by Sierra Dean
It was no wonder Holden didn’t have any difficulty feeding. Human women found him irresistible. His looks combined with the vampire gift to enthrall humans, better known as the thrall, meant he could feed on as many women, or men for that matter, as he pleased.
Under the charcoal blazer he wore a plain white shirt that in spite of simplicity looked to be on the offensive side of expensive. The ensemble was completed with a pair of dark indigo jeans and black shoes polished to a high shine. It hadn’t come as a surprise to me when I learned Holden had once been an editor-at-large for GQ magazine.
All immortals, true or otherwise, feel the pull of the spotlight from time to time, even though their secretive nature compels them to stay away from it.
“I’ll fix your drink while you dress.”
I took my wardrobe cues from his ensemble, dressing in dark jeans, black ballet flats and a purple top embellished with Victorian touches of lace at the neck and buttons down the back. Through the lace, the top peek-a-booed an alarming amount of cleavage, which was impressive given how little I had to begin with.
I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and wore no makeup. Unless I was working I never wore any. Drinking blood flushed my cheeks and gave my lips a natural stain. Anything extra made me feel ridiculous.
From the kitchen my microwave beeped and I smiled to my reflection in the mirror. Ever the gentleman, Holden had thoughtfully heated my blood for me.
My light steps were noiseless as I walked down the carpeted hallway and met him in my tiny kitchen. When I’d visited the basement suite for the first time, the landlord kept apologizing for how small the space was, fearing the lack of cooking space would be a deal breaker for a lady such as myself. He must have thought I looked more domestic than I really was.
I had been more swayed by the old brick fireplace facade and the bedroom big enough for a queen-sized bed. Both were luxuries for an apartment in my painfully limited budget.
Now with both Holden and I in a room too small for a two-seat table, the dining space was feeling extra cramped.
He handed me the warm blood in a wineglass, which was a touch too elegant for me, but I appreciated the gesture. As I drank the blood I tried not to meet his eyes. It unnerved me for anyone else to observe the pleasure I took in this, because it was like admitting that I enjoyed a part of what I was. Acknowledging that I liked drinking blood, that I relished the sweet, coppery tang of it or that I took pride in how much sexier I felt afterward, would mean that I embraced being a vampire at least on that small level. It would mean that one of the monsters was winning. But using that same logic one could argue that the wolf would win if I gave into Lucas’s advances and let myself become his mate.
I assured myself the wolf could only win if I transformed at the full moon. I’d been able to fight that change for almost my entire twenty-two years, and I wasn’t about to give in now.
Holden was watching me drink with great interest. He’d only seen me drink in close quarters once or twice before, and it had an unusual effect on him. His own hunger, coupled with a kind of desire, was laid bare in his eyes. Though his facial expression didn’t change, I noticed a telltale darkening in his irises. With each swallow his eyes deepened from a milk-chocolate brown to an oily black, and a glimmer of intention filled them. His jaw was tense and stiff as I took the last gulp, eyes transfixed on my neck.
“Holden.”
The hunger vanished and he was himself again. “I apologize. In spite of your connection to us it is sometimes difficult for me to ignore that you are—”
“Alive?”
That was a bit cut and dry for his taste, but he nodded anyway. With the blood coursing through me, I felt very alive at that moment. Strong and self-assured.
“Well, let’s hope that’s still true when this night is over.”
Chapter Thirteen
Meeting with the vampire council on their turf would never be something I’d get used to. When they delivered warrants to me it tended to be either via Holden, or another messenger would meet Keaty and me at our office. Perhaps I had difficulty adjusting to the council because I usually only visited them when I was in some kind of serious trouble.
I had killed other vampires without sanction. I had not yet killed one who hadn’t had it coming, though. Every vampire who met their fate at my hands was a rogue themselves or consorting with one. Or, as was often the case, they happened to be making a dive for my throat.
Holden led me up the stairs of a beautiful old building that had once been a grand train station. I could see it for what it was, but the building was enchanted to appear to humans passing by as if it were in a decrepit state of disrepair. Even the most daring mortal would feel a terrible sense of dread upon venturing too close. Anyone who got past the front steps after those warnings was fair game as far as the vampires were concerned.
There was a very good reason vampires had been able to keep themselves a secret for millennia. They knew all the tricks and techniques to make it appear to the outside world as if they did not exist. Over thousands of years they had honed those techniques into an impenetrable web of secrecy. This was why they dealt with rogues in such a grave way. One rogue with a grandiose sense of self-worth who believed vampires should rule over humans rather than hide from them was all it took to put their entire society at risk.
It was one of the few things vampires and werewolves had in common, actually. They understood all too well that to be exposed to the scrutiny of the human public would be a disaster beyond repair. Society in general had enough trouble turning on the news every day to witness the atrocities committed by other humans. If people knew supernatural beings existed, it would result in mass genocide. Humans would always outnumber those in the paranormal community, and no amount of good PR or damage control could spin monsters in a positive light.
