. I’m pretty tired too. I’ll sex you later.”

  “I didn’t know vampires slept.”

  “Only if we get hurt or kick the arses of killer tentacle monsters.”

  She buried deep into the covers and curled into my back with a murmur of pleasure. At least she wasn’t watching me sleep.

  “Hey,” I said groggily, “you promised me pudding nun.”

  “Well, aren’t you tenacious, sweeting.” Her hand came to rest lightly on my hip. “A bedtime story it is. Once upon a time, in Colchester, there was an oysterer’s daughter.”

  “Oysterer?”

  “A man who catches oysters. Stay with it. And this oysterer’s daughter was—”

  “Was she hot?” I let my hand rest on hers, and her fingers laced through mine.

  “Yes. She was super-hot.”

  “It’s for my mind’s eye,” I explained.

  Julian made a put-upon noise. “She was ful gracios wyth, um, hotness, okay? Anyway. This oysterer’s daughter was cursed, for the Devil had come to her and anointed her eyes with his iniquity, such that she found no beauty in mankind.”

  The last bedtime story I remembered had involved elephants and balloons. In my current state that was about my level. “She what?”

  “She became vain in her imagination.” Julian’s lips brushed against my shoulder. “Her foolish heart was darkened.” She wriggled a little bit closer, sliding our bodies sweetly together. “She dreamed of Bathsheba in the moonlight.” There was a long silence. “She was a lesbian, sweeting.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Wracked with guilt at her . . .” Julian’s hand slipped out from under mine and snaked up to my breast “. . . unnatural yearnings, she surrendered herself to a convent. Needless to say, thrusting herself into cloisters full of nubile young novices did not alleviate her condition. Such was her fervour for redemption that she soon came to the notice of the Order of St. Agrippina.”

  “The who?”

  “A holy sisterhood devoted to protecting the world from evil spirits.”

  I perked up a bit. “You mean demon-fighting ninja nuns?”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “Kill anything interesting?”

  “You’re so bloodthirsty, sweeting. Quite a lot of vampires, actually, a couple of werewolf packs, a faery lord, and the occasional demon.” There was a pause, and Julian’s hand found mine again. “But the darkest and the deadliest creature that the Order faced was Anacletus the Corruptor, an ancient vampire of unimaginable power and unspeakable appetites. They pursued him across half of Europe and slew scores of his progeny, and, in vengeance, he took one of the sisters for his own.”

  “Did you get her back?”

  She burst out laughing. “Are you unconscious? It was me, you goose.”

  “Sorry.”

  “He took her and turned her and kept her. For decades it was his mission to make her as corrupt as he. Anacletus had long since withered past material pleasures, so his only joy was in witnessing the debasement of others. He subjected the oysterer’s daughter—”

  “You mean, you?”

  “The oysterer’s daughter. It’s my story and I’ll tell it how I want. He subjected her to every temptation imaginable.”

  “Is this where the pudding comes in?”

  “Alas, the luscious world of puddings was already lost to the oysterer’s daughter.”

  “Alas.”

  “But,” Julian went on doggedly, “it was to no avail. She resisted all enticements and finally, in disgust, he gave her to his incubus, a wretched creature who had been bound to his will for untold centuries.”

  “Is this a recurring character?”

  “Will you shut up? The oysterer’s daughter told the demon about mercy and forgiveness and the eternal hope of redemption. And the demon’s black heart melted and he fell to his knees before her—”

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh, all right.” She nuzzled into the back of my neck, her teeth nipping lightly at the skin. “The demon realised it was his chance to get the hell out of there. And together they escaped, setting their captor’s palace on fire, as is traditional. The pair fled to London, where they parted ways, not to meet again for many years. And the oysterer’s daughter, believing all that had happened to be the Devil’s curse for her inversion, wallowed in darkness and misery, drinking the blood of vermin, and praying to a God who wouldn’t answer for a death that wouldn’t come.”

  I rolled over to face her. “That’s really sad. What happened next?”

  “She got over it.”

  “Is that it?”

  I caught the glint of Julian
’s teeth as she smiled. “Yep.”

  “I thought you were going to be redeemed by the love of a good woman.”

  “There’s still time, sweeting.”

