The Vampire Always Rises (Dark Ones Book 11)

by Katie MacAlister

  “I promise I won’t breathe a word,” I exclaimed, glancing around my little balcony to make sure no one could overhear me. Since I was the only person crazy enough to sit out in the midday sun, I was safe enough from eavesdroppers. “And thank you for trusting me. I won’t let you down.”

  “There is this group of people called the Revelation.”

  “Revelation like ... in the Bible?” I asked, confused.

  “No, evidently it’s the name of some corporation. An evil corporation. Anyway, a few years ago we started hearing about this group called the Revelation. They were advertising at folk festivals and similar events about vampires who would come to your party and entertain.”

  “Like clowns?”

  “No, do vampire things for the entertainment of those present.”

  “Um ... do you guys do that?”

  “No! Not real Dark Ones, anyway, but you know how it is—there’s a huge vampire fandom out there, and lots of people like to live the lifestyle and believe they are vamps when they really aren’t. Anyway, we just assumed it was that, but then one day Merrick’s sister went to one of the parties, and wasn’t seen again.”

  “Who’s Merrick?” I asked, having lost track of the players.

  “The vampire you found on our doorstep. His sister Renata was seeing a man who we only know as Edward, who evidently was one of the high mucky-mucks in the Revelation. He invited her to attend one of their parties.”

  “What happened to her?” My gut tightened. I had a bad feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer.

  Allie was silent for the count of fifteen. “Her body was found two months later. She’d been raped and ... brutalized.”

  “Oh my goodness,” I said, sick at the thought, of both the poor woman having gone through such a horror and her family dealing with the tragedy. “That’s just appalling.”

  “Renata is a Moravian—a female Dark One. Do you know about them?”

  I thought hard. “They don’t have to drink blood like the males, but can if they want, right?”

  “Yes. Merrick found Edward, and ... well, you can imagine what he did.”

  “Glorioski. He didn’t kill him, did he?” Had I bonked a murderer? No wonder my father wanted to keep me away from men—clearly I lacked any sort of ability to discern evil from good.

  “No, although I gather it was a near thing. Merrick brought Edward before the Moravian Council, the group that polices Dark Ones. He was tried and convicted, and is currently imprisoned in Merrick’s villa.”

  “What a relief,” I said without thinking, slumping back into my chair.

  “I beg your pardon?” Allie sounded mildly outraged.

  “Oh, I just ... I meant because I ... we ... uh ...” I gave a little cough and stopped.

  “You didn’t by any chance engage in some carnal activities when you fed Merrick?” Allie asked, the outrage changing to amusement. “Don’t be embarrassed if you did—it’s a very common effect, given the nature of the feeding. I mean, what could be more intimate? Although generally it’s limited to Beloveds, it can happen when the respective parties are not engaged otherwise.”

  “Oh, good,” I said, slumping even more. “I was worried I’d have to have my lady garden exorcised or something. Although if Merrick didn’t kill anyone, then the point is moot. I don’t blame him for hunting down his sister’s killer.”

  “No more do I. Regardless of our feelings, the Revelation is now threatening Dark Ones, and the Four Horsemen specifically.”

  “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” I asked, startled.

  She laughed. “No, although I take it that was the source of their name. The Four Horsemen is the name that Merrick and three other Dark Ones have given themselves. They are more or less an elite police force that tackles any threats that affect vampires and mortals alike. Right now they’re focused on the Revelation.”

  “Gotcha. How ... er ... how is Merrick?”

  “He was fine when I last saw him. He’s gone now.”

  For some reason that I couldn’t pinpoint—and admittedly didn’t particularly want to analyze—my spirits dropped even lower at that news. I had a sudden yearning to see Merrick again, to look in those lovely eyes, and to feel the cool silk of his hair on my cheek ... not to mention other parts of him visiting parts of me.

  I shifted in the chair, and tried to think of something intelligent to say, but Allie covered the phone and murmured something I couldn’t hear, then came back and said with false brightness, “I’m so glad you’re settled. It was a pleasure seeing you. Do come back and visit us another time. I must be off. Christian wants to take the children out, and it means loads and loads of sunscreen for him. Good-bye!”

