by Virna DePaul
The shape-shifter turned to look at Dex. “Problem?”
“My only problem is that I’m here instead of Stateside. Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can be alone. To talk.”
“We are alone. Let’s talk here.”
“Your friend told me you wanted information about shape-shifters killing shape-shifters.” Trosseau jiggled his leg and took a quick glance around. “My informant, the one I’m protecting, the one who has personal knowledge of the bridging, is in hiding. I’m sworn to protect him.”
“Bridging? What the hell is that?”
“Not here. I must ensure my informant is kept safe.”
“Yeah, so you said. Safe from whom? Other shape-shifters, right? Just how do you plan to do that? By isolating him completely? What’s to stop a shape-shifter coming for him in your form? How do you know I’m not a shape-shifter myself?”
“Our kind is easy to spot when you know what to look for. Besides, he’s in a place where shape-shifters cannot take another’s form. On consecrated ground. ”
Well, that was something new. “No shit?”
“No shit. So that answers your question, why there and not here.”
He supposed so. “So we’re going to a church?”
“We’re going to a major church. The second highest point in the city. The Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris.” Without another word, the shape-shifter turned and began walking again.
Within minutes Dex saw it, glowing in the twilight like a beacon. A long path of stairs, edged on either side by a green lawn, led to the majestic building. Made of white travertine, with several domes and arched details, it was a massive structure, its elaborate architecture gentled by its uniform color, interrupted only by the pale green of two massive bronze figures on horseback. The shape-shifter turned and caught him looking at them.
“They are our national saints, Joan of Arc and King Saint Louis IX.”
“Uh huh.” As they walked around the building, Dex’s eye caught another flash of green. Wings. “And that?”
“The Archangel Michael, defeating the serpent. You can see it there, curled around his legs. A symbol for the devil.”
It looked more like a crocodile than a serpent. But when Dex said nothing, the shape-shifter stopped. “Do you believe in the devil, Mr. Hunt?”
Dex immediately thought of his grandfather. The man who’d abandoned him. Hated him. “I believe in evil. Evil that dwells in everyone and everything. Evil that’s harbored in little old women. Fathers. Even small children. But just as there can be false Gods, there are false devils, as well. Scapegoats. Your kind knows that just as much as my kind.”
“Your kind?”
“Half-breeds. Werebeasts. You can’t tell me you don’t—” Movement. A shadow. Dex narrowed his eyes. “What the—”
At Dex’s sudden exclamation, the shape-shifter whirled in a panic, its gaze flying to the statue of the Archangel. “What do you see?”
Dex shook his head. “It’s just—I thought I saw the serpent move.”
The shape-shifter’s eyes widened. “We must go. Hurry. Around this way. We must go to the great bell, the Savoyarde.” He rushed up yet another steep expanse of steps leading to ceiling high bronze doors with foliage designs. When he reached the doors, he turned back to Dex. “Come on.”
Dex followed him. When he stepped into the dim interior, he sucked in a breath. The entire ceiling was covered with paint in vibrant blues, golds, and white. The figure of Jesus, arms outstretched, beckoned to him, the glow of his halo virtually hypnotic so that Dex initially didn’t spot the triad of shape-shifters that stood solemnly in front of the altar.
“Merde,” Trosseau whispered when he saw them.
Dex grunted. “I guess that means you weren’t expecting them. Who are they?”
“Diregeants. Regional leaders. Powerful ones.”
Automatically, Dex spread his legs. Balanced his body. Prepared for attack. “Are they dangerous?”
“Not the way you mean. They’re probably more interested in shutting me up than harming you.”
“And your informant?”
Trosseau looked at Dex and shrugged. “Gone, I’m sure.”
“Why don’t you confirm that while I have a little talk with your friends here?”
“But—”
Dex narrowed his eyes and Trosseau nodded jerkily. “Yes. I’ll do that. But be careful. They hold great influence among my kind. Harming one of them will only make your job more difficult. I’ll meet you out front.” With a final glance at the trio in front of them, Trosseau backed out of the building.