  I woke to the taste of wine and roseleaves. Something was wrong. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar ceiling. The sheets with a thread count so high it felt like being wrapped in clouds. Or the vampire prince nuzzled into the crook of my arm. But mainly it was the fact I didn’t have a hangover.

  Huh.

  We’d slept through most of the morning. There was a sheen of noonday light seeping through the thin curtains. I was bad at getting up even when I wasn’t entangled with a hot chick but, after a few minutes, necessity demanded, and I realised I was going to have to find a bathroom that wasn’t full of monster splatter.

  Julian made a sleepy sound as I eased out of the covers. “Mmmf, five more minutes.”

  And when I came back she’d sneakily annexed my side of the bed and was rolled in a sausage of duvet. Her hair was all tousled. She looked, frankly, adorable. I leaned over to kiss her and, quick as a snake, she hooked her arms round my neck and pulled me down on top of her.

  “Gotcha.”

  “I knew it was a trap.”

  I reached up and closed my hands over her wrists, stroking the cool, tender skin of her forearms. Even in full daylight, she could easily have resisted, but she let me break her hold. I pinned her hands to the pillow and smirked down at her.

  “Gotcha back.”

  She stirred beneath me and I felt the languorous stretch of her body even through the duvet. I fit my fingers to hers, tracing my thumbs over the pale lines that crossed and re-crossed her palms until I felt a shiver in her skin, an answer to the needle sparks of desire that flashed inside me. She seemed absurdly fragile. But her eyes were as endless and as ancient as the sky. Her strength, as undeniable as steel, yielded to me without hesitation.

  I bent to kiss her, slipping my tongue between her fangs into the velvet softness of her mouth. The same rush of madness. She tasted of promises and secrets. Although I was holding her down, I felt like I was falling. We shed the duvet, falling together, skin to skin. She was as smooth as silk and marble, but her mouth was a spill of heat under mine. Her liberated hands traced the curve of my spine, pleasure igniting like stars wherever she touched me.

  I tasted the hollow at the base of her throat and the fragile ridges of her collarbones, the softness of her breasts, and the sleek valley that led across her unbeating heart. Julian’s fingers tangled in my hair, her body twisting against mine, her lips opening on a deep, rich sound of desire. I’ve always been pretty quiet, so the intensity of her response caught me by surprise. Even more surprising was how much I liked it. Her passion and her ease in it heated my skin like lovers’ breath.

  I tend to think of myself as focused. I get the job done (though I don’t charge expenses). Maybe I’m just a naturally wary person. Or maybe it’s because people keep trying to kill me. But this was different somehow. It was Julian. She pursued her pleasure like it was her prey. She was fearless, relentless, and shameless. And I was out of my depth.

  My head was spinning again. She sparkled in my mouth like champagne. My kisses landed on her skin as vivid as butterflies. The idle play of her fingertips glittered over me like dew across a spider’s web. The world had collapsed into nothing but this. Tangled sheets, tangled bodies, and Julian.

  A wave of cold air suddenly swept the room, and a gravelly voice came from the doorway: “I seek audience with the Prince of Cups.”

  I rolled away from Julian. There were two knives in the hall and one in the master bedroom covered in monster. I was fucked. But, unfortunately, only metaphorically. In the absence of weapons, I scrabbled for a sheet and pulled it over myself.

  “One moment, Your Highness.” Julian rose from the bed and pulled on a robe. Standing at the foot of the bed were four vampires, which was exactly four vampires more than I’d want to watch me having sex. They were the Prince of Swords, two of his progeny, and—oh hurrah—Patrick, wearing an expression of utter betrayal.

  Aeglica Thrice-Risen, the Prince of Swords, looked exactly like what he was: a one-armed giant who basically refused to die, from a time when beards, long hair, and furry boots were all the rage. Right now, what with it being the twenty-first century, he was wearing a surprisingly well-tailored suit and an overcoat with a fur collar, although he still had coarse shoulder-length hair in warrior’s braids and a beard like the drummer from a Norwegian death metal group.

  I’d met him once before, the first time I came to London, back when I was seventeen and pleading for Patrick’s life. At least I’d been dressed then. His job was to kill things that the Council wanted killed. Anything from inconvenient mortals, to monsters from beyond the stars, to whiny pillocks who thought suicide was a great way to tell your girlfriend how much you cared. I’d only met the others briefly, but I was pretty sure the Edwardian widow with the claws and the veil was probably Mercy, and the Aryan poster boy was Sir Caradoc.

