All of which meant that Salvador’s choice of Washington Park was a smart one.
“Sire,” Bastien said, interrupting his contemplation of tonight’s opponent. “I spoke to Lord Raphael’s lieutenant, Jared. We had some dealings last year before his promotion, when he was still troubleshooting for Lord Raphael.”
Aden nodded his understanding. The long explanation wasn’t really necessary, but Bastien’s caution was understandable. Vampires were hugely territorial, and a different master might have wondered why his lieutenant had a relationship with a high-ranking vampire in another territory. But Aden wasn’t that insecure, nor did he view Raphael as an enemy. Especially not with what he’d recently learned about the threat from Europe.
“Jared put me in touch with a vampire named Jaclyn who is Raphael’s representative in the Southern territory. She’s been helping Lord Anthony rule the South—”
“More like ruling the South herself,” Aden observed. “But I’ll play along. What does Jaclyn have to say about Salvador?”
Bastien shot Aden a quick grin. Everyone knew that Anthony couldn’t hold the South without Raphael’s support. But then, based on what Aden had learned recently about who really killed Jabril, the previous Lord of the South, it was Raphael’s mate who had a better claim to the territory than anyone else, no matter whose ass currently occupied the seat of power.
“Jaclyn knows Ramiro Salvador reasonably well,” Bastien continued. “With all the cartel violence in Mexico lately, there have been multiple issues related to territorial security, and she’s met him several times. In her opinion, Salvador’s strong enough to hold a territory, although she was unaware that he had any designs on the Midwest. She’s never met you, my lord, and so had no direct comparison, but she did say Salvador was on a par with Jared. And Jared is more than commonly powerful.”
“He wouldn’t be a member of Raphael’s inner circle if he wasn’t. Has Salvador fought anyone else in the current challenge, or is he jumping right to the top?”
“A few minor skirmishes during the gala, picking off easy targets. No death matches.”
“Guess I’ll be his first then. Let’s get going. Don’t want to make him wait for his own funeral.”
Chapter Thirteen
ADEN AND HIS team parked very close to the house where they’d wiped out what was left of Klemens’s slave trade the previous night. Or so they’d thought. If Sidonie was right, there was still at least one significant outlier left to kill.
The neighborhood they walked through wasn’t bad, especially compared to Fuller Park where Sidonie had staked out Carl Pinto’s drug house. But it wasn’t somewhere Aden had ever anticipated visiting so frequently, either. He’d left behind this kind of poverty long ago. Contrary to Sidonie’s assumptions, not all vampires were wealthy, but most of them were at least financially secure. When one lived for centuries, one had a different view of life and necessity. And what vampires couldn’t earn for themselves, they persuaded others to give them. Once upon a time, they had simply taken what they needed and killed anyone in their way. Modern life demanded greater subtlety, but there were still ways of acquiring whatever one needed, or wanted. And a vampire’s life span put a whole new spin on long-term investment.
Freddy and Travis roamed ahead as they crossed into the park and entered the shadows beneath the trees, while Bastien walked at Aden’s side. Kage would probably be upset at missing the fight, but he was sitting on Sidonie, who, by all reports, had gone home and stayed there. But concerns about Sidonie were a distraction Aden couldn’t afford, not if Salvador was as powerful as reported, so he put her out of his thoughts. He hadn’t come this far to be undone by a female, not even one he actually cared for. There would be time for Sidonie tomorrow. Tonight, he had a challenge to survive.
Ramiro Salvador had been somewhat vague, when he called earlier, about the specifics of where they’d meet within the park. Aden assumed the Mexican vampire had scouted the area ahead of time and chosen ground that favored him, but they’d walked nearly all the way to the Hyde Park side before he finally felt the first twinges of the challenger’s presence.
Aden pulled Freddy and Travis back, wanting all three of his vamps close at hand before the fighting broke out. It was a common tactic to pick off an opponent’s vampire children in an effort to weaken him before the battle. Aden didn’t want the distraction, but he also didn’t want to lose any of his vampires. He loved them, if not as children, then as brothers. Never having had either, he couldn’t say which it was, but he knew their deaths would pain him greatly.