Dex strode forward, noting that the shifters wore matching white robes resembling the habits of monks only of much finer material. Given the altar in the background, their dress made him think of animal sacrifices and pagan rituals. A shiver streaked up his spine. “My name is Dex Hunt. I work for the FBI.”
The shape-shifter in the center inclined his head so he resembled a royal speaking to a peasant. The scent of roses drifted around them, intense and sickly sweet, a stark contrast to their blank expressions. “We know who you are, Mr. Hunt. We know why you’re here, as well. We do not need assistance from outsiders.”
“No assistance has been offered. Yet. But I’ll admit you’ve got my government curious. Fratricide tends to do that.”
“Curious or not, your trip here will achieve nothing.”
“Huh. So you just plan on killing each other until you settle whatever disagreement you’re having among yourselves?”
All three shape-shifters smirked, their expressions morphing so swiftly and simultaneously it was eerie. The middle one continued to speak for them. “A laughable question coming from one whose nation was recently at war.”
“One whose nation is trying its damndest to promote peace,” Dex corrected.
“With little success.”
“I suppose that’s subject to debate.”
“We are no more interested in debate than we are in your help,” the same shape-shifter said.
Tilting his head, Dex studied them, certain he saw genuine regret reflected in their eyes. So they wanted help? What was stopping them from asking for it? “You’re scared shitless,” Dex accused, not missing the way each of them looked away. “What’s this ‘bridging’ about?”
The middle shape-shifter, obviously the leader of the trio, shook his head. “Trosseau has said too much as it is. Go back home, Mr. Hunt.”
“And what of Trosseau’s informant? The one who wanted to talk to me? Is he under your custody and control now?”
“You and your countrymen have done little for our kind in the United States. We have learned to rely on ourselves for protection. We will continue to do so. Please remind Trosseau of that when you join him outside.”
“And yet you’ve dodged my question. Where is Trosseau’s informant?”
They said nothing, simply stared at him without blinking. Dex growled in frustration. “Look, if you tell me what’s going on, I might be able to help.”
The middle shape-shifter sucked in a breath while the other two cast their gazes downward. “At what price? As you said, we’re killing our own kind. That doesn’t happen unless something momentous is at stake. Unless we have no other choice. Right now, we have no choice. And we will trust no one, let alone a half-breed were.”
Ahh, there it was. The slur Dex had been waiting for. Funny how it still managed to rattle his cage. Instinctively, he clenched his fists and teeth. Yet the desperation radiating from the shape-shifters made it easier for Dex to keep his cool. It was obvious he wasn’t going to get anything from them now, but he was right. They were desperate, and that was something he could work with. He had time. And he had Trosseau.
“I’m staying in Paris. I won’t be hard to find when you change your minds.”
He half turned, but the shape-shifter’s voice stopped him. “Staying in Paris might not be a good idea, Mr. Hunt. If I were you, I’d return to the States as soon
as possible.”
“Is that a threat?” Dex grinned and stepped forward. “Because if it is, I’m not opposed to answering it.”
None of them so much as flinched. “It’s no threat,” the middle one said. “It’s merely a suggestion. That which plagues us has spread to the U.S. Perhaps instead of relying on an informant overseas, you should go to your own kind for information. Obserwować Demonie Krawcy.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Again, only the middle shape-shifter answered. “Go, Mr. Hunt. Trosseau waits.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
Zeph Prime had always lived in his big brother’s shadow.
Many, including Zeph’s father, Dante Prime, had recognized that fact and sought to turn Zeph against Knox. Knox, after all, was a dharmire, one whose human father had been accused of betraying the vampire race. Even so, Knox was the Vampire Queen’s firstborn and heir to her throne. Zeph, a full vampire but the product of a mere mating pair between the Queen and his father, was relegated to second best. As such, it should have been easy for Zeph to hate his half brother.
But all Zeph had ever felt for Knox was admiration.
