“You all right?” Ciaran asked Merrick, squinting at the computer screen. “You look tired. You’re not still feeling the effects of your run-in with Victor’s men?”
“No.” He thought of simply ending the video call, but Ciaran was the Horseman with whom he was the closest, and some odd little urge prompted him to say, “I met the woman who saved me, the one who gave me blood after Victor’s men dumped me at Christian’s castle.”
“And?” Ciaran asked.
“She thinks she’s my Beloved. No, not just thinks—she demands that I make her my Beloved.”
“One of those,” Ciaran asked, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Ever since Christian started writing those books, women have been crawling all over me to make them my ‘dark consort,’ whatever the hell that is.”
“Exactly! She’s a fan of Christian’s books, too, and is constantly telling me what they say about us.”
“Just like you needed to be told what these books say about Dark Ones. Not that we actually read them.”
“No, of course not,” Merrick agreed quickly, ignoring the spurt of guilt that came with the lie. He told himself it was only one or two of the books that he’d read, so that really barely counted at all.
“Women,” Ciaran snorted. “They eat that drivel up because they don’t know any better.”
Merrick frowned. He didn’t like the implication that Tempest consumed drivel any more than he appreciated the slur against Christian’s books. They might not be great literature, but they weren’t that bad, and certainly Tempest appeared to have enjoyed them.
“I like Christian as well as anyone, but I have never understood why he went out of his way to write those books.”
“Well, we are interesting,” Merrick said, feeling somewhat defensive. “Tempest—that’s the woman who saved me—”
“Fed you,” Ciaran interrupted. “In Christian’s books, it would have been some woman who ‘saved you from your dark self.’ All this woman did was give you blood. We need to keep the line between fiction and reality clear.”
Merrick’s frown grew. “What Tempest did was more than just a feeding. She pulled me back from the brink of oblivion. I was ready to give up until she saved me.”
Ciaran snorted again. “You really must have had some damage to that brain of yours if you think that. No, no, I can see by the way you’re scowling that you’re going to be all protective of this woman just because she fed you when you were desperate. We’ll move past that, even if the woman can’t. I just hope you haven’t given her any encouragement.”
Merrick cleared his throat and studied the wallpaper. “I had to ensure she was safe. I owed her that.”
“Put her on a plane to somewhere remote, and forget about it.”
“I’m not sure it’s going to be that easy. She’s ... she’s fairly insistent that we’ve completed a few of the steps of Joining.”
“Aren’t they all convinced of that!” Ciaran said with a short bark of laughter. “If I’ve heard ‘Oh, Ciaran, bite me and make me your eternal love’ once, I’ve heard it a hundred times. I’d give anything to find just one woman who was intelligent enough to see through Christian’s dreck.”
“Tempest is a very smart woman,” Merrick said firmly, a flash of fire giving his voice an edge that he struggled to smooth. “She is discerning, and there’s nothing wrong with women reading books. Hell, a few centuries ago, women could have been burned at the stake for reading, and now you want to damn the lot of them for having the interest to learn more about us? You don’t deserve a woman like Tempest.”
“Good. I don’t want her.” Ciaran narrowed his eyes. “She sounds insipid and pushy.”
“She is not anything of the sort,” Merrick snarled. “She’s a goddamned goddess, and I’m done with this conversation.” He slammed the lid of his laptop shut, the sounds of Ciaran’s laughter echoing in his ears.
How dare Ciaran judge Tempest’s character? He had no idea what she was really like, none whatsoever. He didn’t see the warm glow that she seemed to exude, or the way her eyes got misty with passion, and the teasing note in her voice when she was saying something outrageous just to get a rise from him.
He spent the rest of the night grappling with a desire to check on Tempest while he dealt with a report that a Dark One in the south of Italy had gone missing. By the time he’d taken a portal to Rome, driven to Pisa—where the Dark One was last seen—and returned to Rome, only to portal back to Nice, it was midday.
That’s when the texts started.