“Tighten your shields,” he warned all of them.
“Sire.” Three voices answered as one.
Bastien’s low-voiced warning presaged Salvador’s appearance from the darkness on the other side of a small clearing. Not that Aden needed the warning. To his vampiric sight, the Mexican vampire shone like a beacon, his power every bit as strong as reported. Maybe stronger.
“Ramiro Salvador, I presume,” he called out.
“And you are the great Aden,” Salvador responded with a sneer. “Your name was everywhere in the ballroom on Sunday. The fools are all saying you’ll be the next Lord of the Midwest.”
Aden dipped his head in acknowledgement, already bored with the theatrics.
“I even saw you kissing Raphael’s ass, making nice with his woman, for all the good it will do you. It’s not Raphael who will decide this.”
“Perhaps not,” Aden conceded, unconcerned. “But you’re a fool if you think he can’t affect the outcome.”
Salvador bristled at the sideways insult, just as Aden had intended. The Mexican’s power was lapping across the clearing in big looping waves, as if he was making no attempt to conceal it. It was as if he hoped that broadcasting his aggression would dissuade Aden from the challenge altogether.
Or perhaps he was more clever than that. Perhaps he thought that by making himself seem undisciplined and unable to control his own power leakage, Aden would assume he was weaker than he really was.
But Salvador was badly underestimating Aden, if he thought to fool him that easily.
For his part, Aden kept his power under a tight leash as always. Even knowing that Salvador might be only playing the fool, it was simply bad form to permit one’s power to slop all over like that. Besides, it would be much more fun to see the shock on his opponent’s face when he realized who, and what, he was really up against.
Salvador stalked out from under the trees and into the moonlight. He was of better than average height, with a wiry build, and his posture was stiff with hostility. His hands were clenched at his sides, his body leaning forward slightly, leading with his jaw.
Aden watched him come, then dropped a comforting hand on Bastien’s shoulder and strolled into the light himself. He let a mocking smile drift over his face and said, “Last chance, Salvador. You can still go home alive.”
“You should heed your own warning, cabron. Only one of us will be walking out of here tonight.”
Aden’s amusement fled. He liked to think, after more than 250 years, that he’d gotten over the fact of his illegitimate birth. But that didn’t mean he had to accept the insult from the likes of Ramiro Salvador.
He loosened the hold on his power just a little, letting it waft around the clearing like a gentle breeze, still only the smallest hint of his true strength.
Salvador grinned, putting his fangs on full display. “That all you got? One more chance, big man. Walk out of here.”
Aden bared his own teeth in a blatant challenge. “Too late.”
He released his power in a flood, his eyes hooded with satisfaction as he took in the wide-eyed realization on Salvador’s face. Deep inside Aden, the part of his Vampire gift that he rarely tapped and that very few knew existed came alive. It reached out, rolling in the scent of the Mexican’s fear, like a dog in something dead, drinking it in, drawing strength from it. The more rational part of Aden’s brain waited to see if Salvador would surrender, half-hopin
g he would. But that deep part of him, the part that was chortling with pleasure at his enemy’s dread, that part hoped Salvador would stand and fight . . . and die.
And that’s what he did.
Once Salvador had stepped into the clearing, there had been little chance of anything else. If he’d made the challenge and then surrendered without fighting, he’d never have been able to go back home, never have been able to face his Sire. For all Aden knew, Enrique was the kind of Sire who would execute his own child for embarrassing him.
But after his initial shock, Salvador stood his ground. He stopped playing games and immediately tightened his power around himself, creating a nearly impenetrable shield.
