by Jackie Ivie
“Karakov Enterprises. With a million ways to help you locate what you need.”
Karakov? Sounded Russian.
“This is Evangeline Harper calling. Let me speak to Serge, please.”
“It’s three thirty a.m., Miss Harper. Serge Karakov is not available.”
“Tell him I have an answer from Florida. He’ll take the call.”
She turned to look across at Dane. He regarded her without expression. And then another voice answered, causing her to turn her side to him. That was no great loss. She had a gorgeous profile, too. He was going to have an eternity to watch her and enjoy every moment of it. What a wonderful thought.
“Miss Harper? Miss Evangeline Harper?”
“You told me to call when I had a firm figure for you.”
“Uh…yes. That I did. I’m just…surprised to hear from you. That’s all.”
He was surprised to hear from her. Sounded it, too. That’s the clue Dane needed. His lips tipped up before she swiveled in place and almost caught his expression. He blanked it again.
“I’m calling about the property. You know…Sex and Sunburn?”
“You have a price?”
Evangeline put her hand over the receiver. “How much do you want for your property?” she asked Dane.
“I don’t have any property,” he replied.
“Sex and Sunburn?” She tilted her head as if that would trigger his memory.
“I gave it to you.” He grinned. He couldn’t possibly hold a blank expression with the way she inhaled through bared teeth.
“Would you be serious?”
He attempted it, but it wasn’t easy. It took a few moments to get the blank expression back in place. “It’s a cute little place. Brings in a hefty profit and a large crowd. You might not want to sell it. And just think. You’d be my boss. You can even fire me.”
“Give me a figure, Dane.”
“Invent one, my love. After you marry me, you can do whatever you want with whatever chunk of real estate you want. You might decide to keep that one. We don’t really need more crime on the coast, do we?”
She turned her back on him, and spoke softly into the phone. “I’ll have to call you back. Apparently, I’m still in negotiations.”
“But—”
She clicked the END CALL button, cutting off the man, and her hand was shaking as she put the phone back down. Dane shoved back against the headboard and waited for her next move. One thing he had to give her. This mate of his was an intelligent, feisty woman. It was very entertaining just being around her. And the view was spectacular.
“You just made me look like an idiot,” she told his dresser.
“What’s one drug lord, more or less?”
Her head snapped around.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I never said that. I don’t even know for sure.”
“But you suspect?”
“I never said that, either.”
“You contacted someone about them, didn’t you?”
“How did you—? Uh…no. I didn’t.”
This time he didn’t hide the smile. Or the fangs. “Come back to bed, darling. Negotiate with me.”
“Dane.”
He patted the bed beside him. “Come on, already. The sun will be up soon and then I need to leave you. You can rest. Or make calls. Or I’ll send one of my assistants to help. You’ve got a lavish wedding to plan. Or…you might prefer a beachfront, barefoot-in-the-sand type affair. Either way you need sleep and it sounds like I’m going to be busy…with lawyers and estate people.”
“Are you serious, Dane?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, really, truly, serious?”
“Yes, yes, and yes.”
“Can I trust you?”
“Totally.”
“I don’t know. Trusting and opening your heart…it’s so scary. Things happen. People…die.”
He was at her side a second later, cursing the impulse that made him move that rapidly, before folding her into his arms. She turned her nose to the center of his chest and just stood there. Trembling. Fighting tears?
He knew his heart was dead, but the solid thumping radiating from there sure didn’t feel like it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“This is the place?” Dane looked up at stone walls topped with jagged barbed wire, and back at the black clothed man beside him.
“You’re looking at the headquarters for Karakov Enterprises, with their million ways to help. Exactly as specified.”
“You’re sure?”
“You doubt me? Not very flattering, Babyface. And I spent almost five minutes tracking the number from your cell. Vampires. Sheesh.”
“Looks deserted.”
“Well…I’d expected them to have all the lights on, too, but I guess if you run a crime syndicate, you keep advertising to a minimum. ’Course with a Russian name like theirs, I’d have thought they preferred some ancient eastern estate, but there you go. Florida weather attracts all sorts of people.”
