“À bientôt,” he said, then intentionally turned his back on the fuming vampire lord and walked out of the office, shoving the doors open with a wisp of his power.
Marc was waiting for him, already on his feet and alert by the time Christian slammed the doors open. He didn’t need anyone to tell him how the meeting went. “Sire.” He didn’t go for the formal address often, but certain situations demanded it, and he understood.
“Let’s go,” Christian snapped. A quick glance told him beautiful Natalie was missing from the office, but that was probably for the best. He was in no mood to be charming.
“Lord Christian,” the receptionist said breathily, calling his attention to her for the first time. She was a lovely young woman, but in her sheer blouse and cheek-hugging skirt, she was a typical vampire groupie, the kind he avoided in the clubs. He was surprised Anthony would have someone like her in his front office, no matter how decorative she was.
“What is it?” he asked impatiently.
She blinked rapidly at his tone. “I . . .” she stuttered, then shot a quick glance at Marc, and smiled instead. “Good luck.”
Christian gentled his expression deliberately. “Thank you. Your name?”
“MariAnn, my lord.”
He smiled. “Not a lord yet, MariAnn, but soon. Good evening.”
Gathering Marc with a glance, he strode out of the office and into the hall, eager to leave Anthony and his hostility behind. No doubt, the vampire lord had already contacted his people to inform them of these latest developments. And he’d probably be on the phone whining to Raphael before long, too.
“I take it that didn’t go well,” Marc said in a voice meant for his ears alone.
“I didn’t expect much, but got even less. It was necessary, though, and if nothing else, it gave me the lay of the land. We need to be doubly alert. Tony’s playing sides, and I’m not exactly his favorite.”
“No. As it happens, however, I can tell you who is. My buddy Cibor, the vamp who stopped me on our way in earlier—he’s one of Raphael’s people, part of the guard contingent sent to ensure Jaclyn’s safety.”
“Jaclyn,” Christian repeated. “Raphael’s supposed representative. I always knew the big guy was propping Anthony up, but having met him, I understand just how much Jaclyn must be helping him. No wonder she’s sick of it. All the effort and none of the fun of being lord.”
Their path took them down the hall and onto the open stairway landing above the front door. Christian shot a look downward, and found the entrance clogged with a large group of visitors going through security. He didn’t want to wade through that, but, at the same time, instinct had him wondering if he and Marc were being herded.
“Back door,” he said tightly.
Marc followed his glance. “Fuck.”
“Tell me what Cibor said,” Christian muttered as they retraced their steps to a side hallway that would take them to the back of the house.
“Okay, first, you were wondering who was behind Anthony’s sudden retirement? It was Raphael. He didn’t anticipate how totally ineffective Anthony would turn out to be when he put him in place after Jabril died, and he’s tired of it. He told Anthony that he wants out, that he’ll have to stand or fall on his own strength. Anthony is pissed as hell, and has complained bitterly to Jaclyn about the new arrangement, but she’s not sympathetic either. She’s the one who’s been propping him up on a daily basis, and she’s sick of it, too. She and Cibor, and her entire team, want to go home to California. They can hardly wait for this challenge to be settled, and they’re not making a secret of it, which only adds to Anthony’s list of grievances.”
“Why would he share all of this with you? Raphael’s people aren’t usually so chatty.”
“I’m your lieutenant, and Jaclyn got a call from Raphael. Apparently, you’ve picked up a backer.”
Christian received that bit of information with more than a little interest. He’d wanted Raphael’s so-called blessing, but hadn’t anticipated that the Western lord would actively work on his behalf. Apparently, he’d been right when he’d told Marc earlier than Raphael wanted the strongest contender to win. He hadn’t met any of the others yet, but he knew his own strength and after his visit to Malibu, so did Raphael.
“What else did Cibor have to say?”
“No surprises. He told me Anthony’s really pushing for one of his own children to take over, and I think we all know why. Anthony will owe allegiance to whoever wins the challenge, and he’d rather it be someone who has a prior allegiance to him personally. Two of his guys are in the running—Noriega and Scoville. They’ve both been with him for centuries, which means their loyalty runs deep.”
