Xavier: Vampires in Europe (Vampires in America Book 14)

by D. B. Reynolds

  All he’d ever wanted, from the first moment he’d woken to the terrible craving that would shape the rest of his very long life, was blood. Well, that and sex, though the two commonly went together. He much preferred his blood directly from the vein of a woman drowning in the sexual ecstasy of climax, her pussy hot and wet as she strained beneath him.

  His cock stiffened in anticipation before he admitted to himself that while he would enjoy sinking his fangs into a delicate neck, he didn’t need to. Not tonight. He’d drunk long and lavishly the previous evening from one of the wealthy esposas in attendance at a grand party thrown by the mayor of the town below his Fortalesa. The human mayor, who was wealthy himself, appreciated the role Xavier’s presence played in keeping their town safe and free of criminals.

  The party had been held for no reason, other than to celebrate the wealth of those attending. Xavier had gone for political reasons of his own, but also because he’d known he would find an attractive and willing meal. So many of the rich women in this part of the countryside spent long weekdays decorating and redecorating their homes, or getting drunk on wine with friends, while their husbands remained in Barcelona until the weekend, conducting all sorts of business, some of which was undoubtedly in the bedroom. So, why shouldn’t the ladies enjoy the same? Especially since he was always happy to help.

  A chuckle escaped his lips, quickly banished by his recollections of the day he’d just spent sleeping. He’d been aware of the battle raging beyond the walls of his Fortalesa, had sensed the fear and pain of those who’d fought or been injured.

  These attacks had seemed nothing more than an irritant at first—the kind they’d dealt with in the past, whenever a few local matones, bored and restless, had gotten it into their heads to dare each other to harass the vampires in the big stone castle.

  But this latest crisis was no idle dare among foolish humans with more courage than brains. Guards had been wounded today, one seriously. He had to stop this before someone was killed. He would have no choice then, but to hunt every enemy fighter to the ground and kill them. He would not, could not, tolerate even a petty challenge to his authority, and these assaults had now gone well beyond petty. It didn’t matter that this enemy had chosen to strike only in sunlight, when no vampires were at risk—or could be a risk to them. He valued the human fighters who’d manned the walls today, some of whom had bled for him, just as much as he did the vampires who were sworn to his service— many of whom he’d Sired himself.

  He took a quick, hot shower, toweled off without ceremony, then brushed his teeth and got dressed. His fingers served to comb back his long, black hair, and a quick look in the mirror told him he could go another night without shaving. He didn’t bother with anything more than a t-shirt and jeans, though he wore combat lace-up boots, despite the warm, humid nights of the Spanish summer.

  Xavier returned greetings as he climbed the stairs and walked the halls of the Fortalesa, but his thoughts were somber. He was too aware of the scent of spilled blood, of the miasma of fear floating like an unwelcome stench beneath the polite ritual. He stopped one of the men he knew worked closely with his daytime commander, Ferran Casales.

  Ferran was growing inevitably older. One of the great tragedies of being a vampire was losing your human friends. In the earliest years after his turning, he’d tried to avoid those friendships, to avoid the inevitable loss. But for one in his position and with his ambitions, it was impossible. And now, there were Ferran and his wife, Ramlah. His long strides faltered briefly when he thought of Ferran’s wife, who looked so much like her daughter, Layla. Though looks were all they shared. The fierce and beautiful Layla would never have settled into the role of a commander’s wife. No, she’d have insisted on manning the battlements herself, probably ordering about all the other fighters—men and women—just as she no doubt did with that group of mercenaries she’d brought together. Details were sparse when it came to Layla, especially since he was unwilling to probe too obviously. Ferran and Ramlah were clearly proud of their world-traveling daughter, but Layla must have secured their promise to remain silent on any but the most general details of her life. She’d probably told them it had to do with security or some such thing, which would have been a lie.

  He wished it was that simple, but he didn’t blame Layla for letting her parents believe the convenient fiction. The truth was probably not something she wanted to share. Nor was he anxious to have it known, either. He just wished it hadn’t driven her so far away, and for so long. He missed her more than he would admit. She’d been barely out of her teens when she’d left to attend university in the U.S., far too young to be involved with a vampire—a much older vampire. But he’d known from the moment he’d first met the wild and fearless child she’d been that Layla Casales would play an important role in his life. He couldn’t have said what that role would be, or why he was so certain of it, though. He’d gained no particular foresight skill when he’d been reborn as a vampire. The gifts bestowed upon newly turned vampires by a seemingly random fate were as varied as the vampires themselves, but his own talents lay in an entirely different direction.

  Even so, he’d known that Layla was meant to be his, and had cursed the fact that they’d met with such a vast distance in age and experience between them.

  “My lord.” The raspy voice of Layla’s father, Ferran, greeted him as he entered the courtyard. He had to fight the feeling of embarrassment trying to flush his cheeks, knowing he’d been entertaining thoughts of the man’s daughter that were decidedly not innocent.

  “Ferran,” he said warmly, greeting him like the old friend he was. “You’re well?”