  Between the bloodsucking tentacle monster, the mob of vampire enforcers, and my dickhead ex-boyfriend, I was really beginning to miss Tash the Teetotal Lesbian.

  “I don’t normally discuss business in my bedroom, Aeglica,” said Julian, with a smile.

  “I’ve heard otherwise.” Sir Caradoc sneered.

  Julian shot him a contemptuous glance. “Your dog needs a muzzle,” she told Aeglica.

  “Be silent, Caradoc.” Aeglica raised his hand. “That is not how you address a Prince.”

  “My apologies, Lady.” Caradoc bowed his head, but he didn’t look particularly sorry.

  “Highness,” corrected Julian.

  Caradoc glanced at the Prince of Swords and found no support. “My apologies, Highness.”

  “So,” continued Julian, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “You have been attacked.” I’d say this for Aeglica: he got straight to the point.

  “I’m flattered, but I’m fine. How did you even find out?”

  Mercy stepped forwards. “There is a large hole in your back wall and the dismembered corpse of a void-beast lying in plain view of your patio. The police were alerted, and Patrick brought the matter to us.”

  Julian did her best to look innocent. “Whoops.”

  “This was the second attack,” said Aeglica. “This must be stopped.”

  “I’ve got someone looking into it.”

  Aeglica regarded me for what felt like a long time. One of his eyes was blue, the other brown, and his attention would have been intense even if I hadn’t been dressed only in a bed sheet. “Is this her?”

  “Yep.” Julian grinned.

  He thought about it. “It does not seem,” he concluded, “that she is being very useful.”

  I normally don’t stand for people telling me how to do my job. But then I don’t normally try to fuck the client in the middle of a murder investigation. I knew there was a reason I didn’t work for vampires. “Shall I just leave?”

  Julian patted my knee. “No. You stay right there, sweeting.”

  Patrick chose this moment to defend my honour. “Don’t tell her what to do,” he snarled. He had never liked other people ordering me around.

  Aeglica turned slowly, and the weight of his gaze fell on Patrick. “Mr. Knight. Have you not duties to perform?”

  I was pretty sure that Patrick thought cockblocking me was his most important duty, but he probably wasn’t going to be able to convince the Prince of Swords. He cast one last smouldering glance in my direction and left.

  “Look, I’m handling it,” said Julian.

  Aeglica turned his attention back to her. “With respect, you are not.”

  “You know, I wouldn’t take that from anybody else.”

  “Yes.” He paused. “We must not show weakness, Julian. If you do not act, I must.”

  “It’s fine, it’s only been five days.”

  “Five days,” said Mercy coldly, “in which you have faile
d to execute the most basic duties of your position. One of the wolfkin was murdered on your territory and you sent a mortal to tell the family. Then you allowed yourself to be attacked by a monster of the void and left its dismembered corpse lying in your ground floor apartment in clear view of the patio.”

  In Julian’s defence, she hadn’t exactly sent a mortal to tell the werewolves their cousin had been murdered. The mortal had gone on her own. But I didn’t particularly want a room full of vampires getting interested in the way I do my job.

  “Enough, Mercy.” Aeglica’s voice was unusually gentle.

  “Really don’t need to be lectured by a minion,” Julian snapped. “I’ve been ruling this domain since you were giving handjobs in Venice. Don’t fuck with me.”

  Sir Caradoc smirked. There’s only one thing worse than vampire politics, and that’s vampire family politics.

  Aeglica blinked slowly. “Do not threaten my aeth-sweord. It is not your place.”

  “Then keep them out my face.”

  He nodded. “Be careful, Julian.” And then turned to me. “I did not expect to see you again, Miss Kane.”

  This could be bad. Very bad. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

  “I had never before been defied by a seventeen-year-old girl.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I was in a weird place.”

  “You may continue your investigations.”

  “We’ll keep you informed,” offered Julian. “But this was supposed to be a private party, so do you think you could leave us to it?”

  They all left. Thank fuck.

  “Well, that was a buzzkill.” Julian huffed out a sigh. “Now, where were we, sweeting?”

  I scrambled out of bed and began looking for my pants. “We’re at the point where I remember I have a job to do.”

  She pouted. “Are you sure we weren’t at the point where you were lying on top of me? I liked that point.”