“Are there any other challengers? Anyone from outside the territory?”
“A few, but only two of them serious. Marcel Weiss is a fugitive from the Midwest, one of Klemens’s people who’s looking for a new home now that Klemens is dead, and Aden’s in charge. And Stefano Barranza out of Mexico; he’s unhappy with Vincent’s rule. No one’s sure who sired him, but he worked for Enrique.”
“And let’s not forget Hubert,” Christian reminded him. “He’s not going to sit back and politely wait his chance, while all of this shakes out up here. He’ll take advantage instead.”
Marc didn’t say anything, because there was nothing to say. Hubert was roosting down in Mexico somewhere, building his army of unwilling vampires for only one purpose. He wanted the South. Christian hadn’t talked to Hubert since Mathilde’s death, and so he didn’t know what Hubert’s reaction had been to the news. But he suspected there hadn’t been much in the way of grieving. Mathilde as Lord of the West would have been an uneasy neighbor, should Hubert win the South. Of course, an angry Raphael was far worse, but maybe Hubert was hoping that Raphael would value stability over personal vendettas, and ignore the fact that Hubert had helped Mathilde kidnap him. Or maybe he was banking on the fact that he’d left for Mexico right after Raphael had been taken, and that he’d never been a part of the power circle holding the Western lord captive. Or maybe he’d hoped that Raphael had sated his thirst for revenge when he’d killed every single vampire who had been part of that circle. Christian wouldn’t have rolled those dice, but then, he never would have taken on Raphael in the first place.
“Are we going back to the house?” Marc asked, as they clambered down the staircase that would take them right to the door which exited onto the parking area in back.
Christian nodded. “It’s late, and I need to think about our next move.” He pulled the door open, and they both stepped out into the humid night air.
“Does that thinking include adding . . .” Marc’s voice trailed off when they saw what was waiting for them in the parking lot.
“Looks like someone’s eager to get started,” Christian observed mildly. He took in the gang of vampires now closing in to form a half circle around him and Marc. Without saying a word, the two of them moved away from the door and put a solid wall at their backs, to avoid any surprises from that quarter.
“Noriega,” Marc told Christian softly. “One of Anthony’s fair-haired boys,” he added loudly enough for the challenging vampire to hear.
“If I’d have known the company you keep, Marc, I’d have killed you the night we met,” Noriega scoffed.
Marc laughed. “You’d have tried.”
“Has the challenge officially commenced then?” Christian asked calmly. “I hadn’t heard.”
“You think something official will protect you when you lose?”
He smiled indulgently. “I was thinking, rather, that it would protect me when I win. I would like it to be a matter of record that you issued the early challenge. We don’t want Anthony going to the Council and accusing me of an unsanctioned murder.”
Noriega stared at him, blinking in seeming puzzlement.
> “But I’m sure you considered that possibility already,” Christian continued. “You know, when Anthony called you just now, and told you I was leaving.”
Noriega’s expression narrowed, and Christian could almost see the realization in his eyes that maybe he’d been played, and by his own Sire, too. But in almost the same moment, realization was replaced by determination. And Christian understood. The other vampire couldn’t back down now, no matter what circumstances had brought him to this moment. There were too many witnesses.
“I don’t care if the territorial challenge has officially begun or not,” Noriega growled. “Your presence here offends me, and I’m challenging you. So defend yourself, traitor.”
Christian’s eyebrows shot up. “Traitor?” he questioned, as he shrugged off his jacket, and tossed it over a bush with a sigh. He really liked this suit.
“Do you think I don’t know who you are?” Noriega asked. “You and your kind have destroyed your own continent, and now you want to take over ours.”
“That hardly makes me a traitor,” Christian commented, rolling up his sleeves. “As for what I want . . . if I have the strength to take the South, then by every law and tradition of vampire society, it is and should be mine. Now, are we going to fight, or are you going to bore me to death?”
