by S. J. Harper
But as he crosses to approach the door, Zack’s head suddenly snaps up. A low growl escapes his throat as he slaps his cell on the table. “Un-fucking-believable.”
His eyes flash. It’s obvious who has him so suddenly riled.
“You know him?”
Zack doesn’t answer. His eyes are glued to man as he walks past the window we’re seated in front of and into the restaurant. After weaving his way through the line, he swaggers toward us, exuding badass power. Zack repositions his chair away from the table, back to the window. He doesn’t want the table between him—and anything.
I’m instantly on alert. I recognize the man for what he is, a werewolf. A pissed-off werewolf. Zack’s hand edges toward the butt of his gun. The instinctual tell is enough to set me even more on edge. My heart races. My pulse quickens. I slowly draw my weapon. Gun hidden underneath the table, I track the wolf’s movements.
By the time he reaches us, Zack appears once more composed and in control. His projected sense of calm does me wonders.
That and knowing I have enough firepower to blow a nice big hole in the Were’s stomach.
When Zack greets him, his expression is neutral. “Asa.”
Asa? My thoughts spin back a few months, to when Sarah first arrived. She was running away from her pack master in South Carolina. A vicious predator. How did Zack describe him? Asa Wade is the worst kind of wolf.
Wade’s face is leathery from sun and wind. His sharp jawline is further accentuated by a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard. His most dramatic feature, however, is his eyes. Wide-set, they are the color of a stormy sky, neither blue nor gray. And they’re fixed on me.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Armstrong?”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Zack answers, his voice steady and strong. “You are not welcome here.”
Asa grabs an empty chair and parks himself at the end of the table. “You are an interesting little thing,” he croons, leaning in toward me, tasting my scent. “What are you doing with this big ol’ hound dog here?”
I shrug. “Just enjoying watching him mark his territory.”
His eyes widen at the realization that I recognize his second nature, but Zack’s sharp voice cuts in before he can comment.
“And you’re way outside of yours, Asa,” Zack says.
Asa locks his eyes on Zack. “You have something of mine. I came to collect.” He speaks the words softly, but underneath the velvet is steel.
I smile at Zack. “Isn’t this where you do that growly thing and tell him Sarah’s yours and he can’t have her?”
Zack shakes his head at me. “Sarah isn’t anyone’s. She’s free to choose who she wants.” His gaze snaps back to Asa. “And she didn’t choose you.”
“Sarah swore fealty to the pack, my pack. You left her. She’s not your mate. You have no claim on her, boy. None. As Alpha, if I want her, she’s mine. It’s my right to take whatever female I fucking please. I earned it fair and square.”
“Bullshit! The pack Sarah pledged her fealty to was a different one altogether and you damn well know it.”
“Tell you what. We can settle the matter the old-fashioned way. If you win, you keep Sarah. If I win, I get both Sarah and this one.” He turns his head to look at me. “She isn’t Were. But I can easily fix that.”
Zack leans forward. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that the reason I didn’t challenge you before was because I figured I wouldn’t win. I walked away because what you’re offering isn’t what I want. It’s not what Sarah wants. There are plenty of women in that pack who would jump at the chance to be your mate. Sarah isn’t one of them.”
Asa’s grin is menacing. “Yeah, but none of them looked quite so good leashed and collared, riding my cock.”
I reach out for Zack’s hand, but I’m too late, too slow. He’s already risen, squaring off against Asa. The two men, equal in height, are toe-to-toe.
“Let’s take it down a notch. Shall we, gentlemen?”
A new voice, quiet yet commanding, startles us all.
Seamus.
Appearing out of nowhere.
“Someone forgot to check in with the local pack master,” he says, stepping between the two men. “Bad form, Mr. Wade. I’d say it’s a darned good thing we decided to follow you.”
Zack takes a step back while Asa drinks in the unassuming Seamus with his freckles, red hair, and glasses.
“Well, Opie, be sure to apologize to him for me,” Asa growls, chest puffed out, arms crossed.
