A fierce smile curved Callie’s mouth. “Rev’s coming for me.”
“How do you know?”
“Rev would never let me down. Never. He’ll come.”
Somehow Marya didn’t think that a reception this large would be for nothing more than a minor enforcer. “What about Drago? Isn’t he coming, too?”
Callie scowled again. “I don’t know anything about Drago.”
Callie would say nothing more, but she looked daggers at each of Verkist’s vampires. They ignored her. Finally, after an hour, Marya could feel the tension in the air rise to an almost uncomfortable level. Whatever the vampires were plugged into, Marya could feel it as well. She felt goose bumps on her arms, as if the temperature had just dropped.
The doors swung open, and Evrard Verkist blew into the room like a gust of wind. He was followed by six more strange vampires, all of them imposing in appearance, but none to match their master. His billowing silver hair was like a cloud, his flashing eyes like lightning. He wore gray trousers and a white shirt, and a lace cravat even longer and more elaborate than the last flowed down the front of his shirt like a waterfall. The diamond pin once again nested in the folds of lace. Marya guessed that Verkist was two or three inches taller than Drago and broader by about fifty pounds. The aura of power in the room became almost suffocating.
“Miss Monroe, Miss Jaks, please join me.”
Marya looked around. Clearly, she had no choice but to do as he said. She went and stood at Verkist’s right side, careful to leave several feet of space between them, and Callie stood at his left. Marya saw Verkist nod almost imperceptibly, and a vampire at the door swung it open.
Two more vampires strode through the doorway, and Marya’s heart caught in her throat.
Drago wore knee-high, black leather boots and a midnight-blue, raw-silk shirt that reached mid-thigh. A black sash banded his narrow waist, and a huge sapphire winked at his collar. Revelin Scott wore a blue suit and white ruffled shirt.
Drago’s eyes caught hers the instant he entered the room, and his gaze remained locked on hers for a long moment before it flicked away to sweep the rest of the room. There was no boredom in his blue eyes now, but an intensity that gleamed as dark as the jewel at his throat. He came to a halt in the center of the room. His attention was all on Verkist now, and he made no other gestures acknowledging her.
Verkist spoke first. “Welcome to Fata Morgana, Drago. I’m honored to have such a distinguished guest under my roof.”
“First, I want my people returned to me.”
Verkist raised a dark brow. “‘Your people?’ Isn’t that a bit presumptuous? Miss Monroe works for the Brotherhood. That makes her mine.”
“Not any more. Scott now works for the Directorate, under my orders. Miss Monroe is his apprentice. That makes her mine, as well.”
Revelin nodded to Callie, and with one last look at Verkist, she skimmed across the floor to his side.
Verkist canted his head toward Marya. “You have no claim on this mortal, Drago.”
“Then, monsieur, let her make her own decision.”
She looked at Verkist, then at Drago. There was no decision to be made. It was a no-contest. She walked to Drago’s side, conscious of more vampire eyes on her than she could count. Drago neither looked at her nor made any move to touch her, but again addressed the Patriarch.
“The rest is private business between you and me, Evrard, unless you really feel you need a dozen bodyguards surrounding you.” Drago’s voice was very soft.
Verkist glared at Drago, stroked the lace at his throat, then nodded. His vampires flowed toward the door.
Drago whispered to her, but kept his eyes on Verkist. “Go with Scott, mademoiselle, and stay with him.”
“No.” She didn’t want to leave him, and she definitely wanted to hear what was happening.
“Go!” The ice in his voice told her he would brook no disobedience in front of Verkist.
Revelin grabbed her arm and pulled her to the door, and as quickly as she had won Drago’s presence at her side, she lost it.
DRAGO BEGAN pacing the room, stepping first to the waterfall. “I am not pleased, monsieur, at the abduction of my people.”
The Patriarch sank into one of the leather chairs, draping his arms on the armrests as though he were on a throne. “They came to no harm. Besides, as I said, I didn’t consider them ‘yours.’ I merely wanted all participants of this latest debacle in one place so that we can resolve this before it goes any farther.”
Drago held the fingertips of one hand under the streaming water. “You didn’t think to simply ask me here?”
“You would have come? I think not. L’enforcier does only as he wishes.”
Drago stared at the movement of the water over the rocks. “Now that I am here, what do you want, Evrard?”
“Your official assurance that this latest mad crusade against me and my people will cease immediately.”
Drago turned around. Evrard was fondling the Brussels lace beneath his chin as though it were a cherished pet. It was a strange affectation for someone Drago knew had been a soldier much of his life, but Drago had never seen him without his trademark lace. “Someone forged an order and put my name to it. That order almost got an innocent girl killed, but more importantly, almost got me killed. Would you not have me investigate such an incident, monsieur?”
“Any incident that occurred was of your own making. There was no forged order. I sent the order. It came with your name on it, through proper channels. And as for someone trying to kill you . . .” Evrard shrugged, seeming to imply that an attempt on Drago’s life should hardly be cause for surprise.
Drago moved to the drapes, drying his wet fingers carelessly against the heavy fabric. “I think you’re a liar, monsieur. I think you would like nothing more than my death.”