Knox looked after his family and his clan because it was his duty, but also because he loved them. Right now, Zeph couldn’t help wondering if Knox’s duty or love would enable him to do what Zeph was about to do.
Given that Zeph could barely stand to do it himself, he wasn’t so sure.
“Bite me. Do it,” the human female underneath him ordered as her nails raked across his back. Zeph gathered her wrists in one hand and slammed them above her head. Though his gaze never strayed from hers, he was ever aware of her bodyguards standing in the shadows with vamp stun guns trained on him. But he didn’t let their presence inhibit him. Without an express command from their mistress, they wouldn’t intervene, not even if Zeph got rough with her. By now they knew the rougher the sex was, the more she liked it.
“Don’t give me orders,” he snapped. “Not in bed.”
Vanessa Morrison, the First Lady of the United States, struggled vainly against his grip, her mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. “I’ll command you whenever I want, wherever I want. Don’t forget you work for me.”
“I work for the Quorum, not for you,” Zeph reminded her. “And I’ll do that only while it serves my purposes. This,” he said as he thrust deeper into her, causing her back to bow and a moan of excitement to pour from her, “isn’t part of my job description, and I’m not even sure why I’m doing it.”
“You’re doing it because you know how powerful I am and you crave that power. You crave the power that your brother has. Isn’t that why you’re here? Isn’t it the reason for everything you do?”
It was almost funny how one-dimensional people thought he was. If Knox only knew how much impact he had on Zeph’s life, he’d laugh his ass off. Well, he’d have laughed at any other time. Right now Knox was too pissed at Zeph for working with Mahone without his knowledge, even though Zeph was just trying to bring Quorum down. But Zeph wasn’t going to apologize for doing his part to help the world. He might not be a member of an elite Para-Ops team, but he did have his usefulness.
Unfortunately, right now that usefulness entailed fucking the First Lady because she also happened to be a powerful and elite member of the Quorum, a group of humans bent on Otherborn eradication.
When this mission was over, he’d have to practically parboil himself to get the stink of her off him. Even now, with her grinding her hips and licking his ear, his erection began to deflate.
Damn it, focus, Zeph.
Focus.
Focus on someone you would want under you.
And he did.
He imagined her.
Knox’s wife.
Felicia. Red hair. Blue eyes. Porcelain skin.
He’d wanted her for forever, but Felicia had always been in love with Knox, even when Knox had been married to someone else. If there was anything Zeph resented his brother for, it was having Felicia’s love, but that didn’t taint his feelings for his brother. Rather, because he loved his brother so much, he felt guilty for fantasizing about Knox’s wife, even though doing so enabled him to stay hard and fuck the human beneath him.
Disgusted with her and himself, Zeph reared up and bit her neck. Immediately, he blocked the bitter taste of her pure blood from his mind and instead focused on remembering how wonderful Felicia had tasted the one time she’d let him—the time when both of them had faced circumstances that required her to offer herself to him or they’d die.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t tasted her since.
It didn’t matter that he now received pure human blood from the Quorum in exchange for his alleged loyalty to their cause.
Felicia’s essence was inside him. At least he would always have that.
But because he couldn’t have more, could never have more, he’d agreed to help Mahone. He’d agreed to leave his home. His family. He’d agreed to it, even knowing that Knox would be angry at Zeph endangering himself.
He could deal with Knox’s anger at Zeph acting as an undercover agent, especially because Zeph had kept it a secret from him. What he couldn’t deal with was betraying Knox or the possibility that Knox would hate him and disavow him forever because Zeph was in love with Knox’s wife.
After Zeph had wrung two climaxes from Vanessa and had managed to come himself, he ripped himself away from her and got dressed. Vanessa continued to lounge in the bed, completely comfortable with her nudity.
She had reason to be. She was beautiful, with a lithe, strong body. It was too bad she was pure evil.
