Undying Desire

by Jessica Lee

  Bam.

  He had him.

  A vampire as old and powerful as Kenric required only a mere second to grab a human’s mind. Arran glanced around the room, keeping an eye out for anyone paying too much attention. A few uninterrupted moments was all they needed for Kenric to find out if the bartender had seen Guerin. He swung his head back to the mind-melded duo. Under the beam of halogen lightening, a fine sheen of sweat glistened on Kenric’s brow. He was pushing hard and fast to get in and out of the bartender’s mind quickly.

  Arran swung his attention once more to the dance floor. A petite, young brunette wiggled her hips and pivoted around at the same time, flashing him a drunken smile. Shit. He jerked his gaze to his partner and the human.

  The two hadn’t moved. Arran groaned, then swiveled on the stool.

  Damn, but she had.

  Her head swayed from Arran, then to the brain-locked pair. Party girl’s mouth fell open, and she slurred some version of a question in German that sounded like “what was up with them?” Oh, hell no.

  He wasn’t doing this.

  Arran slammed a wave of compulsion into the mind of the sloshed twenty-something. With the language barrier, he was limited to giving her only a sense of urgency to turn and leave. It would have to do. Her eyelids shuttered and she staggered. Arran jumped from the stool, steadied her, then guided her in the opposite direction. Off you go. She hesitated for a split second as if mulling over what she’d been doing there, then proceeded back into the crowd.

  Kenric tapped his shoulder. The bartender had moved away and now stood at the sink, wiping his face with a damp paper towel. He looked as if he’d eaten something bad, but the effects should wear off in an hour or so.

  “Let’s talk.” Kenric nodded toward a vacant booth, then headed in that direction. A couple of heartbeats later, Arran slid onto the leather seat across from the other vampire.

  “So what did you learn?”

  “Guerin was here.” He nodded. “I got a good image of him at the bar. At one point in the night, a female, blonde, lots of black latex, handed him a note to give to Guerin.”

  “Any idea what it said?” Arran shifted in his seat.

  “Yeah. Luckily, the guy couldn’t resist taking a look.” Kenric swiped a hand through his hair. “Someone wanted him to meet them behind the club if he wanted more info about Eve.”

  “Shit.” Arran growled deep in his throat. “That must have been what Guerin was up to the last time we spoke. Going to meet whoever sent him the little invite.” Frustration brewed like a storm in the other vampire’s eyes, clouding the blue. Kenric shoved away from the table, rocking the back of the bench with his sudden movement.

  “Entschuldigen sie bitte.” Both men swiveled their heads in the direction of the tall raven-haired server, wearing a red corset and not much else but a smile. She stood at their table, empty tray in hand. “Beer, wine?” She continued, propping her hands and tray on the table, her breasts nearly spilling from the confines of her top.

  “Nein,” Kenric shook his head. “No. No, thank you.”

  The server stepped away, and Arran returned his attention to Kenric. Wait a minute. This might not be a dead end after all.

  “You said a blonde in latex gave the bar guy the note, right?”

  “That’s right…”

  “From what you saw, do you think you would recognize her again?”

  Kenric appeared to study the remembered image in his mind for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I probably would.”

  “Ten bucks says she works here.” Arran glanced around the room, placed his elbows on the table, and laced his fingers. “Give me ten minutes with her and—”

  “We’ll find out who wanted some alone time with Guerin.” A slow grin formed on Kenric’s face.

  “Let’s find our courier.” Arran slid from the seat.

  With the amount of leather each warrior had draped himself in this evening, they had no trouble blending in with the fetish crowd. They maneuvered around the perimeter of the room, scoping out the residents of high-backed booths and the grinding couples under the black lights on the floor.

  Near the front entrance, Arran turned to check on Kenric’s progress when a familiar scent—one that wasn’t his master’s—jerked him to a halt. A glimpse at Kenric’s expression said he’d caught a whiff too. Vampire. Both did a three-sixty, attempting to get a bead on the other bloodsucker who’d joined them in the room. But as quickly as the molecules had appeared in the air, they were gone.