Evrard’s eyes turned opaque and shimmered like mercury. “You want truth? Very well. You shall have it. Yes, I would love nothing more than to see you dispatched to Hell. You meddle constantly in Brotherhood affairs. You flaunt procedure. You damn consequence. And yet you manage to hold on to the most coveted position in the Directorate. Well, Drago, there are others with power as great as yours, if not position. We can resolve this peacefully, or we can settle it in the old way. The choice is yours. Think about it tonight. Very carefully. We’ll speak again tomorrow.” He rose from the chair like smoke and stepped directly in front of Drago.
Drago had to lift his eyes to meet the taller man’s challenge, but he felt no intimidation. He greeted Evrard’s silver eyes with his own power, and the two of them stood face-to-face for long moments. There was no dazzling, no unleashing of commanding or mesmerizing force, just the most subtle of prods—searching, testing, and assessing. For each nudge of force on Evrard’s part, Drago jabbed back with an equal force. It was akin to a game of poker, to see who would bluff, who would call, but neither man seemed willing to show his hand. Not now.
Drago ended it with a smile. “I will see you tomorrow then, monsieur.”
REVELIN HAD BEEN questioning Callie. Marya, for her part, had sat quietly, her mind on Drago. What were the two men doing? Talking or killing each other?
Marya had seen a good number of vampires over the years, both enforcers and the young vampires who roamed New Orleans. Because of her dhampir blood, she was able to detect vampires by scent and was thereby able to guess their relative age. From the information in her father’s journal and by her own experience, she was able to gauge auras of power. Once again she was thankful she had saved the journal when her mother had wanted to dispose of it. Her mother had called it the Book of Death, but to Marya, it was the only link she had to a father she had never known. Drago, by far, was the oldest, most powerful vampire Marya had ever encountered. Until Verkist.
The door burst open, and Drago stood in the
doorway, his eyes as hard and opaque as the darkest sapphire. Marya jumped up from her chair, but wondered if her legs would support her. “Drago!”
His gaze settled on her the same way it had when he had first strode into the great room. His stare supported her, and she felt neither her legs nor the floor.
“Monsieur, I will speak with you later,” he said to Revelin. Drago stepped into the room, took Marya by the arm, and propelled her into the adjoining bedroom, shutting the door behind them.
She couldn’t get air into her lungs fast enough to breathe, and she stumbled and would have fallen had he not still held her arm. He’s here at last. Just like he promised.
She stared into his eyes. “You said to thank you when you returned. Thank you.”
“Cherie . . .”
He released her arm, but only so he could slide his hands around her waist and pull her to him. Marya circled his neck with her own arms and tangled her fingers in his hair. She rested her head on his chest, squeezed her eyes shut and heard his ragged breathing in her ear. She closed her fist over a handful of his smooth, heavy hair and felt the hard muscles of his body press against hers—felt the aura of his power, so close to being unleashed, wash over her. She thought wildly of that kiss she had fantasized about—the one that would not be as controlled as the last one was. She opened her eyes, unclenched her hands and pushed away from him, just enough to see him. She skimmed his face with one hand, then, with the lightest of touches, slid the tip of her index finger down across his parted lips. She looked at his mouth, marveling that such soft skin could be part of such a hard face, then shifted her gaze back to his eyes. They were the whole world.
He leaned forward, and his mouth, barely open, met hers. His lips closed on her own, then he pulled away, just slightly, to part his lips again and kiss her anew. He continued like that, increasing the length of each kiss a little more each time. Finally, he leaned back, and she struggled to catch her breath.
“I told you that you weren’t rid of me for good.”
She laughed, but his face turned serious. “Verkist didn’t touch you, did he?”
She shook her head. “No, he’s treated me well.”
“He’s not that great a fool, then.” He paused, and his brows pushed against each other. “Cherie, does he know of your . . . feeling toward me?”
She nodded.
He released her abruptly. “Zut!”
“I didn’t tell him. I didn’t say anything. All I did was ask him if you were coming. He just knew.”
“Cherie, it is spelled out plainly enough on your face so that a child could read it, never mind a four-hundred-year-old vampire.”
She resented being made to feel she had committed some error. “So?”
He sighed. “So he will use it fully to his advantage. He will use you against me, and me against you.”
He touched his fingers to her face, but she wrapped her hand over his forearm and pushed his arm down. “I don’t understand.”
“If he threatens to kill me, what will you do? No, don’t answer. Just know this. If your answer is ‘anything,’ then we are lost, because he will have you in his power, and if he has you, he has me.”
“I still don’t understand.”
He unwrapped the sash from his waist and took off the long shirt, throwing them both over a chair. He had a white shirt on underneath, but that quickly joined the pile draped over the armrest.
She was still piqued. “Are you just going to undress in front of me?”
“Ah, ma cherie, you are such an innocent.”
She felt her cheeks flame, both at his words and at the sight of his bare chest. “If I am, it’s because the Undead never allowed me a life.”
He laughed and sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. “I’ve never known visits from enforcers to prevent any aberration from living life to the fullest.”