Even though I wasn’t human I felt the foreboding aura of the enchantment upon reaching the building’s top step. I tried not to let it show in my face, but any color I had from drinking the blood had long since drained away.
“Perhaps it won’t be as bad as you fear,” Holden suggested. Optimism didn’t suit vampires.
“Yeah, sure. And maybe you and I will go to the beach and get some color this weekend.”
“Touché.” Holden knew as little as I did about what to expect this evening. As a warden he was on a need-to-know basis about the goings-on of the Tribunal, and all he needed to know tonight was they wanted to see me.
We entered the building. Its busyness surprised me given the illusion of quiet from the outside. Vampires bustled about, but none of them noticed us, or at least they pretended not to. We walked through the wide-open hall that could easily be mistaken for any busy office building or bank on Wall Street. Workers carried paperwork in manila folders and moved in the clipped, efficient manner of honeybees. These wardens monitored all other vampire activity in the country. The agents in this building, be they wardens or sentries, would be sent across North America to deal with any number of problems or complaints that arose. While most rogue activity occurred close to home, they had sent me to different states on occasion. What I wouldn’t have given right then to be in Iowa or Oregon, or home across the Northern border with my grandmere. Of course none of those options were a remote possibility, so I followed Holden across the parting sea of fangs.
The building was resplendent on the inside. Much like Grand Central Terminal, which had been constructed as a sister building to it long before, it had vaulted ceilings with windows now covered over so no sunlight could sneak in. To make up for the missing light, panels of green and gold glass were inset in each window and illuminated from behind with soft yellow incandescence, giving the whole room a midday warmth. A short staircase descended into the main atrium, where the floors were tiled in black and white marble, creating the dizzying illusion of a giant chessboard. Brass posts divided the room along a far wall. Where in Grand Central they would have been ticket booths, here they designated private offi
ces. The brass was polished to a high shine, winking false sunshine back at me.
Apart from the offices, there was a main common area that filled the majority of the atrium, where a maze of old wooden desks spread out like a corporate ocean. Everything that made a successful business operation was at work here, from the office drones to the executives. Vampires had long ago learned that organization made any good civilization run smoothly, and theirs was no exception. Phones rang at low tones throughout the room, and wardens spoke in hushed voices. Holden and I walked past all the lovely, modern edifices until we arrived at an innocent-looking door marked Private. My hands trembled as I pushed it open and stepped into the darkness.
The Tribunal was old school about their lair. It was reminiscent of a dungeon or medieval war room. Everything was kept dark with only torches on the walls to provide light, and a dampness that never went away clung to the air. We walked down many flights of slick stone stairs, traveling ever farther into the bowels of the city, before we reached our final destination.
I was thankful for the added gift of my supernatural agility, otherwise I would have slipped down the stairs on my ass.
We arrived at a set of double doors, the ones that often figured into my nightmares and were the reason I had a distrust of any that looked even remotely like them. Beyond them were the three vampires who held my life in their hands. This time Holden stood back to allow me to enter first. He could not follow me beyond this point. Only the Tribunal and a select handful of tribal elders were allowed to enter the decision room. The only other time you were allowed in was if you were up for discussion.
I sucked in a deep breath that tasted like mold and pushed open the doors, stepping into complete darkness.
“Welcome, Miss McQueen.” The voice was a soft, airy soprano with a delicate touch of a French accent making miss sound like mees. The greeting came from the only female member of the Tribunal, Daria. “We are pleased you could meet with us on such short notice.”
Their formality always unnerved me. If they were planning to kill me, did they need to be so pleasant about it?
“Tribunal Leader Daria, the pleasure is mine. I am at your council’s service.” I had to stop myself from saying beck and call. I knew the steps to this particular dance all too well. My eyes had adjusted to the total black of the room, and I could see her lovely face above me.
The Tribunal sat on a raised platform in handcrafted chairs that were too elaborately detailed to be thought of as anything other than thrones. Daria wasn’t the actual leader, so she was seated to the left of center. To the right was a man I’d never get used to looking at. Juan Carlos might be the most alarming creature—human or vampire—I’d ever encountered. His hair was the color of pure jet and cut shorter now in an attempt to look more modern, but it maintained some of its wild curl. No matter what efforts he made, Juan Carlos could never blend in with humanity.
Once a Spanish Conquistador, he had sustained a variety of irreparable scars during his human life. One old injury had split his upper lip, and it had healed into a menacing sneer, which curled up towards his cheek and showed one of his formidable fangs. The rest of his face remained beautiful, but it was hard to notice when you could sense his desire to devour you.
“Tribunal Leader Juan Carlos.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him it was a pleasure to see him because, to be honest, he terrified me.
“Secret McQueen.” My name sounded as if it were on par with the likes of Mussolini or Stalin. His sneer deepened.
I turned my attention to the true leader of the Tribunal and all my terror slipped away. It wasn’t that I found him any less terrifying nor was he less powerful, but part of his gift was to put anyone around him at ease.