Seamus stands his ground, smiling up at the bigger man. “The name’s Seamus, and you can tell me how sorry you are yourself.”
“You?” Asa bursts into laughter. “You and what army?”
“This isn’t your fight, Seamus,” Zack says, his voice a growl. “Sarah and I aren’t your problem.”
His words do no good. Instead of backing down, Seamus ignores Zack and takes a step closer to Asa. “Don’t push your luck, Mr. Wade. I have men right outside, should it prove necessary.” As if responding to some subliminal signal, a dozen or so Weres are suddenly visible through the window. The men stand just to the left of the door. They could be office workers waiting to get in line for a table, but their fixed stare at Asa Wade makes their real purpose clear.
“You are in my territory, Mr. Wade,” Seamus continues. “You have not shown me even the commonest of courtesies by announcing your presence. I could be persuaded to overlook these transgressions, but only if you leave my territory. Tonight.”
Asa scans the faces outside. He may be many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. Twelve to one is not good odds. “I will go,” he says simply. “But you can bet this isn’t the last you’ll hear from me. You want to play the protocol card? Then, by all means, let’s do that. Rules have been broken. Sarah is mine. Armstrong took her away from me. I have a right to exact justice.”
Seamus nods. “Yes, you do. And I’ll grant you a measure of justice equal to the measure of respect I received. Zack, apologize to Asa for your civil disobedience of his most uncivilized practices.”
Zack looks as if he’s going to resist, but Seamus nails him with a look that conveys this isn’t up for negotiation. “Sarah told me everything. This is what she wants, what’s necessary. It’s time to move on and that won’t be accomplished by shedding more blood.”
Grudgingly, Zack gives in. “I apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” Asa says, grinning. “I will collect Sarah and be on my way.”
“No.” Seamus utters the one word with finality.
“No?” Asa’s face reddens. “You want to avoid bloodshed? I’d be real careful about denying me what is mine.”
“This is not up for negotiation,” Seamus says. “You mistreated Sarah. She came here because she was afraid of you. She is under my protection now. You’re a long way from home, Mr. Wade. If you try to force her to leave, you’ll answer to me. More importantly, you’ll answer to my pack. And, I should warn you, they’re fiercely loyal.” He glances once again toward the window and nods. Three men, three big men, separate from the group and step toward the door. “These men will see you to the airport.”
Asa wants to resist, to fight. But he knows he’s beaten. His glare telegraphs the message: You win. For now. He strides stiffly out of the door without a backward glance and is swallowed up as Seamus’ men surround him and march him off.
I grin up at Seamus. “You are full of surprises.”
Zack is still watching through the window. When Asa is no longer in sight, he swivels around to face Seamus. “Thanks for the heads-up, man.”
“Heads-up?” I ask, slipping my Glock back into its holster.
Zack waves Candy over. “The call I received a few minutes ago was from Seamus. Apparently Wade tailed us from the office here. Sounds like he spent much of the morning staking out the house hoping to find Sarah, and when that didn’t work, he started to follow us.”
“Where is Sarah?” I ask.
Seamus plops h
imself into Asa’s vacated chair and orders a Guinness. “Sarah’s safe at the Manchester Grand. We got her out before Wade arrived at Zack’s place. After about four hours of sitting on his ass in his car, Wade broke into the house. He found nothing of Sarah’s. We made sure of that. So, he decided to move on to Zack himself. He parked in the lot across the street from your building. You two showed up shortly after he arrived.”
“How long have you been tailing him?” Zack asks.
“Someone alerted us to his presence last night. I’m not sure how long he’s been in town.” Seamus takes a sip of his beer, then settles back in the chair. He looks at me. “We’ve got something serious to discuss, Emma. It involves Asa Wade and Kallistos Kouros.”
Zack groans. “What has the Soulless Sovereign done now?”
I ignore Zack’s gibe. “We’re listening.”
Seamus takes another pull from the frosty mug. “Mother’s milk,” he sighs.
“Seamus.” I lean toward him. “What about Kallistos?”
He sits up straighter, places the mug on the table. “Asa didn’t travel here by himself.”