Noriega swelled with outrage. “Fuck you,” he swore.
“Marc,” Christian said in warning, as the vampire behind Noriega drew a sword, the sound rasping through the warm night. At least it wasn’t a gun.
“Got it,” Marc assured him. “You worry about Noriega.”
Christian rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Noriega demanded.
“You said you wanted to fight.”
“I said I challenged you. This isn’t a fistfight. We’re vampires, dickhead.”
“Oh,” Christian replied, feigning surprise. “You mean like this.” He released his power with a smug smile, taking far too much satisfaction in the look of shock on Noriega’s face. “Do you really think I walk around spilling power for everyone to gauge? Or that I’m stupid enough to challenge for a territory I have no hope of winning? You’re going to die, Noriega. I hope your death is worth it to Anthony.”
Noriega struck without warning. Christian didn’t hold it against him; it was, frankly, his only chance. It didn’t work. But it was the smart move.
Christian’s shields snapped into place faster than thought, almost as if they’d detected Noriega’s attack before the action was fully executed. His shields deflected the attack, buying time, as his mind went into analytical mode. His opponent had raw power, no doubt of that. But not as much as Christian, and he had no technique at all. Fortunately, Christian had both, and to spare.
His first volley was a wash of power that knocked out most of Noriega’s followers. He heard Marc muttering at his side, and knew his lieutenant thought he was taking on too much, that he should be concentrating on Noriega. But this was only the first skirmish of the challenge, a bare taste of what would ultimately be a full-out war, and he didn’t want to lose Marc to a well-placed blade over something this foolish. Noriega was outclassed, his gang nothing but a distraction. But fate was a capricious bitch, and Christian wasn’t in the mood to take chances. So he knocked Noriega’s gang out of the fight—they were unconscious, not dead. Yet.
Noriega struck while Christian was dealing the others, taking advantage of his brief distraction with a powerful blow that drove him back a half-step. His shields bowed inward with the force of it, and he heard the buzzing noise that meant his shields were stressed. Noriega grinned, thinking he had Christian at a disadvantage, and stalked closer, throwing volley after volley of concentrated power, hoping to shatter his shields before he could rally a defense.
But this wasn’t Christian’s first fight, nor would it be his last. Aware of Marc at his back, he bolstered his shields to the front, and then he attacked. Like a soldier tossing grenades, he lobbed clusters of power against the other vampire. One after the other, the sticky balls of energy clung to Noriega’s shields before exploding inward, hammering away at his strength, forcing him to divert power to his shields or risk a collapse. And with every cluster he threw, Christian took a step forward in the physical realm, moving closer and closer to Noriega, as the other vampire reeled under the relentless assault.
Noriega stumbled and fell to one knee, but jumped up almost immediately, roaring his defiance. Swinging his arms wide, he slammed them together, crushing Christian’s shields between them, the power of his blow enhanced by the physical strength of his vampiric nature.
It was a significant blow, but Christian saw it coming, and bumped up his shields in anticipation of the strike. The smell of ozone filled the air, as his shields sizzled, working to absorb and deflect the energy. But Noriega had put too much of his remaining power into the attack, and his shields were weakened. He’d also made the mistake of coming far too close to an enemy who was much stronger than he was.
Bracing his feet, Christian punched through Noriega’s weakened shields, pushing even closer until they were only inches apart. He reached out and gripped Noriega by the throat, watching as shock replaced the anger in his opponent’s eyes. He saw the moment that Noriega discovered the true nature of Christian’s power, a power so dangerous that every vampire who knew of it was dead. Except for Marc.
Christian flexed his fingers around Noriega’s throat, squeezing the breath from him. But the true death, the death that no vampire could survive, was the one delivered by his unique talent. Christian held Noriega’s stare as he drained the vampire of his power, sucking him dry like the vampire he was, and feeding his own power at the same time.