From: Tempest
Hey, you awake? It’s noon, so I don’t know if you are sleeping or not.
To: Tempest
Yes, I am awake. Are you having an emergency?
From: Tempest
Not so much. Well, kind of. We’re wondering what you’re doing?
To: Tempest
Do I need to define the word “emergency” to you?
From: Tempest
Smart-ass. What are you doing? Are you in Nice?
To: Tempest
Yes.
From: Tempest
Good. Um. Any particular spot?
To: Tempest
Who is we?
From: Tempest
Huh?
To: Tempest
You said “we were wondering.” Who are you with? Did you find Victor? You were supposed to tell me if you saw him! Has he harmed you? Is he forcing you to text to me? Why didn’t we set up a duress word? Tell me where you are right now.
From: Tempest
Whoa now, that was like a wall of words. No, I haven’t seen Carlo.
From: Tempest
We is Ellis and me.
From: Tempest
No one is forcing me to text you. Ellis wouldn’t let me drive, so I have all the time to text without killing someone.
To: Tempest
Why are you threatening to kill someone? What the hell is going on?
From: Tempest
Henceforth, my duress word is: windowpane. I think I could work that into a conversation in which I was being forced to text you.
To: Tempest
ARE YOU WITH YOUR COUSIN?
From: Tempest
Such as, “here I am in a windowless van, one that doesn’t even have a windowpane.”
To: Tempest
Did you just use windowpane as an example, or did you use it because you are secretly under duress?
From: Tempest
I am not with my cousin. I told you that I was meeting my friend Ellis in Genoa today. You sound odd. Are you hungry? Are you missing me, but don’t want to tell me that because you insist you don’t need me, but in truth, you’re hungry and crabby and don’t get the humor in someone sending you a faux duress word text?
To: Tempest
Emergency (noun): a situation of dire peril, and not one in which you simply wish to text someone information about the picking up of friends from California.
To: Tempest
Although I will remember windowpane for future situations.
From: Tempest
What are you doing in Nice? Are you hiding from the sun somewhere like a hotel? If so, which hotel?
To: Tempest
I am ignoring all further texts from you unless they are emergency-based.
From: Tempest
OK, how about this, if you were going to recommend a hotel in Nice to someone, which would it be?
From: Tempest
Merrick? Hotel?
From: Tempest
You aren’t really going to ignore me, are you? Because I’d never ignore you.
From: Tempest
Fine. Be that way. You only have yourself to blame for what happens.
To: Tempest
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
From: Tempest
Plbtbtbt.
Merrick sighed to himself. Tempest showed absolutely no respect for him, had no fear for her own situation, and was entirely too caring for his peace of mind.
“She’s coming to help me,” he said aloud, and, with a few thoughts about how uncomplicated his life was before Victor’s man dumped him on the steps of Christian’s castle, went down to the front desk of the hotel.
Chapter Eleven
It took us an hour and a half of calling around hotels in Nice to find the one where Merrick was staying.
“Merci, merci beaucoup,” I said into my phone, giving Ellis a thumbs-up. We were almost to Nice, and I made a note on a scrap of paper. “And you have a room I could book? Excellent. The name is Ellis Dawson. We’ll be there in about half an hour. Merci! Au revoir.” I hung up and looked at Ellis. “You speak French. What does devenir chèvre mean?”
Ellis shot me a startled look. “Where did you hear that?”
“It’s the name of the hotel.” I glanced down at the note. “Hôtel Devenir Chèvre. That doesn’t mean something rude, does it? Like Hotel Lady of the Evening? Hotel Scatological Content? Hotel Nose Pickings?”
“How your mind works!” Ellis said, laughing. “No, it literally means to become a goat, although colloquially it means to be driven mad by someone.”
“The hotel mad goat?” I shook my head. “Whatever it is, it’s not close to the water. It’s on ... let’s see ... forty-two rue Monteton.”
Ellis choked. “You’re shitting me!”
“I wouldn’t poop on anyone, least of all you. Why would you even say that?”