  She hung up before I could thank her for her thoughtfulness, leaving me with much to think over.

  And think I did. For a day I kicked around the hotel and town, doing tourist things, but not really present—my mind seemed to be caught up with the idea of seeing Merrick again, and ... and ... “And what?” I asked myself the following night, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “And holding him? Offering him comfort for the pain of losing his sister in such a horrible manner? Having incredibly awesome sex again?”

  Inner Tempest liked that idea a whole lot. I told her she was a shameless hussy, and pretended I didn’t wholeheartedly agree with her. “What you need,” I told my reflection, “is something to distract your hoohaw from the idea of Merrick and his hoohaw. Hmm. Do men have hoohaws? Maybe they have a manhaw?” I sighed, and padded out of the bathroom, and onto the bed, punching the pillow a few times to make it comfortable.

  “Let’s see. You have six days before Ellis arrives to distract you from your complete lack of vampire in your life. One of those days was going to be for Cousin Carlo, but I guess I can see if he wants me early.”

  One pleasant if slightly awkward phone conversation later, I was packing for departure to Carlo’s house in Genoa the following morning. Once there, I had to admit I was impressed how my father’s Italian side of the family was doing. The house had a huge fence around the perimeter of what looked like a large estate sitting high on a hill, with a view of the glittering sea beyond, white ships dotting the deep cerulean of the water. I showed my passport to the security camera at the gate, and after a few minutes, my taxi was allowed to enter the grounds, and deposited me at a solid white stone villa, all colonnades and large windows. Beyond the house, hills rose, dotted with olive and orange trees, brilliant red and yellow flowers, and the odd occasional palm tree swaying with stately grace in the breeze that lifted off the harbor.

  “Hi, I’m Tempest,” I said to the man who opened the door. “Are you Carlo?”

  “No,” the man said. He was a little taller than me, but built like a wrestler, with no neck, thick shoulders, and a barrel chest. He also had a nose that had clearly been broken more than once. But it was his eyes that sent little shivers of worry down my arms. They were a dull hazel color and completely devoid of any humanity. It was like looking at a photograph of eyes.

  This must be what a sociopath looks like, Inner Tempest commented. I had to agree, but, despite that, forced a smile to my lips and entered the cool darkness of the house, stumbling blindly for a few seconds until my eyes adjusted from the dazzling sunshine to the dark interior.

  I was taken to a room that was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, the white drapes fluttering in the breeze, a full view of the sea beyond. Sitting behind a desk that was cluttered with two laptops, several stacks of spreadsheet printouts, and a variety of what looked like medieval torture instruments was a man who bore absolutely no resemblance to my father.

  “Hello. You must be Cousin Carlo. I’m Tempest.”

  Carlo was probably twenty years older than me, balding with a rusty brown fringe of hair, and a thick Mario Bros. mustache. “Ah? Oh, Tempest.” He stood up and came around the desk to shake my hand. “You are welcome, very welcome. I’m pleased to see Raymond’s daughter at last. You had a good t
rip out? Yes? Good. You admire the view? Yes? Good. Giovanni! My cousin’s daughter will have a room that will give her a view of the sea. You will like to swim every day? Yes? It shall be as you desire. Giovanni will ensure a car is at your disposal.”

  The man with the flat eyes took my luggage and, with a murmur in Italian, left the room. Carlo embraced me, kissing both cheeks. “It is very good to have you here. You like Italy, yes? There is a pool you may also swim in. You swim? Yes? Good. You will wish to see your room.” With an arm around me, he spun me around and marched me out of the room, and into the main hall, where a wrought iron and marble staircase curved upward in a graceful arc. “There is much to see in Genoa. You will wish to see it all, yes? Giovanni will see to anything you need. Dinner is at eight. You need not dress for it—we are very informal here. Ah, there is Giovanni now. He will see to it that you lack for nothing.”

