It had all happened so quickly. Noriega’s followers all falling like flies, and then Noriega raging hot as he advanced, while Christian only got colder and colder, ice to Noriega’s fire. And then, in a blur of movement too fast for her to follow, Christian’s fingers were wrapped around Noriega’s throat, and he was literally reaching into Noriega’s chest and ripping out his heart. She hadn’t been able to stop her gasp of surprise when Noriega had turned to dust, but hoped she’d backed away quickly enough that no one would realize she’d been watching. She didn’t even know if humans were permitted to see such things.
She knew she should be horrified by what she’d witnessed. It had been violent and bloody, and Christian had been a brutally efficient executioner. But as she stood in the dark hallway, hiding from discovery, it wasn’t horror making her heart pound, her breath come short. It was desire, pure and simple. She’d always been attracted to big, powerful men, but she’d never wanted someone the way she did Christian Duvall. She tried to imagine all of that power and heat and brutal intensity channeled into sex, and felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment, surprising herself at the strength of arousal that just thinking about it conjured up. She didn’t usually react to men like this.
She watched from her hiding place as he picked up his fine suit jacket, and shrugged it on, then shot his cuffs like some James Bond hero, before strolling off into the night.
Why him? Why did he hold such a powerful appeal to her, instead of one of the perfectly nice and eligible men she’d met since moving to Houston, or even one of Anthony’s many vampire minions? Christian was a killer. And she wanted him. If she could just figure out why, maybe she could make the feeling go away before it was too late.
Chapter Three
MARIANN WAS unusually quiet when Natalie finally returned to the office. She’d been gone longer than planned, but she’d needed some time to come to grips with what she’d seen, and what she suspected. She never made the mistake of underestimating Anthony. And she didn’t know if she could face him without him reading the truth on her face, or in her thoughts.
MariAnn looked up when Natalie walked in from the hallway. She didn’t say anything, but stared intently at Natalie, her gaze shifting sideways and back a couple of times, as if to indicate the closed door to Anthony’s office. Natalie frowned, but didn’t hear or see anything amiss. His door was almost always closed, whether he was alone or not.
She paused, then leaned over MariAnn’s desk, and under the guise of writing a note, murmured, “Is someone in there?”
“He’s alone,” MariAnn whispered. “But a few minutes ago, he threw a fit. And I mean threw. Stuff was crashing all over the place in there.” All of this was said with many furtive glances at the closed office door, her fingers clenched around her pen as if it was a lifeline. “He called Noriega earlier, but no one’s called or anything since then, so I don’t know what set him off.”
Natalie’s stomach clenched. She knew what had set him off. Anthony was Noriega’s Sire. From what she knew, that meant he’d have felt Noriega’s death, and now she knew, for sure, that he’d talked to Noriega just before the fight with Christian. She’d suspected as much, but . . . had he ordered Noriega to confront Christian? Or had he been trying to talk him out of it instead? Maybe that’s why he was so upset.
The door to Anthony’s office opened and both women jumped in surprise. MariAnn was suddenly intent on her keyboard, typing away like a madwoman, while Natalie jolted upright and started for her own desk. But Anthony’s next words stopped her.
“I’ve received some bad news,” he said, without preamble. “Terrible news.” He looked away, as if fortifying himself to say it. “Noriega is dead.”
MariAnn stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. “But I just spoke to him,” she whispered.
Anthony nodded. “He was murdered.”
Natalie gasped, not having to pretend her shock, since she knew he was lying.
“It was that new vampire, Duvall, who was here earlier,” Anthony explained, with a convincing show of grief. “He must have found out that Noriega was joining the challenge, and decided to take him out rather than face him in a fair fight. They ambushed Noriega—Duvall and that lieutenant of his—caught him completely unaware and all alone. He was dead before he knew what was happening.”