Aden had fought many challengers over the years, had seen his opponents’ power take the form of a variety of shields and weapons. But Salvador’s was something new. Most shields were either constantly in motion, or solidly immovable. Salvador’s was like a series of overlapping plates that were constantly changing, shifting position, freezing fractionally, then shifting again. It was a particularly difficult shield to overcome. One had to figure out when the shield was weakest, when it was moving or when it was realigning itself, and then time the shifts in order to anticipate a vulnerability. But, its very complexity made Aden wonder why the Mexican vampire hadn’t fought and won enough duels to make a name for himself. There had to be a weakness, a fatal flaw.
Aden didn’t have time to consider that, though, as Salvador launched the first salvo, clearly having decided his best bet lay in striking hard and fast. Aden absorbed the initial attack—shields pulled tight around his body, fixed and secure—not even trying to deflect. He wanted to feel the weight of Salvador’s power, feel its heat through his shields. He was still learning his opponent, still gathering intel.
What Salvador saw, however, was the slight give of Aden’s shield under his attack. Misunderstanding its cause, the Mexican vampire grinned viciously.
Aden grinned back, and the Mexican’s pleasure faltered.
While Salvador was still figuring out what had happened, Aden attacked, his power whipping out in a long, flexible curve of energy, wrapping around Salvador and tightening like a noose, but a noose made of edged steel rather than rope. Salvador’s shield slid, trying to slip away from the grasp of Aden’s assault, trying to cut through the whip-thin band of energy. Aden felt the pressure and pulled his power back, once again letting the Mexican vampire grin in victory. But this time, Aden kept his own expression carefully blank. The Mexican’s grin only widened.
Aden now knew at least one of his challenger’s weaknesses— arrogance, which some mistook for confidence. Confidence was good. Arrogance would get you killed.
Salvador struck again, and the fight truly began. Power lanced back and forth without halt, singeing the trees overhead, starting little fires that were quickly doused when the next blast of energy sucked all the oxygen out of the air. Aden unleashed the full weight of his power, slamming it outward in a concussive wave that knocked Salvador back several steps and sent one of the Mexican’s minions crashing into a tree. The vampire minion yelped in pain, and Salvador leapt back into the fray, his fists raised then slammed into each other, creating a vibrating roll of energy that bombarded Aden’s shields with sound and fury, pounding against his eardrums and setting up a cacophony in his head that was badly disorienting. Aden was forced to retreat within his own shields, using his power to push back, interrupting the energy waves and stopping the noise.
Salvador had clearly been waiting for just that reaction. He attacked again, a pinpoint shaft of power this time. It burrowed through Aden’s shield, digging into his arm, burning through flesh and into bone.
It was an agonizing pain. But Aden had learned at a very tender age to set aside the worst pain imaginable, to keep working regardless of blood or torment. He flexed the muscles of his wounded arm, choosing his own pain, using the agony to fuel his rage, channeling that rage into a whirlwind of razor-edge flails, hammering and slashing at Salvador’s shields, slipping through to slash at his face, to batter his body.
Blood ran freely from every inch of Salvador’s exposed skin, from the rips and tears in his clothing. But still he fought, using Aden’s attack against him, taking advantage of his focused distraction to strike at his legs, narrow beams of power cutting through his flesh like tiny lasers.
Aden nearly staggered, but would not grant himself that weakness. With a snarl of pure fury, he doubled his attack, shifting from the pounding force of a flail to the knife-edge slice of the thinnest of whips, the kind of whip that could fillet a man as neatly as a fish, could slice the flesh from his bones so quickly he wouldn’t even know until he’d fallen that he was dead.
Salvador’s answering howl carried more rage than pain, his head thrown back, his clothes almost gone, no longer able to hold form. Bloody strips of flesh hung from every inch of his body, white bone showing through, his face barely more than a skull. His teeth were bared, his eyes wild and gleaming a ruby-tinged gold as he pinned Aden with a furious stare and launched one final salvo.
And Aden saw it. The weakness in the Mexican’s shields. For the space of a long breath, the constantly shifting plates of Salvador’s shield froze completely as he drew upon every ounce of his remaining strength, draining the shield’s power.
Aden pounced. Channeling his own power into a single whippet of energy, he slashed out, wrapping the thin beam around the Mexican’s neck, letting the whip curl around and around like a snake, and then giving a single sharp tug.
