by Linda Wisdom
She looked around and was relieved to find nothing familiar about the room. One of her biggest fears in returning here was that by stepping into the past all her nightmares would return. Instead, the furniture was more modern, even more lavish than back in 1932. Film stars back then lived excessive lives and Clive Reeves had gone beyond many with his wild lifestyle. He continued that more than seventy years later. Even so, memories were more powerful than the reality before her. It was too easy for her memory to overlay the room with the Roman-style couches and low tables that had dominated the rooms back then. Writhing figures sought a fulfillment that would be fleeting at best and only leave them empty and dissatisfied. The hunger would never end. Another room was candlelit, only one couch in there, a waterfall spilling down one wall, pornographic artwork adorning the other three. The presence of incense was so powerful it was a narcotic to the senses. Her screams were so loud, so strong, her throat burned, yet no one heard her. Or if they did, they ignored her. She swallowed the nausea that crawled up her throat.
Her impulse to turn around and run as far as she could in the other direction grabbed her and held on tight.
“Good evening.”
Now there was a voice she would never forget. With Nick’s reassuring presence by her side she was able to turn around and smile. “Our host, I believe.” Her throaty Italian accent sounded nothing like her usual voice.
Even dressed formally in black slacks and a silk cream-colored shirt instead of the casual clothing she had seen in the parking garage, he was still a monster. All she had to do was look into eyes that held no soul, no humanity, to know she had to destroy him before he obliterated any more. Only Nick’s slight hold on her arm kept her from drawing down whatever it took to burn the man into the ground.
Oh, that’s him! He feels so evil! Jazz ignored Irma’s distress that bounced around inside her head.
He smiled and sketched a shallow bow. “Clive Reeves. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” He looked from one to the other.
She held out her hand. Her razor-sharp nails matched the scarlet on her toes. When he lifted her hand she didn’t expect him to turn it over and press a kiss into her palm. She resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her dress.
“Adelina,” she said.
His face lit up. “How appropriate. Your name means noble.”
“Rodrigo,” Nick’s normally deep voice was more baritone and Spanish in flavor.
“Charmed.” Clive sketched another bow. “We enjoy new faces here.” He glanced at their champagne flutes.
Luckily, Jazz had thought quickly enough to have the liquid resemble champagne mixed with blood before they entered the house. But there was still something in the man’s gaze that unsettled her, especially when he took his time studying her face. She knew her illusion spell was still holding or he would have called her out here and now.
“We have been told by ones such as Master Foulshadow that you have the power to return our true lives to us,” she said softly. She knew even if Tyge was questioned, he wouldn’t want to admit he didn’t know anyone as beautiful as she. His nature wouldn’t allow it. The slime.
He frowned. “How long have you walked only at night?”
Nick moved slightly in front of Jazz. “A little over three hundred years for Adelina. Four hundred for myself.” He smiled and ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “The first time I saw her I knew she was meant to spend eternity with me. But now we wish to return to our mortal lives.” His expression was the ultimate bored vampire. “After all, it isn’t as if we can’t find someone to change us back if we so wish.” He chuckled.
Clive studied their clothing, judging cut and cost. Jazz deliberately lifted her flute, displaying a ring bearing a diamond the size of Texas. She knew he didn’t need, nor want, money, but she had to play the part. “What I offer is not cheap.”
“Nothing of value is.” Jazz chose to speak up. “Whatever you wish, we will pay it. We are weary of only seeing the sunset and wish to see a sunrise.”
He smiled again. “Beauty is always welcome here. And anything you wish is yours. You only have to ask. We will speak more of your personal desires later.” He bowed again and moved on, greeting more guests.
One of the female slaves walked past, offering them both a tentative smile. Nick gave a short shake of the head. She ducked her head and moved swiftly on. Within seconds, a vampire with glowing red eyes grasped her arm with a bruising pinch of his fingers and led her toward a curtained alcove. Judging by the way he hungrily latched his gaze on the young woman’s revealed breast, Jazz feared the creamy skin would soon end up in shreds at best and she would be dead at worst. But then, by the time he finished with her, she might welcome death.
“Nothing is real here,” Jazz whispered, taking in the champagne flutes filled with a combination of blood and champagne, the richly dressed guests and the lavishness of the mansion itself. “It’s like something out of a surreal movie where the guests invited for dinner have no idea they could be dinner.”
“We should circulate.” Nick dropped his hand to hers and laced his fingers through hers.
“This is nothing new to you, is it?” While she had attended her share of preternatural parties over the centuries, she hadn’t liked most of them. Most vampires cared for little other than themselves and instant gratification. Other preternatural creatures were the same.
The first time she had entered this house, it was filled with mortals and she felt as if she was truly part of the human world. By the end of the evening, she had been convinced she had faced the worst monster of all. For the next five years she slept with the lights on and Fluff and Puff huddled by her side.
“Admittedly, my kind have one-track minds when it comes to excess,” Nick said in a low voice. “And for a time, I thought the same as they did. I was lucky to learn excess meant nothing.”