  Dammit.

  Kenric snagged his arm, pulling him in. “Let’s find the girl, get what we came for, then blow this place before we bring any more attention to ourselves,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “The last thing we need is lost time soothing a bruised ego of the master of the colony here, since I didn’t announce our intended arrival.”

  Arran nodded. “I hear you.”

  “Wait…” Kenric’s gaze darted toward the crowd. “There.” He indicated with a tilt of his head a full-figured blonde wrapped in tight pink latex, making her way across the floor. “That may be who we’re looking for.” Kenric slipped through the crowd and Arran stayed close, following his lead. A few feet away, she pivoted, facing them. Kenric glanced back and announced, “That’s her.”

  Arran tapped him on the shoulder in confirmation, before brushing past him. “My turn.” He sauntered over, painting his best grin on his face. The blonde didn’t miss his approach, beaming a smile of her own back at him. He didn’t like having to lead the woman on. He had all the female he needed at home, but this was for Guerin, for Kenric, and for the Enclave. The information she held inside her head could save not just one warrior’s life but all of theirs.

  “Hi there,” Arran said, slowing to a stop in front of her.

  “Hallo.” Her matching pink smile broadened.

  He reached out and trailed his fingertips down her arm, then leaned in at her ear. “Sprechen sie English?”

  “Ja—yes.” She nodded. “I speak English.”

  “Excellent.” Arran straightened, then lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, bringing her gaze to his. “I need you to take us somewhere private. Do you understand?”

  Her smile faded right before her lips parted as if on the verge of a question, then her eyes clouded. “I understand.” The statement tumbled from her instead.

  “Good girl,” Arran replied, releasing his hold on her. “What’s your name?”

  “Ingrid.”

  “Take me somewhere quiet, okay, Ingrid?” Arran brushed a stray hair behind her ear. To onlookers it would appear like flirtation, a hookup for the next few minutes. “Everything is going to be fine.”

  Ingrid blinked, then sauntered toward a small, dimly lit corridor. Arran kept close, but glimpsed Kenric in his peripheral vision, keeping them in sight.

  Arran watched as Ingrid retreated farther down the hall, pausing at the second door on her right. She pulled a set of keys suspended on a chain from her cleavage, then slipped one of them in the lock. Kenric stood leaning against the wall at the entryway, staring out at the crowd. But Arran knew the other vampire was aware of their every move.

  The door opened and she stepped inside. Arran eased over the threshold and surveyed the room: an office. Except for a small wooden desk and a couple of chairs, the room was empty. He returned to the door, glanced down the hall, and gave Kenric the all-clear signal for him to join them.

  With her back to the desk, Ingrid waited for her next instruction. “Very good, Ingrid.” Arran drew closer and her chin lifted, keeping her gaze locked with his. “This is perfect.” The door clicked behind him, signaling Kenric’s arrival, followed by the clunk of the deadbolt. The master vampire’s presence moved in beside him.

  Being the younger of the two vampires in the room, Arran possessed the mental strength to grasp flashes of images from a human’s mind. But to search their memories for more, Arran needed assistance to go deeper—blood. It had been years since he’d pushed
that far. But it wasn’t as if he was some damn new trans. He was more than capable of getting the job done.

  “I need you to relax for me, Ingrid. Can you do that?” She tilted her head, and her eyes narrowed. Her expression told the story of the battle playing out between human will and the compulsion laced in his words. “Relax, Ingrid,” he whispered the words again, then cupped her face. She leaned into his caress and the lines of worry in her face softened. “That’s it.” Arran brushed the loose strands of hair away from her throat, exposing her pulse. “Close your eyes now.” Her lashes lowered, the tension visibly leaving her body. Arran flicked his gaze at Kenric, and the master nodded his go-ahead.

  The room blurred around Arran with the speed of his strike. Ingrid released a whimper, and hot blood rushed over his tongue. Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him closer. Arran reached up and stilled Ingrid’s advances, backing his hips away from hers. This wasn’t about pleasure. The only purpose this feeding served was to save a fellow warrior—and friend.