  “Yes, my lord. No casualties from today’s attack. They were as determined as ever, but it had the feel of a last-minute strike.” He shook his head. “I just don’t understand the enemy. They’ve taken far more casualties than we have, and several deaths, which we have not.” The old man crossed himself quickly, a superstitious act aimed at securing the continued blessing of his god.

  Xavier didn’t mind the gesture. Contrary to popular myth, religious symbols had no effect on vampires.

  “Walk with me,” Xavier said, as the two of them started across the wide courtyard. “I’m as confused as you are. We need to find out who’s driving these attacks. Someone is programming people to risk their lives, but for what? Until we discover who, we won’t know the answer to why.”

  Ferran gave a slow nod, as Xavier’s lieutenant, Chuy Bolivar, joined them. “Chuy,” Ferran said, echoing Xavier’s own greeting.

  “My lord. Ferran,” he said, then slid into place next to Xavier, without missing a step.

  “Ferran was just briefing me on today’s attack,” Xavier said.

  Chuy’s lips tightened in anger. “Those people. They die for nothing.”

  Xavier disagreed. “I’ve dealt with too many humans in my life to believe that. It’s possible they’ve been brainwashed and don’t know the truth, but they don’t believe it’s for nothing when they take up arms against us. Humans don’t risk their lives for no reason. Not if they’re sane. And there are too many in these assaults—men and women both—for all of them to be insane.” He shook his head. “No, someone is behind this.”

  “Then we must discover who,” Chuy insisted, not bothering to conceal his frustration. He’d been sworn to Xavier for over a century, more than long enough to understand that Xavier didn’t want sheep among his followers, he wanted wolves. Especially as his lieutenant.

  “I’ve inquired some,” Ferran said, as the three men took seats in the commander’s office. Ferran sat on a worn leather couch to avoid assuming the seat of authority behind his desk. Xavier ruled this Fortalesa, but Ferran had an authority of his own, and they all knew it. “But I must be honest,” the human continued. “I’m unwilling to deplete the Fortalesa’s daylight security contingent by sending too many fighters out at one time. Who
ever these attackers are, they must be living locally—though they aren’t necessarily local people. I suspect they’ve been brought in, perhaps even masquerading as ordinary tourists, to stage these attacks. Lord Xavier has lived here peacefully for too long to have that many enemies among the locals. Nor does he have any with so much hatred that they’re willing to die in the effort.”

  “You’re saying you need more men,” Xavier commented. “But how can we trust new recruits? It would be too easy for our enemies to slip some of their own into the mix.”

  Ferran was nodding. “Agreed, my lord. I’m in discussions with someone I trust to bring in a team of skilled fighters who are also experienced in reconnaissance and investigation.”

  Xavier gave him a silent, inquisitive look.

  But Ferran shook his head. “I’d rather wait until they’ve agreed. I still might hire someone else, subject to your final approval, of course.”

  Xavier scowled lightly. “Don’t wait too long, Ferran. So far, we’ve been lucky. That will not last. Now, gentlemen, what else do I need to know tonight?”

  Barcelona, Eleven years ago

  LAYLA’S NERVES danced as she waited in the shelter of the trees for Lord Xavier to return from his patrol around the outside wall of the Fortalesa. He and at least one of his vampires did a sweep of the perimeter every night. Usually his lieutenant, Chuy, was with him, sometimes a few other vamps, but he was never alone. She’d made an art form out of eavesdropping on the vampire lord, and so she knew that the others were there for Xavier’s protection. She also knew he didn’t think their support was necessary, but went along with it for decorum’s sake. Apparently, powerful vampire lords never went anywhere without security. Which seemed odd to her, since it was the vampire lords who least needed someone else’s protection. Her papa had tried to explain it to her, and she’d listened dutifully. But it seemed there were still things she didn’t understand, even though she was always being told how mature she was for her nineteen years of age.

  She only wished her so-called maturity extended beyond the assignment of extra duties—specifically to the realm of love and relationships. Which was why she was currently lurking in a dark forest, with the night mists swirling as she waited for Xavier to return. Because he was hers. Not formally, not yet. But she’d always known they were meant to be together, even though she’d been too young. She’d accepted their age difference, accepted the truth that had kept them apart for so many years. But now she was an adult. Today was her birthday, her nineteenth birthday, old enough to make her own choices, to pick her own boyfriend. Her own . . . lover. She shivered when she thought about what that meant. She’d kissed other boys. She’d even touched a boy’s penis two months ago, feeling it grow and harden beneath her fingers, while he squeezed her breasts. It had all been more weird than passionate, but, you know, interesting. She hadn’t known boys’ penises could do that, but when she’d thought about it later, it had made sense. I mean, she knew where babies came from, for fuck’s sake.

  And why the hell was she thinking about that? She wasn’t waiting in the dark forest for some boy. She was waiting for Xavier, Vampire Lord of Spain, and the love of her life. Not like in some fairy tale, either. She wasn’t stupid. She knew they had differences—some of them big—like how old he was. But that couldn’t change the way she felt, the way she’d always felt about Xavier. She couldn’t even explain it. She’d simply always known he was hers. And tonight, they’d finally be together, the way she’d always known they would be.