“Good thing. You can make sure I don’t make any mistakes, like throwing a few fireballs around here.” She averted her gaze from a lovely female vampire falling to her knees before one of the male servers and unzipping his pants. Jazz really hoped Madame fanged-and-lovely wasn’t about to literally gobble him up.
Is she doing what I think she’s doing? Jazz guessed Irma would have a full education before the evening was over.
“A well crafted staircase,” Nick commented, guiding her to the front of the house before her distaste was revealed to others. Keep your cover he deliberately murmured inside her head. We’ve come too far now. “This is the style I wish for our home, darling.”
“Yes, it would work well, wouldn’t it?” she replied, keeping to her persona. She noted the silk cushioned couches and chairs, highly polished tables, and elegant chandeliers. “Lovely.” She paused to admire one of the chandeliers brilliant with candlelight.
“I purchased the chandelier from a seventeenth-century castle in England.” Clive walked up to them. The contents of his champagne flute were a darker, richer color than many of the other glasses around. “The duke who owned it didn’t want to give it up, but I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” he said, with a smile that was positively chilling.
Jazz didn’t want to think what the exact contents of his flute were or what kind of offer he made the duke.
“You have excellent taste.” Jazz forced a smile as she raised her flute to her lips. She was glad it tasted like cherry Kool-Aid instead of the alternative. “It reminds me of our own estate just outside of Paris.”
He stared at her, visually stripping her gown from her body and finding her to be everything he would want in a woman. The need for a long hot shower with lots and lots of soap came to mind. “Still, I wonder why you are here. Ones as young as the two of you generally prefer keeping your lifestyle.”
“We told you why,” she said bluntly, ignoring Nick’s tension. “Plus we were told you welcome vampires. Is that not true?”
“Yes, but as I said admittance is by invitation only. And the one you arrived with doesn’t remember
you.” His smile turned deadly.
Jazz and Nick looked over his shoulder to see Tyge standing by a small mahogany table. Gold coins were scattered across the highly polished surface.
“The bas—” Jazz’s words froze in her throat as Clive whipped a hand up, a large polished crystal nestled in his palm. The power glimmered across the surface.
Jazz and Nick stared at the crystal, seeing their true selves dressed in their black clothing instead of the formal wear Jazz had conjured up.
“Did you not think I wouldn’t take precautions against unwanted guests?” Clive asked, a cruel smile tipping his lips. “Although, I must say I do prefer the lovely gown you’re wearing, Jazz. It shows you at your best.” His gaze fastened on her breasts.
“Your precautions are traitors who value gold over morals. How charming,” she drawled.
“Nikolai.” Clive turned to Nick. “It is nice to see you again. A friend of yours was here not long ago. We had an interesting chat before …” his voice trailed off meaningfully.
Nick was professional enough not to react. “I have many friends.”
“Yes, I’m sure you have, but how many of those friends served the great Roman Empire?” Clive asked.
Jazz felt Nick’s hand tighten on hers until she feared the bones would be ground to dust.
She felt chilled to the bone as she stared at her enemy’s face. He was enjoying their battles to mask their emotions. If it hadn’t been for Nick standing next to her, she knew she would have unleashed the mother of all spells.
“Don’t be so sure about that, Jazz,” Clive said, reading her thoughts and intentions easily. “I have dealt with beings you cannot even imagine. With a word I could strip that lovely flesh from your hide before you could blink an eye. You would still be alive but feel pain you could never imagine. You would beg for death and I would only refuse to give you that release. I could also have you on your knees before me doing what I’m sure you do best. Don’t even think about it, vampire.” His icy stare whipped to Nick who took a step forward. “Because then I would be forced to get even more creative to the point where you would watch your lovely witch die a very slow and extremely painful death.”
“You won’t kill her, Reeves,” Nick said, his tone and manner just as cold and deadly as Clive’s, if not more, “because she’s your card to my cooperation, and the only way you have any hope of remaining in one piece.”
“Oh, you will cooperate, vampire.” Clive nodded to the men who had silently surrounded the couple.
Jazz felt the buzz of power begin at her feet and move upward. She turned to Nick and saw by his expression he also felt the magickal bonds tighten around him.
What is going on? Irma shrieked inside her head.
Before Jazz could mouth Nick’s name, her world turned black and she was lost in a void of nothingness.
Eighteen
A pounding headache let Jazz know she was still alive. The chill in the air told her she was no longer in the house proper and cold damp stones against her back alerted her to a serious lack of clothing except for some heavy iron circling her wrists.
She blinked several times to clear her vision. Her first glance warned her that this was not good.
“Don’t tell me,” she muttered, looking around to get a better view of her surroundings that looked like something out of a movie set. “What did he do? Channel Vincent Price and transport the Tower of London’to the Hollywood Hills?” She tested the manacles circling her wrists, but the heavy chain secured to the wall high above her head forced her to remain up on her tiptoes. She tried to wiggle away from the wall, but the heavy chains weren’t long enough to allow her much room. “The bastard couldn’t even leave me my clothes.”