Natalie blinked, trying to figure out what to say. She didn’t know why Anthony was bothering to lie to them, but she did know that she couldn’t let him realize she knew the truth. He might pretend to be her benevolent ancestor, even call her “cousin” apparently. But he wasn’t. She had lots of uncles and aunts, and cousins, too. She knew what family felt like, and Anthony wasn’t one of them. His goodwill was a fragile thing and it came with a price. As long as you did what he wanted, as long as you were helpful, he was a great guy. But if you crossed the line, he never forgave you. And Noriega’s death might just be the line she shouldn’t cross.
“I’m very sorry, my lord,” she said finally. “Is there anything we can do?”
Anthony drew a deep breath through his nose, visibly gathering his strength. It was a masterful performance, and it made Natalie rethink everything she thought knew about him.
“Not right now. In fact, MariAnn, why don’t you go on home? I won’t be seeing anyone else tonight. I need some time alone to deal with this loss.”
“Of course, my lord,” MariAnn murmured. She stood and gathered her things, but made no move to leave. “Are you coming, Natalie?” she asked timidly.
Natalie was so tense that she jerked at the sound of her name, her gaze shooting from MariAnn to Anthony in time to see an irritated expression cross his face before he smoothed it back to a mask of grief.
“I need a moment of Natalie’s time first,” he told the girl. “You go on home.” He gave Natalie a slight nod, as if to confirm his request that she remain, and then walked back into his office, leaving the door open in invitation.
MariAnn gave her a panicked look, but Natalie smiled, warmed by the girl’s concern. It made her reconsider all the bad things she’d ever thought about her. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
MariAnn nodded gratefully, then hurried out into the hallway, closing the hallway doors behind her, and leaving Natalie shut inside with Anthony.
This was about the last place she wanted to be in this moment, but there was no way she could refuse. Especially since doing so would only create suspicion where there was none. Anthony didn’t know she’d seen the fight between Christian and Noriega, one thing she definitely had going for her.
She followed him into his office, and managed not to jump when he closed the doors behind her with a flick of his hand. She couldn’t control her reaction to the total catastrophe of the once-orderly office, however. The huge desk was still standing—probably because it was too big to lift, even for a vampire—but its top was bare, the wood gouged and grooved with deep scratches. Everything that had been on the desk was scattered on the floor, and the guest chairs, with their gold embroidered silk, were now no more than kindling, the fabric nothing but twisted shreds. A few photographs or mementos still clung to the walls, their frames broken and glass shattered. But most were part of the twisted pile of wreckage on the floor. As she stood there, something crashed behind her and she spun around to stare, only to find Anthony standing right in front of her when she turned back, his dark eyes studying her closely.
“Forgive the mess,” he said dismissively, then gestured at the lone, remaining piece of furniture, a velvet-upholstered love seat that had been shoved against a wall.
Natalie glanced at the seat, but remained standing, keeping her gaze on Anthony as he walked over to stand behind the desk. His chair still looked serviceable, but it, too, had been savaged.
“How close are you to finishing your work here?” he asked.
She frowned at the un
expected question. “I’ve made good progress, but this is a lengthy project. Our latest update was just last week, and it still stands. I estimate another three to four months to completion.”
He sighed. “Natalie, I think you should come back home with me when I leave. To New Orleans.”
“But we discussed this last week also. You and I and Jaclyn. And you all decided I would finish up the project, working under the new vampire lord.”
“Yes, but last week I thought one of my own would succeed me in a peaceful transition. But now, with this murder . . . I’ll have to report Duvall to the Council. I don’t know if they’ll take action against him or not, but either way, this could get very ugly. And I don’t want you caught up in it. You’re a woman of refinement, and unaccustomed to such violence,”
A raggedy beep came from over in the corner, where the desk phone was hidden beneath a pile of broken photographs. “Ibarra here, my lord. Front door security.”
“What is it?” Anthony responded with forced patience.
“MariAnn just passed through, my lord. She said you’re shut down for the night, but Jake Baudin is here, and he says you’re expecting him.”