“Monteton means ‘my nipple’ in French, my innocent one.”
I was silent for a moment. “Trust Merrick to stay at the mad goat hotel on nipple street. They’d better have a place for dog walkies, since Kelso will have to go by the time we get there.”
“You’d better hope your sexy vampire wasn’t so suspicious by your texts that he left immediately.”
I made a face. “He was still there as of a minute ago, so I think we’re good.”
“You might be, dear heart, but I am anything but good. Or at least, so I plan to be very naughty indeed on this exotic vacation. Tell me there’s a pool at this goat hotel.”
“I hope so. It is the French Riviera, after all.” We chatted about what Ellis hoped to do during his vacation (mostly lounge on the beach and next to pools, and ogle the scantily clad males), and what things I wanted to do (ogle Merrick).
We rolled into town shortly after that, and went straight to the hotel, a gleaming white stone building that was almost blinding in the full sun. It was three stories tall, had a center courtyard that was partially covered by a second-story verandah, and which also sported lots of plants in pots, and black iron grilles on the windows.
“Hello,” I said to the desk clerk when we arrived. Ellis was panting by the time he hauled his mammoth luggage in from the car. Kelso, having had a potty break on the green strip of lawn in front of the hotel, sat politely and gently wagged his tail. “I’m Tempest Keye, and this is Ellis Dawson. I reserved a room for him.”
“Ah, oui?” The man sitting behind an old-fashioned reception desk looked up from a book. His gaze moved from me to Kelso to Ellis.
“Yes. Oui. I hope it has air-conditioning, because it’s hot as blazes out there.”
“Hotter,” Ellis said, glancing around the small reception area. Off it, the cool darkness of a tiny dining room sat unoccupied. Next to us was an elevator and a flight of carpeted stairs. Ellis moved over to consider one of the portraits that hung on three of the four walls.
“Do you need a credit card?” I asked the desk clerk. “I’ll pay, Ellis, since I brought you out here.”
“Sweetness, you are spoiling me rotten, and I love every minute of it! I’d insist on paying my own way, but you know full well that IT pays nothing, and I just about bankrupted myself getting the plane tickets,” Ellis said, stopping in front of one painting of a girl in a Georgian-era dress. “Is it just me, or does this chickie have three arms?”
The clerk graciously allowed me to pay, and asked for Ellis’s passport.
“Passport?” I asked Ellis, going over to where he was leaning in squinting at a painting of what looked to be twin blond-haired boys. Absently, he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to me before pointing to the painting and saying, “Can you see through those two boys? I swear they’re
transparent.”
“Why would someone paint transparent twins?” I asked, and returned to the desk clerk, handing over the passport.
“The dog in this picture has a forked tongue,” Ellis called over to me, pointing at a picture of a little girl and her panting dog. He looked again at the picture. “And so does the girl.”
“What of Madame?” the clerk asked. “You are not staying with us?”
“I could swear this painting is of Barnabas Collins from that Dark Shadows soap opera that my mother loved so much.” Merrick moved a plant in a pot in order to get a closer look at a painting of a man holding a cane.
The desk clerk raised an eyebrow at me, causing me to blush. “Oh. Um. About that.” I tried very hard to not look like the sort of woman who shacked up with the first vampire she met. “I’ll be staying with Merrick. Merrick Simon. I called about him, too.”
“Monsieur Simon has not informed me about this,” the clerk said, and sat down, picking up his book again.
“Well, he will just as soon as he knows I’m here. What room is he in? I’ll go talk to him and he can tell you it’s OK that I share his room.”
“That I cannot tell Madame,” the clerk said, not even looking up. “It is the policy of the Hôtel Devenir Chèvre to not release information. I am sure Madame understands this little problem.”
“Madame doesn’t,” I said somewhat waspishly, and pulled out my wallet to extract a few euros. “Right, what’ll it cost me to get Merrick’s room number?”