“You talk too much.”
“Passes time…and you never did tell me what you want with these guys. Aside from the fact they just paid a hefty sum into a VAL account. That wouldn’t have anything to do with this little excursion this evening, would it?””
“Did they?”
“Four million. Wire transfer. Came through yesterday. That information took me a lot more than five minutes, by-the-way.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“The boss doesn’t know a thing. Invaris is only slightly wiser. You wanted us off the grid, we’re off the grid. So…you going to tell me what’s up? Or do I get to continue guessing?”
“Later.”
“As long as it’s personal. That’s all I’m asking. I mean, there’s not a member of Karakov Enterprises that doesn’t deserve the wrong end of a bullet. Word is they’re behind the dead bodies washing ashore. The last guy didn’t even make it to the water. They skinned him alive and then fed him to sharks. And I’m rather fond of my epidermis.”
“I’m a vampire, Len. They can’t touch me.”
“Stay close, then. So, hey…back to the question. I’m all for cleaning out a nest of vipers. It’s just sweeter if it’s personal. It is personal. Right? We’re not just sneaking around Akron providing clean-up service for the community?”
They put out a hit on my mate. “Oh, it’s personal,” Dane finally replied.
“Vampires. I don’t know why I ask. I really don’t. It’s a waste of breath.”
“You have a plan?”
“Yeah. Go in. Kill everybody. Leave.”
“Good plan.”
“The one behind your cell phone call is Serge Karakov. CEO. He’ll have an odd heat signature. Elevated temp. He’s got leukemia. Just found out. Goes to show that no matter how good-looking and rich you are, everybody gets pain and everybody dies. Nice to know there’s a bit of justice to the world, you know? Why am I asking you? You’re immortal. You never had a day of pain in your life. Uh…I mean your afterlife.”
“I took a spear in the belly, Len.”
“Well…that had to hurt, I guess.”
“Thanks for the warning. I owe you again.”
“What?”
“Serge Karakov’s blood. It’s tainted.”
“You planning on doing a little take-out, are you?”
“No time. I have an appointment at midnight. Can’t be all bloodied. I might even have to don a tux.”
“I’m not asking. I don’t care if you’re escorting Miss America down a catwalk. But with that kind of timeline, you’d better quit interrupting me and listen up. We’ve got more than one target. Apparently, Serge likes to keep the entire board of directors close to him. They’re partying somewhere behind that monstrosity of a wall. Odd. I thought every lavish estate in the Keys was open and airy, and had million-dollar curb appeal. This one’s more like a thousand year old fortress. If I wasn’t looking it over, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“No way. Not in the Keys. If that was real, we’d have archeologists swarming the place.”
“It’s real. Early sixteenth century. Maybe later.”
“Right.”
“You don’t know your own history?”
“Unlike present company, I wasn’t there at the time.”
Dane smirked before answering. “Spanish conquistador Juan Ponce de Leon discovered the state in 1513. He thought he’d found another island. The crown knighted him and granted him governorship of the entire peninsula. If he could hold it. Building a fortress like this one could hold it.”
“Oh…come on. That’s pure speculation. Karakov Enterprises probably had that chunk of stone designed, and constructed, and purposely aged. For the effect on visitors.”
“Nope. But it’s been updated.”
“Oh, I guarantee it’s updated. You hear that hum? That’s electricity. Early twentieth century invention. And he says I don’t know my history.”
“Nineteenth.”
Len rolled the curse through his lips. “It’d be easier to take you seriously if you looked old enough to drink…Babyface.”
“I’m twenty-four. Maybe twenty-five.”
“Maybe? How do you lose count of your age?”
Dane looked over at the man. “You ever work a Viking long-ship?”
“Not recently.”
“Trust me. Every day’s the same and they’re all shit. Easy to lose track of all kinds of things. Land. Food. Sleep. Time.”
“Sorry I asked.”