  Before I could do more than say hello and offer up a few stunted syllables as replies, which were summarily ignored, I was hustled up the stairs and deposited in an airy room with French doors that opened onto a lovely balcony.

  My brief experience with Cousin Carlo pretty much set the standard for the rest of the day. Whenever I tried to have a conversation with him, intent on getting to know him, he seemed affable enough, but almost immediately fobbed me off onto Giovanni with an offer to go sightseeing, or shopping, or sailing, or any of the myriad other options available to tourists.

  Needless to say, I dreaded time with Giovanni and his dead eyes. By the following morning, I had learned to stop trying to converse with Carlo, and kept to myself.

  By that evening, I wandered through the grove of olive trees, wondering if it was something about me personally that Carlo objected to, or if he had a dislike of women in general. There were no other females in the house; I’d seen only two other people, both men, one of whom was the cook, and the other some sort of handyman-gardener.

  “It’s got to be me,” I said morosely. “Or it’s Papa. Maybe Carlo found out about the cult, and figures I’m as crazy as Papa. In which case, what am I going to do?”

  “Suffer,” a man’s voice said from behind me. I spun around, but a black bag was pulled down over my head and upper body. Before I could scream, the breath was knocked out of my lungs when the man picked me up and flung me onto his shoulder. “Suffer like you’ve never suffered before. And after that, you will tell me where I can find Victor. If you refuse, you’ll die.”

  Anger washed over me, a foreign sort of anger, one fueled by a great sadness tinged with a sense of loneliness so profound, it left me speechless with despair.

  Chapter Six

  “Who are you?” I managed to ask after I caught my breath, which wasn’t easy, given that my abductor was apparently jumping over a bunch of ruts. Or at least, that’s what it felt like from where I was slung over his shoulder. “Why are you doing this? And who’s Victor?”

  “Do not play games with me. It will get you nowhere.” The man’s voice was deep, with an Irish twang that sent little ripples of pleasure down my spine despite the fact that he’d just kidnapped me. I tried a kick of my legs, since my arms were plastered to my sides inside the bag, but he slapped my behind. “None of that.”

  “Hey!” I yelled through the bag, spitting out a bit of material that was in my way when I inhaled. “Stop touching my behind! I will not be mauled by anyone, least of all a brutish kidnapper.”

  “I am not brutish,” the man said, bending down in a way that almost had me falling off him. Luckily, his arm tightened around my legs. “I did not savage you as you deserve. In fact, I have treated you quite well.”

  “I do not deserve to be savaged! I’m a nice person! And if you call jamming a bag over my head and picking me up like I’m a bag of bark treating me well, then I’d hate to see what you think ... hey! What the bejeepums are you doing? Let go of me!”

  My voice rose in outrage when he bent again, this time letting me slide off his body, but not before his hand cupped my derriere again. I gasped when he whipped off the bag, and found myself staring up into familiar indigo eyes.

  Behind me was a black car, but it was the man in front of me who held my attention. He stared right back at me, his eyes narrowing as I gaped at him, my Inner Tempest cheering and urging me to grab the man by his head and kiss the dickens out of him.

  “It’s you,” I said stupidly, then realized the inanity of my comment. “Merrick, isn’t it?”

  His eyes narrowed further until the blue glinted ominously. “How do you know me? Was it Victor? Did he tell you about me? Where is he now?”

  With each sentence, he moved forward, forcing me to back up until I bumped into the car.

  “Whoa, now,” I said, holding up a hand and pushing on his chest. He didn’t budge, just stood there, toe-to-toe with me, his nostrils flared slightly as if he was trying to catch a scent. Holy moly, was he impressive when he was standing upright. “Less of that bossy tone, if you don’t mind. I don’t know anyone named Victor, not that I’m sure I’d tell you if I did, what with you abducting me without so much as a Hi, hello, how are you, mind if I pick you up and fondle your derriere?”

  An exasperated look flashed across his face, and he actually backed up a step, letting my hand drop from his chest. “It wouldn’t be much of an abduction if I chatted you up first.”