  His pulse raced under the influence of her life-giving essence, and with it, his connection to her mind strengthened. Arran dislodged his fangs and licked the wound, sealing her vein. Her flesh had already taken on the darkened color of a bruise in formation. Good. The mark would help with the hookup cover story he intended to plant in her mind when they were finished.

  The whimper that had begun earlier from Ingrid had evolved into a moan. The human was extremely susceptible to the compulsion he’d used to induce pleasure, not pain, with his bite. A good thing, since her mind was like putty in his hands. Bad, since the putty existed with a single-minded purpose: sex. Arran moved from her throat, and her head lolled. He clasped her cheeks in his palms, steadying her.

  “Ingrid.” With a receptive mind, compulsion worked beautifully on direct questions. But there were times when it was more beneficial to see what the other person had experienced. And this was one of those times. Ingrid could have witnessed something significant and had no idea.

  “Hmm?” she replied in a throaty groan.

  “It’s time to open your eyes.”

  “No, no, no, no.” She shook her head against his hold. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, and clasped at his shirt for him to return.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to stop.” He wrapped his hands around hers. “But I need you to open your eyes first. Then we’ll have a real good time.” At least it’s what she’d leave believing.

  Ingrid’s eyelids fluttered open, and Arran latched onto her gaze. He reached inside, curling his mind around hers, tightening his hold. A small gasp escaped her lips. With the added connection of her blood mingling with his, Arran should be able to get a clear picture of whom and what Ingrid had interacted with over the last forty-eight to seventy-two hours.

  Layer by layer, Arran pushed through the protective fibers defending the source of her memories. Then without warning, it shattered. The barricade holding back the tidal wave of synaptic data unleashed. Garbled voices and images sped through his head like a movie reel on fast-forward. The room swam under the onslaught. His ears rang.

  Had to…slow it down.

  He staggered, losing his grip on her hands. Then a strong arm at his back stabilized him—Kenric.

  “Control it, Arran,” the master’s deep voice whispered in his ear. “You’re in charge. Filter what you don’t need.”

  Arran drew in a deep breath and clenched his fists. The stolen memories tumbling through his neurons slowed. All he needed was a second or two to screen whether or not they were relevant to his search. Multiple scenes of club life floated past. Night-to-night operations of the establishment taking place between Ingrid and a redhead: Mistress Fallon… The name, spoken more than once by the blonde, echoed in his head.

  “We’re running out of time.” From a distance, Kenric’s voice worked its way into his consciousness. Arran managed a nod, continuing to sift through the fragments of the last few nights of Ingrid’s life. Damn, the woman spent a lot of time at the Rose’s Thorn.

  “Whoa…” Arran slammed on the mental brakes inside his head.

  “What is it?” Within his vision, the large dark form of the other vampire drew closer to his side.

  “Guerin. He’s at the bar, asking to speak to the owner. This is the right night.” Arran’s heart pounded.

  “The redhead, the one she calls Mistress Fallon, is agreeing to meet with him.”

  Come on, let’s see who gives you the note. Mentally, Arran whisked through the next few frames inside her mind.

  Show me…show me. Damn! He was so close. Then… His breath hitched.

  Got you!

  “Mistress Fallon.”

  “What?”

  “She’s the one who gave the note to Ingrid.” Arran risked a glance at Kenric. One corner of the master’s lip curled.

  “Good work.”

  Arran returned back to his source of information. “Ingrid, you still with me?”

  “Yes,” she softly uttered.

  “Very good.” He reached out, slipped one of his palms in hers, and squeezed. “Ingrid, have you spoken to or seen Mistress Fallon today?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She didn’t say. Mistress called to let me know she wasn’t injured in the fire.”

  His gaze darted to Kenric, then back to Ingrid. “What fire?”

  “The fire that destroyed her home behind the club. She called to say she was okay but didn’t know when she’d be back to work. She would be staying out of town for a while.”

  “Interesting…,” Kenric added. “Her home burns the day after she plans to meet with my second-in-command.” A charged moment of silence passed between them. “Unusual timing, don’t you agree?”