Dane looked back to the fortress wall. “You know how many?”
“How many what? Years? Conquistadors? Long-ships?”
“Targets.” Dane said it through clenched teeth. He had to remind himself that Len was good. That’s why anybody put up with him. The man was more than good. He had perfectly honed skills.
“The board of directors is an eight member unit. All Karakov relatives. They keep it in the family, and still don’t trust each other. Hmm. Whatever happened to family values?”
“We have eight targets?”
“Once you get us over that fourteen foot span of rock, there’s an electrified fence. That’s the humming noise, remember? They’ve got 25,000 volts running through it. I don’t know about you, but that’s enough to fry my ass. So, you’ll just have to get me over it, too. Then we’ll probably face real humans. With real guns. They’re not very friendly, either. They probably shoot pizza delivery guys. That’s why I’m pretty much dressed head-to-toe in Kevlar.”
“Sixteen.”
“What?”
“The walls are sixteen feet.”
“Right. Vampires. Got to love them. I’m telling you, one of you needs to develop a sense of humor. And before I turn thirty.”
“You’re thirty-two.”
“No kidding? Well…I’m not getting any younger while you sit out here shooting the breeze. You ready yet?”
Dane grabbed Len’s shoulders and jumped, easily leaping the barbed-wire topped wall, landing in thigh-sucking liquid Len forgot to describe, before launching them right over the fence that sparked and sizzled with every drop of swamp muck they dripped on it. Nothing like a grand entrance. Dane landed in a crouch and shoved Len to the ground where the man rolled from bullets that sounded like puffs of air.
He’d forgotten to add in that they had silencers.
A blink later, Dane was behind the first man on the left, ripping through his thorax with a blow. Second man got a crushed vertebra and severed spine. Third one received a compressed skull as his brains separated from his head. The fourth one went down with a bullet hole between his eyes. A glance showed Len already taking down the fifth shooter, as well. Dane nodded at his partner. The guy might talk a lot, but he was a damn good shot.
The ground about Len started spurting dirt as bullets riddled the area again. Dane tagged the shooter from above him, and with a jump went right through the stone walkway. That fellow got his head severed from his shoulders for his trouble. Fresh blood gushed from the neck cavity as he fell, soaking stone and the lower half of Dane’s trousers, while the scent triggered impulses he had to restrain. Every muscle in his frame tightened, his canines elongated, while his mouth and throat itched with thirst.
Not yet.
Len was huffing for breath as he reached him, jogging the steps to catch up.
“Holy shit, Babyface. I’m speechless. Death and dismemberment must be part of your Viking training? Yes?”
“No.”
“Looks pretty barbaric. You sure?”
Dane raised bloodied hands. “Nothing but bare hands.”
“Better and better. You’re more in a Berserker mode. What a great idea for a video game! Remind me later. We got work to do. You spot him, yet?”
Len pulled night goggles from around his throat and adjusted them. Dane narrowed his eyes and scanned stone, seeing heat tracings in several locations.
“There’s a lot more than eight,” he remarked.
“Sue me.”
“I’d rather reward you. You use steroids?”
“No. And what the hell does that matter?”
“Has an effect like Nitrous Oxide, only not near as fun. When I change you, I don’t want to be riddled with laughter for hours afterward.”
“Whoa. Hold on there, Babyface. I don’t want to be changed. Not yet, anyway. I like living day to day. Honest.”
“You change your mind, start feeling old age, you let me know. Fair?”
Another round of bullets peppered the rock about them. Dane shoved Len behind him until the fellow ran out. And then their attacker tossed a long knife. Dane caught it and launched it right back, pegging the guy in the throat. They both watched as the man grabbed his neck and plummeted to the ground.
“Reflex,” he remarked in the dead silence that followed.
“That was pretty amazing. Truly. Frickin’. Amazing.”
“Nice to know I can still do it.”
“What?”
“Part of my upbringing. Dodge and throw. Forget it. You spot him, yet?”
“I’ve got three in that tower. None of them Mister Heat. You?”