Noriega’s eyes were wide with disbelief, with the knowledge of his own imminent death. There was anger, too. Anger that he’d been used by Anthony, that he’d been deceived by Christian. But that was life, and death, among powerful vampires. A territorial challenge was not a game played lightly, and death was always the result.
Christian waited until Noriega’s power was a mere trickle, and then he leaned close and whispered, “I’ll give your regards to Anthony.” Before the spark of life left Noriega’s body, he snapped his neck, punched into his chest with his other hand, and ripped out his heart. A moment later, the vampire turned to dust in his hands.
Christian’s heart was racing with the overload of energy that was always the result of using his gift. It was as if his enemy’s power was too much on top of his own. For the first few minutes, it always seemed impossible for his body to hold so much. He stared unseeing, hands flexing at his sides, as the cloud of dust that had been Noriega settled over the still-unconscious forms of his followers.
A muffled feminine gasp drew his attention upward, and he caught a glimpse of Natalie’s face as she backed quickly away from the upstairs window. So she’d seen him fight, seen him kill, he thought, as he slapped his hands together, loosening the muscles and getting rid of the clinging remains of Noriega. He wondered what she made of it, whether she’d ever seen a true vampire confrontation before, and whether it would drive her home to the safety of her family in New Orleans.
He frowned at the blood staining his hands and shirt, then rolled his sleeves down and buttoned them anyway. Taking the jacket Marc offered, he slipped it back on, shooting his cuffs as he shrugged his shoulders and settled the jacket in place. He didn’t like the idea of Natalie going back to New Orleans. He couldn’t have said why exactly, but he hoped she would stay.
“Let’s go,” he growled to Marc, quite honestly furious with himself. “Noriega’s ambush was a surprise. And it shouldn’t have been.”
“I didn’t think Anthony would risk one of his own so early in the game,” Marc said quietly. “If he was going to sacrifice someone, I’d have expected it to be one of the outsiders.”
�
��Maybe he tried. Maybe they were too smart to trust him.”
“Fucking Noriega,” Marc muttered.
“Fucking Anthony,” Christian corrected. “Sending one of his own children to die. He had to know Noriega couldn’t best me. You know—” he said thoughtfully. “I was prepared to let Anthony retire to New Orleans when I become Lord of the South. But now . . . I think I’ll have to kill him.”
HIDDEN BEHIND the heavy fold of drapery, Natalie peered down at the yard behind the house under the yellow gleam of pole lights in the parking area. She’d seen Christian and his lieutenant striding away from Anthony’s office earlier, had seen him turn toward the back of the house. She’d been unable to hear what they’d been saying, but it had been obvious the meeting with Anthony hadn’t gone well. She didn’t know why she’d followed him after that, why she’d hurried down the outside hallway to the tall window where she could watch him and Marc Forest leave. But there was something about him that drew her, something more than his good looks and charming smile. Something that told her she’d like to get to know him better. And that was a first for her. She’d been working in Anthony’s office for nearly two years now, surrounded every day by gorgeous males, and she’d never once been tempted to do anything more than say hello. So why Christian Duvall?
She didn’t have an answer, but she sure as hell had more questions. She’d seen Noriega and his gang waiting when Christian emerged into the parking area, and she’d almost called Anthony for help. But something had held her back, a nagging suspicion that the timing was simply too fortuitous. That Noriega seemed to have known not only when Christian would be leaving, but which door he’d be leaving through. And she remembered Anthony’s blatant hostility toward Christian earlier, when he’d come out of his office to find them talking to one another.
She didn’t know Christian that well, but she knew Anthony. And she didn’t trust him. He’d been blackmailing generations of her family into working with him. She’d wracked her brain for something she could do to help Christian, as she’d watched him toss his jacket aside and roll up his shirtsleeves to bare powerful forearms. She’d taken a moment to sigh in girlish pleasure at the sight, but then her next thought had been to call Jaclyn. They worked together, and if nothing else, Jaclyn would know what to do. But hard on that thought the fight had begun, and she’d been too terrified to move.
Christian (Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Book 10) Page 6