Anthony’s scowl at the interruption disappeared, his expression returning to its usual blank mask. “Send him up.” He turned his attention back to Natalie. “We’ll talk again. You should go home.”
She dipped her head in agreement, then reached for the door. It opened before her hand touched it, and she was confronted by a vampire she’d never seen before. Jake Baudin, she assumed. And he was obviously a vampire, or he couldn’t have gotten up here this fast. He was tall and rangy, with a trim beard and dark hair. She didn’t know what he did for Anthony, but that very fact made her suspect it was something nefarious. She had access to every aspect of the estate’s finance and files, including data on both human and vampire personnel. And that included the so-called free agents, which was nothing but a pretty name for spies, who lived in other territories. And she’d still never heard of Jake Baudin. Add to that the fact that Anthony suddenly couldn’t get rid of her fast enough, and she realized Baudin was someone Anthony had never wanted her to know, and now wanted her to forget.
Given the night’s already suspicious events, however, and now this unknown vamp’s sudden arrival, she wasn’t about to ask questions.
Baudin nodded courteously and stood back to let her leave Anthony’s office. She kept her eyes down as she walked by, and waited until he’d disappeared behind the closed double doors, then she all but ran to her office, wanting only to get out of the building and into her car. She needed to go somewhere where she could think, needed to decide what to do about all of this. She could bug out immediately, of course. Just pack up and go home to New Orleans, just as Anthony had suggested. Of course, he probably hadn’t intended for her to leave tonight, but he probably wouldn’t question it either.
On the other hand, she could go along with what Anthony wanted, and agree to leave with him. Or at least pretend to. With the challenge about to get underway, and all of the other vampire lords arriving in just a few days, Anthony couldn’t afford to leave before then. Which would give her plenty of time to get a discreet word to Christian about what Anthony had said about Noriega’s death, and that he was planning to go to the Council with it. There had to be a reason he was calling it murder, rather than what it had been—a fair fight that Noriega had lost. Vamps were aggressive and cranky in general. They challenged and fought each other all the time, and death wasn’t an unusual outcome. So why was this one significant?
Anthony hated Christian for some reason, so if he was bothering to lie about what had happened, then it had to be bad for Christian. And even though she’d convinced herself that Christian was bad for her, and that she wanted nothing to do with him—or at least she didn’t want to want anything to do with him—she knew she couldn’t leave him in the dark about Anthony’s machinations either.
She sighed, knowing this didn’t make sense. She’d barely met him. So why this sudden need to protect him? But . . . a phone call couldn’t hurt, right? And then she could go home to New Orleans, with Anthony none the wiser.
She shoved her laptop into her tote. Normally, she locked it up here in the office, because it contained all of her records and research on the estate’s finances, which she called the Hawthorn project. But tonight, she wanted it with her. There was too much weirdness going on, and she’d spent way too much time on this project to have all her work disappear because of some twisted vampire politics.
She glanced once at the closed doors as she hurried through the outer office, hearing the rumble of deep voices. If she hadn’t had such a well-honed survival instinct, she might have snuck over to the doors and tried to listen. But there was no such thing as sneaking up on a vampire, and she wasn’t even the tiniest bit suicidal.
She locked and closed the hallway door behind her, then hurried down the corridor. She needed to talk to someone who would listen. And she knew just where to find her.
ANTHONY LISTENED as Natalie moved about the office, gathering her things. He caught the slide of a desk drawer, the shuffle of papers, the click of her heels. She was always the perfect lady when she came to the office, always dressed femininely, gracefully, in skirts and high heels. No low-cut necklines or thigh-baring outfits. Anthony was the first one to admit that MariAnn was guilty of both of those things, but she played a different role in the dynamic of the office. She was a vampire groupie and, as such, intentionally enticing to his vampires. They enjoyed flirting with her and, if rumors were correct, many of them had done far more than mere flirting.