“Meaning?”
“He accompanied Philippe Lamont, the vampires’ Southern King.”
“The Southern King is in San Diego?” Zack sounds not only surprised but concerned. He looks at me. “Remember a few months back when I told you the Southern King was against the Blood Emporiums? That it was rumored he was behind the trouble in New Mexico and Arizona? The torched Emporiums? The tortured patrons?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Do you think they’re trying to negotiate a truce of some kind?”
“I was hoping you could tell us that.” Seamus leans back in his chair and smiles sheepishly. “Even Kings have been known to talk in their sleep.”
“It’s remotely possible this is a diplomatic mission,” Zack adds. “But preparations for a visiting dignitary would be hard for anyone in Kallistos’ inner circle to miss.”
Meaning me. I search my memory but come up with nothing. “I haven’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. I don’t think Kallistos knows he’s here.”
“I want to know what this visit is about.” He turns those greener-than-clover eyes on me. “You can find out for us. Ask Kallistos if he has been in touch with Philippe Lamont.”
“And if he hasn’t? Seamus, do you really think Lamont would be foolish enough to challenge Kallistos on his own turf?”
“I do.” He lets the words drop away and takes another pull of Guinness.
“I lived in Lamont’s territory,” Zack says. “You’re right not to underestimate him. The bastard is ruthless, cunning, and will stop at nothing. He has no conscience, no limits. He glorifies the old ways, views humans as cattle. His influence has been spreading slowly west. He may be consolidating power, hoping to increase the size of his realm. If that is true, Kallistos may well be in danger.” Zack glances back and forth between Seamus and me. “And, I hate to say it, but if he loses power and Wade and Lamont take over, all of the supernaturals in the territory will be in danger.”
“Not to mention the humans,” I add.
Seamus nods. “Kallistos is old and powerful. I’d like to be able to say I’m not worried, but I can’t. Because of his progressive views, he’s made enemies. And he has vulnerabilities. You, for one.”
“Are you suggesting Lamont would use me to get to Kallistos?”
Seamus looks at Zack. “You know Lamont. What do you think?”
“I’ve met him. I wouldn’t exactly say I know him,” replies Zack.
The discussion stops when Candy comes to the table to refill our Cokes. As soon as she leaves I ask, “What can you tell me about him?”
Zack shrugs. “Just the rumors. He was turned around 1575, so he’s younger than Kallistos. Rumor has it Lamont was a lover of Catherine de Medici. He was instrumental in overseeing the assassination of Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, an event that set off an orgy of killing, resulting in the massacre of tens of thousands of Huguenots all across France. A river of blood was spilled and Lamont bathed joyously in it. If the stories are true, he lost his soul long before he became vampire.”
Seamus finishes off the rest of his beer, then stands up. “Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe when you go home tonight, Kallistos will be hosting a dinner party for the Southern King and his visit is nothing more than a stop on a coastal vacation.”
“Doesn’t explain why he’d bring Asa Wade with him,” Zack interjects.
“Perhaps he needed an extra guard dog.” Seamus laughs at his own joke while Zack and I stare at him. “Well, I thought it was funny. Zack, you might want to check on Sarah. She’s pretty shaken up. I wanted her to come back to the ranch, where we can protect her, but she didn’t want to come without you.”
“You want me to convince her?” Zack says.
“Don’t you think that’s for the best?” Seamus turns and winks at me. “Now, off you go, too, Mata Hari. I’d like a full report by morning.” He throws a couple bucks on the table. “For the tip.” Then he leaves.
Zack reaches for his wallet. “You get the car, Emma, and I’ll get the check. You can drop me off at the hotel. Seamus is right. I need to talk to Sarah, and you need to speak with Kallistos.”
“Johnson’s going to want a report.” Now that the Were pissing party is over, we still need to find these girls.
“After I get Sarah settled at the ranch, I’ll call and update him. It should take an hour or two at the most. By then, maybe we’ll have more info from the Ocean Beach PD about the missing computer.”