“No. I’ll handle the main house. I’ll be busy. You get in trouble, you call.”
“Oh. I’ll be in full-bore screaming. You just keep your ears—”
The last bit was lost as Dane jumped the parapet and slammed through double wooden doors, splintering the bolt that had barred them. Through the blizzard of slivers and dust, he swiped through one man’s chest, ripped another man’s arms off, and used them to bat the next fellow’s skull into the wall before putting the armless fellow out of his misery. The screams brought more footsteps, and Dane turned into a smear of movement, slashing through flesh and severing bone, until the amount of blood running down the walls called to every atom of his existence. Every sense hammered need through him.
Not just yet.
They were using unsilenced bullets somewhere. Gunfire sound cut through the scene of carnage as Dane just stood there, head lowered, teeth elongated, eyes narrowed and deadly. The only trace of heat came from the newly deceased, and then he caught a glimpse of warmth and color, shimmering from down a hall. He took off at a run that sent him to the end of the hall and up a spiral staircase.
The figure blocking his way was a martial arts enthusiast. And he was large. Cocky. Settled into an aggressive stance. Waste of time. Dane was going to be late to his nuptials. Dane took a moment to lock gazes before slamming both palms into the guy’s chest, right through the defensive motion of his arms. Martial Arts slammed into a wall, breaking most of his bones and liquefying the organs that resisted. Dane was right with him, holding his shoulders in place as the guy gasped his last breath. It was visceral. Sensory. The near-taste called him, the aroma taunted, and need for sustenance almost overtook him. Dane was just slicing a fang through Martial Arts throat when a blade glanced off the rock at his cheek.
A snarl
accompanied his pivot, and then his flight, streaking into a moonlit enclave where a slight figure stood, eyes wide and hands to his cheeks. He really didn’t need to ask. The fellow’s heat signature already had him identified. 99.7 degrees. Serge Karakov. CEO.
Dane put his head back and howled the satisfaction into the room. The sound echoed and re-echoed, carrying every bit of his rage with it. Even in the dimness, it was easy to see the man blanch. Dane took a step closer, ignoring how the room warped, shifting slightly as if to encase and entrap him. Little flickers of numbness rose from the floor about his feet, wrapping about his ankles and lower legs, hampering his movements.
“What the hell are you?”
“Your worst nightmare.”
Dane opened his mouth wide, revealing blood-enhanced, razor-sharp fangs. The result was exactly what he expected, as the man backed into a stone slab jutting from the floor and then rounded it, as if it would save him. The oddity of the room increased. Invisible flicks of pain started radiating from the walls, carrying a touch of a whip. Dane flinched as each one landed, slicing flesh, and bringing burn. But there was nothing there. He concentrated on the man quivering before him, rather than psychedelic effects that couldn’t possibly be happening.
“Vampires…really exist? I don’t believe it.”
“You put out a hit on the wrong party, Karakov. My mate.”
“Oh, shit. Evangeline Harper?”
Another step and he’d have the weasel’s throat gripped in his hands, choking the life from him. But that step didn’t come. The numbness had spread. Dane glanced to the floor, where nothing but tile menaced him. But then the tile changed, splitting to reveal an opening of solid black. Dane went airborne, exerting energy on hovering atop the opening that just kept getting larger and larger, reaching out with invisible tentacles to suck him down into it. That’s when he knew.
He was on consecrated ground.
“Len! Help me! Len!”
His voice hadn’t the volume or heft of his earlier yell. It sounded as weak as he felt. Pitiful. Serge Karakov added to the experience by sliding to his buttocks atop the altar stone, just sitting there, watching. The abyss enlarged, starting to rotate in a circular motion, growing blacker and deeper, creating a vortex that sucked at every limb. Dane struggled against it. Twisted. Fought. This couldn’t be happening! Not now. He’d sometimes thought of real death; of leaving this existence for the next, putting an end to the loneliness…but not now. He couldn’t perish now! Not when he’d finally found everything that made even an afterlife worth living!