But his Natalie was not intended to entice. She was a professional—an intelligent and refined young woman doing an important job. A Southern woman who knew how a proper young lady conducted herself in the workplace. She’d avoided the various parties that were so much a part of life on the estate, and had never even dated one of his vampires. Which was as it should be. Natalie was meant for better things than groping in the corner of a blood house. She deserved a powerful vampire who could protect her, and provide for her. A vampire like Anthony. And he’d be damned if he was going to stand back now, and watch while that French bastard slid in there in his place. He’d seen the way Natalie had looked at Duvall, with his slick ways and good looks. She was an innocent. Of course she’d been charmed by him. As for Duvall, she’d be nothing more than his latest conquest, another notch on the bedpost.
Anthony wasn’t about to let that happen. Natalie was his, and it was time she realized that. Perhaps he’d been too patient, too considerate of her modern sensibilities. It was time he stepped up and showed her where she belonged.
The solid sound of the outer door closing and the snick of the lock told him she’d finally left the office. He glanced at Baudin to find him eyeing the rubble of Anthony’s once-elegant office. His already simmering rage threatened to boil over. This office had been his refuge, proof that he deserved to be where he was, that he was more than Raphael’s puppet. Every picture on the wall had been carefully chosen, every piece of memorabilia had marked a significant moment in his long life, a history of one triumph after the next. And now it was nothing but shards of glass and wood, crumpled paper with fancy writing and golden seals. And it was all Raphael’s fault. He was the one who’d inflicted that bastard Duvall on him, as if Raphael had any rightful say in who succeeded Anthony as Lord of the South.
Anthony knew what everyone said, that he was too weak to rule by himself, that without Raphael and his lackey, Jaclyn, he would have fallen long ago. He’d been furious when Raphael had informed him that he was bowing out of their arrangement—informed him, as if he had no say in the matter! What they’d had was a partnership, damn it. Raphael might have supplied the raw power behind the scenes, but it was Anthony who’d done the work, who’d taken a territory that had been falling apart under Jabril’s heavy-handed rule, and m
ade it a cohesive whole once again. But had that black-eyed bastard so much as mentioned his contribution? Hell, no. He’d simply made the decision that worked best for him, and given Anthony an ultimatum.
Well, Raphael was about to discover he wasn’t the only game in town. Anthony would return to New Orleans all right, but he would do it on his own terms. And once there, he would rule absolutely, with no one to question his abilities or dictate his actions.
Baudin shoved some rubble around as he walked over and sank onto the velvet loveseat. He appeared completely relaxed, unfazed by the destruction all around him. It was part of what made him such a good spy, the ability to adapt with ease. Well, that, and enough power to deceive almost any vampire, short of an actual vampire lord. And since he was one of Anthony’s own children, his loyalty was as reliable as it could be. His assignment this time around had been to check on Hubert and his secret army down in Mexico. Anthony had been briefed by Raphael’s lieutenant, Jared, about the predicament in Hawaii while it was still going on. He didn’t know all of it, because he wasn’t part of the Western lord’s inner circle, despite the fact that he was Lord of the South. Lucas had been there, naturally. It was disgustingly obvious the way Raphael favored the Plains lord. But Anthony had been shut out, left with whatever tidbits of information Jared chose to share.
He had been warned, along with all of the other North American lords, that a European invasion might be imminent. No one thought Mathilde’s attack on Raphael was the sum total of the Europeans’ effort to take the continent. And with the revelations still coming out of Mexico regarding the late Enrique’s collaboration with their European enemies, Anthony had assumed his territory would be next on the invaders’ list. Especially since Vincent was still busy cleaning up the mess Enrique had left behind. But had Raphael considered that before announcing his plans for the South? No, he’d rushed ahead, leaving Anthony to make his own arrangements. And that’s what he’d done, too. Fuck Raphael.
Christian (Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Book 10) Page 7