“Or maybe something from the school’s security footage or Julie’s hard drive,” I add as I fish my keys out of my pocket.
Zack pulls out a couple twenties and calls out to the waitress.
I move to leave, but he reaches for my arm and stops me. “You had your gun out. Would you have shot Wade?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether he tried to hurt you.”
CHAPTER 9
When I arrive at the Palomar Hotel, I’m told by Ernesto, the valet, that Kallistos is out on business. The twentysomething is sporting a pin-striped vest with matching trousers and his ever-present bowler hat. His dark eyes, accentuated by kohl liner, take in everything.
Ernesto isn’t just a valet; he’s also a vampire. Young and eager to please. In addition to parking cars and carrying luggage, it’s his job to keep track of all of the guests’ comings and goings, and to report anything unusual up the chain—to Kallistos. My arriving this early in the day is unusual. He’s furiously texting someone. My guess? Kallistos. He tries to hide his discomfort as he takes my keys.
“Let me get you a claim ticket,” he says, stalling.
He checks his phone. Takes off his hat and wipes his forehead. Checks his phone again. This time whatever he reads brings a smile.
“I’ll take you right up,” he says. Then he hands my car keys off to one of the other valets and takes my computer bag.
“Do you know when Kallistos is expected back?” I ask as we walk through the great swinging door into the lobby. On the way to the elevators we pass staff preparing the space for the downtown happy-hour crowd. Several nod. Others are too busy lighting candles and laying out drink menus to notice.
“Less than an hour. Shall I send something up? Charlie’s behind the bar tonight. She makes a mean pomegranate martini.”
We pass underneath the chandelier that hangs over a cluster of sofas and chairs. A collection of lights that resemble jellyfish hang from the ceiling, casting a soft glow, setting just the right mood. I check the time. It’s four thirty.
“I think I’ll wait for Kallistos.”
Ernesto nods. The short ride up to the penthouse is uneventful. He leaves me alone with a promise to have drinks sent up whenever we’re ready. I toss my bag on the sofa along with my jacket, then head upstairs.
I’m not sure why I’m here. Since Kallistos isn’t, why didn’t I go home to work? I could have revele
d in privacy and solitude. Had Ernesto page me when Kallistos returned.
And yet, here I am.
I toss my keys on the table beside the door.
Maybe I’m not sure where home is anymore. Maybe I’ve found it. Kallistos knows I can’t allow myself to fall in love or allow anyone to fall in love with me. More important, he knows the cost. He’s a realist. He accepts it. While his pragmatic approach may not be particularly romantic, it is a relief. Liz is convinced we’re the perfect match—a vampire who makes no demands, except for the most exquisite sexual ones, and the Siren who can fulfill those demands without sacrificing her heart.
* * *
When I enter the bedroom, my eyes are drawn to Kallistos’ private writing table. My lover may be a vampire King, but he’s also a businessman. The eighteenth-century Louis XVI mahogany piece arrived shortly after Kallistos decided to remain in San Diego. I realize that although it appears to be well used, I’ve never witnessed him sitting behind it. I pull out the chair and run my fingers over the leather-inlaid top. When they brush the keyboard, the desktop computer comes to life. A calendar is displayed. My breath hitches. No password. No security. Why?
Because no one has unsupervised access to this room.
Except for me, now.
Today’s appointments are all right here. A click of a button and I’ll be able to see the days, weeks, months ahead. My hand hangs, poised, over the mouse.
Instead I go to Finder, hit sleep.
The screen returns to black.
I head over to the closet, kicking off my shoes on the way. The light automatically turns on when I open the door. It’s filled with his suits, shirts, and shoes. The scent of Kallistos’ aftershave perfumes the air with a delicate and familiar subtlety. I reach for a starched white button-down with traditional cuffs and a spread collar. My blouse and lingerie go into the hamper. The slacks and jacket are hung in the closet. I pad, nude, across the thick caramel carpet into the bathroom, shirt in hand. I hang the shirt on a hook behind the bathroom door, turn on the taps, and add a generous portion of bath salts to the swirling water.