  “Oh, yeah. Some coincidence.”

  “See what other images you can gather from her memories of the other night. What happened after she gave the bartender the note?”

  Arran once again pushed into her mind, fast-forwarding back to the night. What else did you see, Ingrid? Interactions with club guests. Mistress Fallon in her office, then Ingrid watching her boss from the rear of the club. Fallon is meeting with Guerin, but—wait. Well, who do we have here? Same clothes as Mistress Fallon, but not the same hair. And the look on Guerin’s face… Could it be? Lucky for us you’re a bad, bad girl, Ingrid, spying on your boss. If she would only move close enough to hear what they were saying… But before he could learn more, Ingrid turned, and moved back toward the club door.

  “Damn!”

  “Well…?” Kenric demanded, impatience ringing in his voice.

  “Your instincts were right.” Arran glanced at the other vampire. “Ingrid saw more. She’d followed Mistress Fallon when she met with Guerin.” Kenric’s brows lifted. “And based on Guerin’s expression when Fallon showed up and had suddenly gone from a redhead to a brunette…” Arran pivoted on his heels, facing Kenric.

  “Fallon is Eve.”

  “We found her,” Kenric said. “Son of a…” He shook his head as if the knowledge that his supposed daughter was within reach had rattled his brain cells.

  Arran backed away from a soundly sleeping Ingrid. She lay with her head on the armrest of the office’s black leather love seat. The memories of their time together neatly altered to reflect an intimate encounter with a man whose description he didn’t match. Satisfied that all the loose ends were tied up, he turned toward Kenric.

  “So logic dictates that if we find Eve, aka Fallon, we find Guerin.”

  “I agree.” Kenric sauntered closer and peered down at the pink-wrapped female. “She mentioned that Fallon had called yesterday.”

  “That’s right.” Arran pivoted on his heel and faced him.

  “That would mean”—Kenric tossed him a sideways glance—”Eve left her calling card on Ingrid’s phone.”

  “Damn. That’s right.” Not wasting another second, Ar
ran leaned over, and after mumbling a quick apology, checked the pockets practically molded to Ingrid’s backside. The first one was a bust, but the second… A hard rectangular object formed a ridge under the latex. Arran slipped his fingers inside. “Got it.” He straightened and held up the slender rhinestone-encased iPhone between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Excellent.”

  Arran slid the pad of his finger across the lock bar and went straight for her recent call log. After a quick scroll, the name “Fallon,” showed up on two calls from yesterday afternoon. One incoming—one outgoing. His gut tightened.

  We’re one more step closer, Guerin. Hang on.

  “Found it.” Arran handed the display over to Kenric.

  The other warrior gripped the phone, his gaze hovering over the screen, then, “Let’s get out of here,” he said without looking Arran’s way, his voice gruff. The sound of frustration laced with pain couldn’t be missed in the other vampire’s words. Arran didn’t know how Kenric had kept from taking his head off for partnering with Guerin on this plan. Kenric turned and led the way. After easing the door open and checking the hallway, they slipped through the corridor and made a beeline for the exit.

  At the XJL, Kenric handed over the cell, then rounded the rear of the car toward the driver’s side. “I’ll drive.”

  Arran took the passenger seat, the smell of leather and wood enveloping him. Kenric settled in behind the wheel and pressed start. The engine roared to life. The dark warrior wrapped his hand around the wheel, the leather encased inside his palms releasing a squeak under the pressure of his grip.

  “I want you to get Gabrielle on this,” Kenric commanded, his gaze directed at the windshield. “See what she can do to get a GPS location on Eve with her cell number.” After a moment, he shifted and faced Arran. “With any luck, she’s left her damn phone on, and it’ll lead us straight to Guerin.”

  “We’ll find him.” Arran nodded. “We’ll find Guerin and your daughter.”

  Kenric jerked his head back to the wheel, shifted the car into reverse, and accelerated out of the parking lot. The crunch of gravel scattering under the wide tread filled the cabin, then the car dipped, and they were back out on the main road.