“I’m going to look up Dark Shadows on YouTube,” Ellis informed the room in general. “I know I’m right about this.”
The man looked horrified at my attempted bribe. “Pardon?”
“You heard me just fine. How much for Merrick’s room number?”
“Didn’t Barnabas Collins have a cane? Someone on that show did—”
The clerk looked obstinate. “I cannot be bought, madame!”
“Fine.” I picked up the handle of an old-fashioned phone that sat on the counter, clearly for guests’ use. “I’ll call him first, and then he can tell you to let me know. What room is he in?”
The look the clerk gave me was amusing, but not in the least bit helpful. “No, madame.”
“Sheesh!” I shoved the phone at him. “You dial it, then.”
“I cannot.”
“Gah!” I switched tactics (I never was good at being bad cop). “Think of the good karma that will come your way for telling me. Merrick needs me, and by letting me know where he is, you’ll make us both happy. Birds will sing, squirrels will dance with each other, and the galaxy will continue to spin on its way secure in the knowledge that you did the right thing.”
The clerk looked unimpressed by the galaxy’s good thoughts.
“You, sir, are most annoying,” I told him, and turned my back. Merrick, are you there?
Silence answered my question.
You’re not ignoring me just because you’re annoyed, are you? Because if you are, you need to stop. I really need to talk to you.
He didn’t answer. I sighed, not sure if he was just being stubborn, or if, for some reason, we were no longer connecting mentally. Glumly, I went over to where Ellis was taking pictures of a portrait, while muttering to himself, “It has to be the same picture.”
“It’s a good thing there are two beds in your room, because I may be needing one of them,” I told him.
“Hmm?” Ellis dragged his attention from the portrait. “Wait, what? You can’t stay with me. What if I want to invite someone back to my room?”
“For what?” I asked before my brain, with a disgusted click of its tongue, reminded me that other people enjoyed sexy times as much as I did. “Oh, for that. Well ...”
; “Why can’t you stay with your fanged one?” Ellis asked.
“He won’t tell me.” I nodded to the clerk, who was pretending to be absorbed in his book.
Ellis sized him up, smiled, and said, “Leave this to me, darling.”
I watched with amazement as Ellis sauntered over to the reception desk, and said in a drawl, “Bonjour.”
The clerk looked up, and sat up straighter, his hands making little gestures that I interpreted as him being pleasantly flustered. “Bonjour, monsieur.”
“I understand that you told my friend she can’t see her boyfriend.” Ellis leaned in and whispered something in the clerk’s face. Instantly the man pursed his lips, and shook his head.
Ellis whispered again. This time, the clerk gave one of those Gallic shrugs I’ve seen in old black-and-white French movies, and wrote something on a piece of paper, which he gave to Ellis.
“You are the bestest friend ever,” I told Ellis when he strolled over to me. “What room is Merrick in?”
“No clue.” Ellis grabbed the handle of his behemoth suitcase. “Be a dear and grab my airport shop bags, would you? Let’s take the elevator. I don’t think I’m up to hauling my suitcase up a flight of stairs.”
“You didn’t get the room number? Then what did the guy write down for you?”
Ellis grinned. “His number. I’m meeting him at nine.”
I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m just going to have to text Merrick and ask him what room he’s in, although he’s bound to kick up a fuss.”
To: Merrick
What is your room num—
A movement at the hotel’s glass door caught my eye before I could finish the text.
Standing just outside it with his hand on the door was Carlo. For the count of ten, we stared at each other.
“Ellis!” I shrieked, and pointed. “It’s my dad’s cousin Carlo!”
“What?” Ellis dropped the handle of his suitcase and hurried over to me.
Carlo spun on his heel, and was gone before I could blink. “Come on, we have to follow him.” I clutched my phone, grabbed Kelso’s leash, and bolted through the door, the heat of the day hitting me like a wall. The hotel itself didn’t have a parking lot, but there was parking a half block away, and that’s where I saw Carlo headed.
The Vampire Always Rises (Dark Ones Book 11) Page 13