“So as much fun as this little siesta has been,” Zeph said, “I’m anxious to get back to work. Have you and the other Quorum members decided what your next move is to be?” They’d already gone after the vampires and the felines. Zeph didn’t know if they’d be crazy enough to go after the mages or shape-shifters, but he suspected that had to happen eventually if the Quorum was to achieve its goal of Otherborn separatism.
“You know I don’t discuss business in the bedroom, Zeph. Certainly not with hired thugs.”
He was on her in a second, his fingers wrapped around her throat, his fangs flashing in warning. “Careful, or this hired thug won’t be giving you any more help or information, let alone more screaming orgasms, and from the way you soak them in, you definitely need them.”
She glared at him. “Arrogant bastard. But then you’re a vampire. Enough said.”
Zeph laughed and shook his head before releasing her neck and moving to his feet. “Amazing that you dislike Otherborn so much given it takes one to satisfy you when your husband clearly can’t.”
She rose from the bed, her finger pointing at him in her own warning. “Watch yourself, vamp. My husband is the President of the United States. He’s a little busy running the country.”
“Too busy to fuck well? Then he’s got his priorities wrong. Now, I’ll ask one more time. Does the Quorum have a job for me, or not?”
She jerked on a silk purple robe and belted it before answering. “Not…yet. We’re assessing our options. Believe it or not, Zeph, you don’t have us completely fooled. Isaac might trust you, but I’m not convinced you’re not playing us. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt for now, but we’ll call you when we have need of you. Until then, you’re free to stay here while I return to Washington D.C.”
“Here” meaning the expensively furnished penthouse condo in one of the ritziest neighborhoods in Manhattan. Everything about it screamed class and affluence, things that were normally very important to a vamp like him. Given its owner, he’d rather stick knives in his eyes and burn in the sun.
“Thanks, but I’ll be seeking my amusement elsewhere. Don’t wait too long to contact me. I grow bored really fast. You might just find I’ve picked up new allies in the meantime.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PARIS, FRANCE
“What kind of weird
-ass woo-woo shit have you gotten me into, Mahone?” Dex mumbled to himself, shaking his head as he exited the church. He looked around for Trosseau but saw no sign of him. Figured. The guy and his informant were probably miles away by now. Maybe Trosseau hadn’t been surprised by the presence of the other shape-shifters, after all. And how coincidental was it that those very same shape-shifters had urged Dex to seek out his own “kind” when he already had plans to do so? Granted, his plans were for a nefarious purpose, but what the hell did “Obserwować Demonie Krawcy” mean? He didn’t even know what language that was.
He started down the exterior stairs but then spotted Trosseau’s red hair about twenty feet away. “Hey, Trosseau,” Dex called out.
The shape-shifter ran toward him. Fast. When he got close, Dex noticed his eyes gleaming with some kind of unholy light. What the hell? The guy looked stoned out of his mind. As if he’d been possessed by something not just deadly, but purely evil.
Just as the shape-shifter was about to grab him, Dex twirled, evading his grasp at the same time he brought up his legs in a scissor kick that caught the shape-shifter in the face, knocking his red glasses askew. Instead of staggering back the way he should have, however, the shape-shifter barely flinched. Swiftly, Dex reached for his knife just as Trosseau grabbed his arm and head butted him in the face.
Pain blinded Dex for several precious seconds, allowing Trosseau to get his hands around Dex’s throat. Trosseau squeezed, and the power behind his grip was greater than any creature Dex had encountered, including superhuman vamps. Gasping for breath, he stared into Trosseau’s eyes. “Tro—sseau,” he choked out.
The shape-shifter’s eyes flickered and cleared, as if he had momentarily regained sanity and awareness. His fingers loosened. “Hunt?”
Dex closed his fingers around the hilt of his blade. “Yes. I’m Dex-fucking-Hunt. Now let me—”
Shit. The shape-shifter’s expression had morphed again. His eyes brightened with blood lust and his fingers tightened once more. Dex managed to pull out his knife and was about to plunge it into Trosseau’s gut when—