“Do you hear me complaining?”
She craned her neck to find the source of the weak voice. What she saw chilled her clear to the bone. Nick was also naked, lying on a stone altar set in the center of the room. Heavy chains had been crisscrossed across his body to prevent any movement. Even if there were no burns apparent on his skin, she feared there was enough silver embedded in the metal to weaken him beyond the point of any resistance. An obsidian bowl and matching goblet sat on a table next to the altar. She wasn’t sure exactly what would happen once Clive arrived, but she had an idea it wouldn’t be good. The rack dominating one end of the chamber looked much too authentic to merely be part of the décor and she was positive the rust-colored stains on the wood were blood. The same stains were visible on whips and various implements of torture that hung on a nearby wall. Her gaze swept the chamber, mentally cataloguing everything she saw. She wasn’t sure what upset her more, the evidence the implements were well used or the huge embroidered tapestry hanging on one wall that detailed writhing and screaming victims tortured in unimaginable ways. She could feel power emanating from the tapestry as if what had happened in this dungeon was transferred into the tapestry as a permanent reminder. Her stomach plummeted at the thought she and Nick could end up as new portraits. Seventy-five years ago, she had learned just what a sick bastard Clive Reeves was. She saw that the man had only turned even more evil over the years. She dug deep, working to summon her power, but felt nothing.
“Damn it!” she swore, fighting the imprisoning chains.
“What’s wrong?” Nick asked.
“There’s something in here that won’t allow me to tap into my power. He must have magick-dampening shields buried in the walls or something.” She mentally searched for any hint of Irma inside her head but found only silence. “I can’t even contact Irma. The one time I want to talk to that woman and I can’t reach her!” If she hadn’t been standing on her toes she would have stamped her foot in indignation.
The sound of a heavy wooden door creaking open sounded from above.
“We have company,” Nick murmured.
Jazz looked around at the torture implements and bloodstained stone floor. “It better be the maid, because this place needs serious cleaning up.”
“Good, you’re both awake.” Clive descended the stone steps wearing a black silk ankle-length robe and carrying a crystal wineglass in one hand.
Jazz noticed the symbols embroidered on the hem of the robe echoed those on the bowl and goblet. Only a few were familiar to her and those had to do with baneful magick.
Nope, not good at all.
“Your illusion spell was very clever, my dear, but I much prefer your true beauty.” Clive approached her and reached out to stroke the line of her jaw. She snapped her head back before he could touch her and refused to wince when the back of her head connected with the wall. He smiled as if he expected her rejection, but she didn’t miss the fury simmering in his dark eyes. Fury mixed with lust was not a good thing. “I believe you have grown even more beautiful than the last time I saw you,” he said.
“Gee, Clive, you’d think we were upstairs partying away instead of our being buried deep within the bowels of your house in a dungeon straight out of one of your totally grade-B movies,” Jazz said sarcastically, silently patting herself on the back for the less-than-subtle slur about Clive’s movies. Judging by the tightening of his cheekbones, he got it. She’d mention she won’the point for zingers, but she had a good idea he wouldn’t take that well either. Plus, she wasn’t exactly in a good place here.
While her skin crawled in reaction to the way he stared at her naked body as if she was a Thanksgiving feast on a silver platter, she didn’t allow her thoughts to surface. She felt the dark power rolling off his body as it snaked around her like an icy cold wrap that penetrated her to the bone. She bit back her snarl when she noticed he was staring at her breasts, the nipples now rosy pebbles from the cold.
He and Tyge make a perfect pair.
“You know, I thought you were repugnant in 1932. I see my loathing back then was an understatement.”
His features tightened to a mask that cracked just enough to reveal even more layers of the soulless insanity that resided inside. “Exactly how old are you, my dear?�
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She stared deep into his eyes, looking at evil and madness in the black depths. Sickness and malevolence had overtaken an already forbidding soul, where years ago she had seen a faint hint of humanity. Now there was nothing left but a shell of the real man.
She wanted to crush that shell until there was nothing left.
“I am old enough to grind your bones to dust,” she said levelly, digging deep within her very self for whatever hint of power might linger within her. She refused to believe there was nothing she could draw upon.
Clive chuckled as if she was a small child saying something clever. “Amusing, but we aren’t talking about a child’s fairy tale. I sense your power, witch, but what I have inside of me is more potent than anything you can imagine. With just a thought I can squash you like a bug,” he bragged. “You thought you killed me once, but you didn’t succeed. And now it comes to this.” His eyes lingered on the chains.
She refused to give in to her terror over what he was obviously thinking. She would not. Could not. “This time I will make sure you are so dead you won’t even be able to come back as a goldfish,” Jazz said softly, with a menace that equaled his.
He half-turned and studied the resolve in her features, the ferocious fire that flared to life in her eyes as she stared back with no hint of the fear.