  Okay, so he was a lot older than she was, but he was older than everyone, even though he didn’t look it. He was tall—which was really important, because she was, too. And he was beautiful. One of her friends insisted only women could be beautiful, but that was just stupid. If there’d ever been a beautiful man, it was Xavier. And then, there was his voice. Not harsh or grating, like some men’s. Not raspy or high-pitched like others. It was low and melodious, the words flowing from one to the other like a song. A love song just for her. She sighed at the thought, knowing tonight they would finally acknowledge the chemistry between them and admit that their destinies were entwined, that soon she would stand by his side, sharing his responsibilities, lightening the burden of duty that came with being a vampire lord. And not just for the Fortalesa, either.

  She went to school with kids from the surrounding towns, and they all said how their parents and grandparents thought Xavier and the other vampires in the Fortalesa were great neighbors. And how wonderful it was to have such a strong protector on the hill. She’d been so proud of him then, so proud to know he was hers, and that someday, she’d fight by his side, protecting both the Fortalesa and the people in the town below.

  But though Xavier was the most powerful vampire and had the most responsibility, he’d always made time for her, even when she’d been a little kid. He’d always taken time to ask serious questions, like what was she studying at school, and was she going to university. And then, he’d tell her about events from his own life, especially once he’d discovered she might study history at university, and maybe even become a professor.

  Of course, if she did teach at a university, it would have to be one close to home. Near her parents, of course, but mostly to Xavier. Because he was. . . . She heard voices and looked around guiltily. No one knew about her and Xavier yet. Not even her best friends. But they would after tonight, after he finally admitted she was old enough. She’d seen Xavier staring at her lately, caught him more than once looking at her in surprise, as if wondering when she’d suddenly grown up. She was tall and long-legged, with long, black hair that fell in big curls down her back. And she had tetas, too. Not the tiny ones she’d had at thirteen, but full-on breasts, like her mother’s.

  She was still younger than the other women Xavier dated. Because of course, he had dated while waiting for her to get old enough. But he never kept one woman around for long. And for the record, none of them were more than a few years older than she was now. What did a few years matter when love was involved?

  She scowled. A lot apparently, since once her breasts had gotten big enough to matter, he’d stopped hugging her when he visited her parents. Which didn’t happen as often as it used to, because Xavier had begun to host formal dinner parties instead. Parties with just the adults. She’d been angry about that at first, and then hurt when it seemed he was avoiding her.

  But she knew his heart. He respected her and her parents, and was aware that they were annoyingly old-school when it came to courtship, as they called it. Talk about old-school. Hell, her mama and papa hadn’t even been alone together until their wedding night. They never discussed it, obviously, especially not with her, but she got the message. They hadn’t had sex until they were married, and thought she should do the same. Like that was going to happen. Hell, most of her friends had already gone almost all the way with their boyfriends. And the only reason she hadn’t was because her boyfriend was a badass vampire who apparently was just as old-school as her parents. Which made sense, since he was even older than they were. But when he’d dated those other women, they’d always spent the night, or even the day sometimes. And she wasn’t stupid enough to think they’d been playing cards and sipping wine.

  But tonight would change all that. She could finally show him, once and for all, that she was a woman, and no longer a child he had to shelter from real life. And she was going to do that in the most convincing way possible—she was going to seduce him. She’d already set up everything in an old chapel deep in the forest that her friends all used as a make-out place. She’d been there once, too, with that boy whose penis she’d touched. They’d gone out with friends, but when he’d walked her home, they hadn’t taken the road. Instead, they’d walked through the trees and ended up at the old chapel. At least, that’s what everyone said it had been. It was so old that no one really knew. It was small, only one room, with crumbling walls and nothing but a ma
keshift ceiling that someone had fashioned out of tree branches. The cute boy had brought along a blanket, so she knew he’d been planning to take her there all along. And she’d known what he’d wanted.

  He hadn’t gotten it, of course. And besides, that was history. Tonight was what mattered. She knew the chapel would be empty, because all her friends were at a big soccer tournament. She’d faked an illness to explain her decision to stay behind, and then made her plans. She’d arranged the chapel with a lantern, blankets, and a bottle of wine. She was even (gulp) naked under her jacket, so there’d be no need to slow down—no excuse to do so—once she’d begun her seduction. If she kept her hands in her jacket pockets, he shouldn’t notice until she was ready, and by then, the mood would be set. Xavier would confess his long-frustrated love for her, she would fall into his arms, and they’d make love.

  She heard his voice first, giving Chuy some last-minute orders, probably based on something they’d discovered during their patrol. Just the sound of him made her smile and had butterflies dancing in her stomach. She couldn’t believe this was finally going to happen, that they were going to happen.

  Waiting until Chuy had gone ahead to talk to one of the night sentries, she stepped out of the shadows and called his name softly. “Xavier.”

  He spun at once, his beautiful eyes shining as they easily located her, despite the dark night.

  “Layla? What are you doing out here alone?”

  She was suddenly nervous. Her plan had seemed so simple when she’d devised it, and again when she’d been setting up the chapel earlier. But now, confronted with the sheer force of his presence, her hands trembled inside her pockets. “I um . . . there was something I thought you should see, but—”