At the sight of his disappearing clothes, her whole body felt as if it were on fire. Verkist’s words came back to her in a rush. Still the ladies’ man he always was . . . “Well, unlike yourself, I don’t consider several thousand one-night stands to be ‘living life to the fullest.’”
The first boot dropped to the floor like a brick. The deep smile lines still showed on his face, but they embraced no smile. His eyes had paled once again to their transparent electric blue, fathomless and cold. “I’m tired. I haven’t had much sleep in the past three days.”
Marya looked at the bed. It was the only one in the suite. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
The second boot fell to the floor with a dull thump. “It’s morning, the time of day I sleep. Surely you’re not tired? If you are, there’s my bed, Scott’s bed, or the floor. Take your pick.” He stripped off his trousers and threw them at the chair, missing.
She stared at him, not able to help herself and hating her weakness. But he was beautiful. The mane of shiny blue-black hair, the wide shoulders tapering to the narrow hips, the lean, muscled legs, and everything between the top and bottom. He threw back the covers and stretched out on the bed, facing away from her. He was still wearing his shorts, but Marya’s imagination took over, and she felt herself blushing at the vision in her mind of a totally naked male body.
But while the vision was inviting, his final words to her hadn’t been. She picked up his clothes and hung them in the closet, then sat on the chair near the bed. There was nowhere else to go. She certainly didn’t want to sit with Revelin and Callie. What had happened just now? She had been so glad to see him, and he had seemed no less happy. And the kiss . . . no man had ever kissed her like that, not even Jaime during his more passionate moments. Drago’s kiss in reality had been more amazing than the one she had conjured up in her mind. It hadn’t been the wild, out-of-control kiss of a young man driven by hormones, but the kiss of an experienced lover, one who knew what women wanted. And who knew what he wanted? Had he truly wanted her? What had happened?
He had blamed her for something he said would put them in Verkist’s control. Something that wasn’t her fault. Then he had chided her innocence, making her feel foolish. If that hadn’t been bad enough, he had implied that she would have been better served living life in the fast lane instead of avoiding relationships she felt could never be.
Still the ladies’ man . . . She had thought that Verkist’s words wouldn’t have the power to touch her, but they did. She hadn’t thought to be anything more than a promise to be kept. She hadn’t wanted to be anything more. So why did his words upset her?
She sat in the chair a long time, watching him sleep. In spite of her anger she wanted nothing more than to slide onto the bed and lie next to him. But she remembered the night in the hotel when she had awakened him from his nightmare. He had nearly killed her then. She had no desire to be slammed against a wall again. Perhaps if she was very careful and didn’t touch him . . .
She stripped down to her underwear and eased onto the king-sized bed, careful to leave plenty of room between his body and hers. He rested on his stomach, his hair masking most of his face, but his left arm curled in front of him. She could see the strange mark. It looked like a scar, but it was deep and regular, a curved line with three perpendicular cross bars, almost like a stylized “E.” The sheet covering him ventured no higher than his hips. She looked for other scars, but saw none except the ones on his back she had seen before. She looked at them closer. She counted six lines that crisscrossed each other across the pale skin that rippled over his contoured torso. A whipping? She was sure it was something Drago would never tell her about. She wanted to reach out and touch the faint scars, but she instinctively knew her touch would not be welcomed. Finally she closed her eyes and dozed on and off, opening them again only when she felt his eyes on her.
One blue eye studied her from beneath strands of hair that arced across his forehead. “Je suis navre, cherie.”
She stared at him, not understanding and afraid to move.
He raked the hair from his face. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He turned onto his back. “Come here.”
She slid closer to him until she could feel the warmth of his body pressing against hers.
“Forgive my outburst. I was tired and frustrated. But most of all, the encounter with Evrard stirred the lust. The biggest challenge for any vampire, cherie, even myself, is controlling the lust.”
So that was all the kiss was.
“You’re not to blame for our situation, but I want you to understand the reality of it. It’s not a good state of affairs. We are in the middle of the enemy’s camp. This building is nothing less than a bastion, and Evrard has at least two dozen vampires here at his disposal—all very capable, experienced, and loyal to him. I have only Scott and Callie. Callie is a novice, and I have my doubts about how far Scott will go for me. Evrard holds all the cards, cherie. If he truly wants me dead, he could kill me easily and have more than enough witnesses to swear it was self-defense.”
A shudder ran through Marya, and she ran her hand over the muscles of his chest, just to remind herself of his strength. She had always thought l’enforcier to be invincible. Wasn’t he the most powerful vampire on earth?
He closed his eyes. “I’m tired, cherie. I long for peace.”
Those few words frightened her more than everything else he had said. She propped herself up on an elbow. “Drago, look at me.”
He opened his eyes, but only halfway, as if he didn’t want her to see into their depths.
She stroked the side of his face. “Tell me you still want to live. Tell me!”
He seemed to retreat behind the hooded eyes. “You are so young, cherie. You know so little of life.”
She leaned down and kissed his mouth, not wanting to hear more. She felt his whole body respond under her and felt his hands reach for her waist, pulling her body flush to his. She heard his groan, but suddenly he flipped her onto her back and held her at arm’s length. His hair slid forward and shadowed his face.
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