Ramiro Salvador’s eyes met Aden’s in an instant of shocked disbelief, and in that moment, something passed between them, an understanding, a recognition of mutual respect. And then his head separated from his body, and he died.
Aden fell to his knees, his head thrown back as that hidden aspect of his power came roaring to the fore. It drank in the energy of Salvador’s death, as if by dying he released his power for Aden to draw upon. Distantly, Aden heard the screams of Salvador’s minions as they followed their Sire into death, too newly made to survive the trauma of his ending, and Aden drank in their deaths, too. He didn’t like this gift of his Vampire nature, but he used it. It was a morbid and dark power, but it was also a tremendous secret weapon. And he was a warrior. A warrior used whatever weapons were available to him. Aden’s ability to draw strength from the death of other vampires made it possible for him to recharge in the middle of a fight. And it meant that when the battle was over, he was not so weakened by blood loss that he was vulnerable.
Aden became aware of Bastien at his side. He turned and saw the worry shadowing his lieutenant’s face. He reached out mentally to Bastien and the others and felt their loyalty tinged with genuine fear for his safety, because they . . . loved him. His breath caught in his throat. Had anyone ever loved him before? Not like this.
He gripped Bastien’s arm in thanks and pushed back, stopping his vampire children from offering their own power to aid his healing. He didn’t need it, and they weren’t home free from this challenge yet. What if Silas had learned of the challenge and was waiting for the victor to emerge, thinking he would be weakened and vulnerable in the aftermath?
“We must leave, my lord,” Bastien told him. “Freddy has gone for the truck.”
Aden nodded and stood, feeling an ache in his right leg, which he was fairly certain had been broken a moment ago, the bone sliced through by Salvador’s last attack.
“The Mexican was a worthy opponent,” he said.
“Not worthy enough,” Bastien replied loyally.
Aden’s lip curled in a half smile, but he privately wondered what the situation was in Mexico, that a powerful vampire like Ramiro Salvador had come this far north in search of territory. But then, wasn’t that precisely the situation Raphael had described as happening in Europe? Powerful younger vampires forced to extreme measures to find territories to rule?
It was something to consider, but Aden set the thought aside. That was the battle for another day,
after he was Lord of the Midwest. For tonight, he had to get himself and his vampires home safely. He briefly considered paying a visit to Sidonie. He knew where she lived, of course, and could easily bypass her doorman. And while the energy infusion from his unique ability was useful, there was nothing like blood, warm, fresh, and velvety. Like Sidonie’s.
Unfortunately, he was in no mood to deal with whatever had sent her off in a huff earlier.
“Make sure Hamilton knows I want a daylight tail on Sidonie tomorrow,” Aden said as they returned to their SUVs. “And tell Kage to take over the watch after sunset.”
Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out what bug was up her ass. He’d get his answers first.
And then he’d get his blood.
Chapter Fourteen
SID HOVERED NEAR the edge of the crowd, drink in hand, pretending she was having a great time at her dad’s birthday party. Everyone else was. But she was just . . . sad. Not weepy, put-on-a-cowboy-love-song sad, it was more of a stare-out-the- window-at-nothing sad. She knew where the blame belonged for this particular sadness, though. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and he sucked blood. Although if she was being perfectly honest, it wasn’t Aden’s fault, either. The fault rested with her naïve assumption that she could ever be anything to him besides a quick drink and a lay. Dresner had warned her about vampires, about their preference for short-term hookups and no commitment. Blood and sex. Wasn’t that what she’d said? And Sidonie had been certain she was prepared, that her goals were clear, and she didn’t want or need anything else.
“Hey, Sid.”
She turned with a smile for Will Englehart. They’d driven up together, and she’d been a terrible companion, silent and staring out the window. He was looking very handsome in his tuxedo, and she was about to tell him so when she noticed the woman holding his hand. She was blond, petite, and curvy, and the look she was giving Sid held just a hint of challenge.
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