  “Just because you’re a brute doesn’t mean you can’t be polite,” I said with a serenity I was far from feeling. My insides were all fluttery from seeing him again and feeling the warmth of that hard chest beneath my hand. I wanted nothing more than to slide my hands beneath his shirt so I could stroke the muscles... With a start, I realized he was speaking and I hadn’t heard a word. “Er ... sorry, what was that?”

  He looked outraged. “Asking me to repeat myself needlessly is not going to make things any easier for you.”

  “It’s not needlessly. I was ... er ... woolgathering.”

  He looked even more outraged, if that was possible. Then an oddly martyred look filled his gorgeous eyes. “Are you trying to goad me into killing you? Is that it? You think that you can escape me through death? It won’t work. I refuse to kill you.”

  “Good,” I said, and actually smiled at him. It struck me that I wasn’t frightened of him, not really scared, not like I would be if someone else had shoved a bag over my head and carried me off somewhere. This wasn’t anyone else, though. This was a vampire, one whose life I flattered myself to think I’d saved. And even if I hadn’t exactly saved him, at least we’d had the single most erotic experience of my life.

  I was musing over the oddness of my reaction—lots of women had erotic interludes with men who turned out to be abusive or evil—when I realized that he’d been speaking, and once again I’d missed what he had said. “Sorry, what was that? I was ... er ... thinking of something.”

  “You’re doing this on purpose,” he growled—actually growled the words at me. “Well, it won’t work. I refuse to allow you to anger me.”

  “Awesome!” I said brightly. “Anger is so overrated, don’t you think? I mean, if anyone has a right to be angry about all the crap—pardon my French—that’s gone down over the years, it’s me, and I learned long ago that it doesn’t do any good. So I’m glad you’re not mad and don’t want to kill me, because I don’t particularly feel like courting death today. Maybe another time, but not now that I’ve seen you.”

  “You will explain how you know me,” he started to say, but a shout from behind him, from the region of Carlo’s house, had him casting a glance over his shoulder. We stood outside the gate, which was closed (and had me momentarily wondering how he’d gotten us through it), but before I could ask, he opened the car door, and more or less shoved me inside.

  “What the—” My protests were cut off by the slamming door.

  He started around to the front of the car. I opened the door and jumped out, racing to the gate. Inner Tempest asked me what the dickens I thought I was doing, but I told her to mind her own busi
ness, and also, that I wasn’t going to take being kidnapped without protest, not even when the abductor was the handsome-eyed vampire who’d given me so much pleasure.

  He was on me before I even reached the gate.

  “No,” was all he said, swinging me up and marching back to the car. This time, he tossed me into the backseat before taking his place behind the wheel.

  “Gah! Stupid kid locks,” I snarled, trying to open the back door.

  “Who were you trying to warn?” he asked, putting the car into gear and zooming off into the night with such speed that I was thrown back against the seat.

  “No one. I’ve always felt that if I was ever abducted, it would be mandatory to try to escape. Why are you kidnapping me?”

  “I saw you in Victor’s garden. Clearly you are his woman. Thus, I took you so that you can give me information on him.”

  “I don’t understand who this Victor person is, but even if I did, why didn’t you just say, ‘Hey, I want to talk to you—can we have a little chat over here?’ rather than stuffing a bag over my head? You’re lucky I don’t have an elaborate hairstyle.” I ran a hand through my tangle of hair.

  His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. An odd expression of speculation took hold of his face, almost as if he was trying to figure something out. Who are you?

  “Do you often kidnap people you don’t know?” I shook my head. “You’re never going to get ahead that way.”

  “What are you talking about?” He made a noise of annoyance, and pulled the car to a stop at an overlook. There wasn’t much of a moon, but what there was glinted on the now black sea. “I know who you are. You are Victor’s woman.”

  “I don’t know anyone named Victor,” I repeated, hitting the back of the seat in frustration. “My name, in case you are wondering, and you should be if you aren’t, since it’s only polite to know the name of your abductee, is Tempest Keye.”

  “That name means nothing to me,” he said slowly.

  “Thanks for that,” I said, then, with an irritated click of my tongue, started climbing over the seat.