Where Juan Carlos’s beauty was an afterthought to his monstrous snarl, anyone who looked upon Sig could not help but fall in love. I did not know Sig’s full name, but I knew he was Finnish, or claimed to be now. He was older than Finland, and from what he’d said the country he was born in no longer existed. He’d never claimed to be a Viking as so many other Scandinavian vampires did. If anyone asked, he rolled his eyes and called the plunder and pillage of the Vikings that Norwegian occupation.
Sig was also the only member of the Tribunal who I saw to any great extent outside of these meetings. While Daria would occasionally show me some general interest, in the way one might visit a puppy or kitten they were thinking of adopting, Sig seemed to consider me more than a pet project. It was he who decided my targets and he who had assigned Holden to be my liaison.
I often suspected Sig knew exactly what I was because of the interest he showed me, but I had never been brave enough to ask.
Instead of allowing myself to be intimidated by Juan Carlos, I looked into Sig’s eyes. He smiled at me, the kind of smile given by a man who knows what he wants. Between Daria with her perfect straight blonde hair, who was wearing an original Coco Chanel evening suit, and fearsome Juan Carlos in his tailored Armani suit, Sig looked out of place.
He was splayed back in his throne, fingers laced together across his taut stomach, and his long, long legs stretched straight out in front of him. He wore nothing but a pair of brown leather pants. His feet, like his chest, were bare. His skin was so pale it practically glowed in the dark, and his blond hair light enough it was only a shade more golden than white. Daria’s, by comparison, looked almost brown. Like Juan Carlos, he’d cut it short to help him blend, but had bangs brushed across his forehead which had grown too long and were beginning to obscure his ice-blue eyes.
“My dear Secret.” He sounded pleased I was there. Juan Carlos made a noise of disgust. He had never approved of the interest Sig showed me. “As Daria has said, we are very glad you could join us this evening.”
I bowed my head, enjoying the cadence of the accent that remained in his deep, marvelous voice. I understood, deep down, the effect Sig had on me was not entirely real. While most of their psychic gifts helped enhance the thrall over humans and did not impact other vampires, Sig was a rare case. His persuasive charm was the reason he was in a position of such power. Other vampires trusted him.
I hoped that my trust in him would not be the death of me.
Sig’s smile faded when he moved the meeting along. “You know the reason we’ve brought you here this evening, yes?”
“I made an unsanctioned kill in Central Park last night.” I knew better than to explain the details of the slaying without being asked. If they wanted to know something specific, they bring it up. Any other information did not matter.
When you’ve been asking people questions for centuries, you learn to get the information you need with as little effort possible.
“Do you feel the slaying was justified?” Daria probed.
“I do.”
“Were you in immediate danger?”
“Myself and a human female.”
“Yes, a human female who was allowed to escape. She is telling the human media all about a woman who saved her from a vampire,” Juan Carlos interjected.
Sig raised a hand to silence him but remained reclined in the chair.
“I don’t believe the media found her very credible,” I offered.
“Need we reminisce over the subway incident, Secret? The media had plenty of sources that seemed very reliable indeed in that situation.” Sig spoke the words Juan Carlos was surely thinking.
I stiffened, a chill sweeping through my whole body. If Sig was bringing up the subway-platform incident, I was in serious trouble. It was in my best interests to remain silent until one of them asked me another question.
“Holden has given us some of the details of your report, and we confess we are curious.” This from Daria, who had her porcelain-doll face rested on a manicured hand. “Please tell us the story.”
I relayed, with as much brevity as possible, the events of the previous evening, leading up to the slaying of Henry Davies and the bite marks I associated with Alexandre Peyton.
The Tribunal, even Juan C
arlos, looked pensive upon completion of the story. Sig sat upright in his chair, crossing his leg at the knee and leaning forward as though to get a better view of me.
“You are absolutely certain?”
“I am.”
“We discussed what to do about this matter prior to your arrival, and as is often the case with you, Miss McQueen, the Tribunal was not unanimous. Both Daria and I agreed we will overlook the events of last night. Juan Carlos, as usual, wanted to eat you.”
My gaze darted to Juan Carlos and I paled. The three of them began to laugh heartily, as though Sig had just given the punch line to the funniest joke they’d ever heard. I would never understand vampire humor.
Sig continued, “In light of the development you’ve presented, however, we will need to alter the arrangement somewhat.”
“Meaning?” I knew this would sound indignant, and sure enough, anger flared in Juan Carlos’s eyes. Sig gave me a shrewd smile.
“We have a new job for you, my delicate flower.” He and Daria exchanged a loaded glance. “You will find Peyton and you will bring him to us.”
To the Tribunal, this directive meant bringing them a steaming pile of ashes that had once been one of their undead brethren. Bounty hunter may have been my official title, but none of the targets they’d sent me after returned in anything larger than a coffee tin. They expected me to kill one of the nastiest and most challenging vampires I’d ever faced? Did they honestly think he’d be like any other target? Killing Alexandre Peyton was going to be next to impossible.
“Oh, and, Secret?” Sig interrupted my internal diatribe.
“Yes?”