His imagination dared to visualize Lance and the vampire with him in his apartment in Geneva. They’d need a bigger bed, he thought, before closing the door on that dream.
Too bad the vampire only had eyes for Lance.
Those eyes. Her lovely eyes. Her lovely, sexy, deadly, dangerous eyes. He took a sip of the rich hot chocolate and choked.
John knew who she was.
Lyons, France
August 1980
John choked on his hot chocolate. “You hunted vampires, Nana?”
He knew he shouldn’t have followed her into the small attic space, but she’d made such a huge thump. And Great-Grandmother was old. John’s mother had trained him to keep watch over Nana and stairs.
Nana looked over her stooped shoulder, not bothering to hide the crossbow she held in one wrinkled hand. A quarrel still quivered in the yellowed man-shaped target with fangs hand-drawn on its smiling mouth.
As the chocolate dripped down John’s chin, she set the weapon on the floor.
“I was a hunter, the best in Europe,” Josephine O’Neill Trudeau said. “I hunted the Nazi Paranormal Corps, up until the 1970s.” Her proud expression softened at his dropped jaw. “Go downstairs, John. I’ll be right there.”
John never could remember what happened next, but when he shook himself to, his nana, a fresh cup of cocoa, and a cedar chest swam into focus.
Her face was creased and slack, but her eyes burned with an unending fury. “A vampire named Randall killed everyone in our family during the war. For some reason, Dracula stopped him from killi!ng me.” She caressed the chest, her face still wondering after all the years. “Dracula told me how to beat a vampire even though I am human. He said he wanted a fair fight when I came for him.” She opened the chest. “Drink, child. You’ve had a shock.”
John numbly drank his cocoa. Tacked to the inside lid of the cedar were dozens of crumbling newspaper photos, grainy old pictures, and sharper pictures from the 1970s. All were of Radu Tepes and Dracula.
“I vowed I’d kill both the murderer and Dracula. But I was so young, I can’t remember his face well. I think he was this Radu character, but according to all sources, he was a hero of the Resistance. And Dracula supposedly died in Berlin.”
Her voice plainly said she doubted that reality.
Nana had cracked. Everyone knew that Dracula was dead.
“Uh-huh.”
She studiously ignored his eye-rolling. “Dracula survived. I have proof.” The chest yielded a scrapbook album. Yellowed pages crinkled as she flipped to the famous pictures of the death of the architect of the Shadow Creature Corps.
There was a photo that John had never seen before. A woman in a bedraggled skirt stood to the far side of the frame, her mouth open in a shout.
“The eyewitnesses insisted a woman, Dracula’s secretary, killed him. She then disappeared.”
She turned the page to reveal another picture, a rare one of Dracula drilling his corps. Instead of his usual impeccable uniform, the famous vampire wore fatigues. Mud blotched his aristocratic features. And his mouth was open in an undignified shout.
“Look at this.”
He compared the two images.
Thin face. Wide eyes. Slender body. A certain tension of the shoulders and arms.
“Dracula escaped as this woman. ” He knew as surely as he’d never taste better cocoa in his life.
His nana nodded, her lips tight.
“Where is he, then?”
“I don’t know. I have hunted for decades.”
“It must be really hard to pretend to be a girl,” John said. “He must have become a man again.”
“I have a theory.” She smoothed the photos flat on the table. John’s spine tingled the way it did before a pop quiz. “I think Dracula always was a woman.”
For the second time in a half an hour, John snorted chocolate out his nose. Laughing and coughing, he wheezed, “Good one, Nana.”
“Look again,” she said sternly.
She wasn’t joking. John rolled his eyes and laid the pictures next to each other. He’d stare at them and pretend to go along with his nana’s delusions and …
Then he saw it. The graceful ear with mostly hidden diamond studs, the too-thin moustache, the delicate jawline and throat.
“How?” he whispered. “How did she do it?”
She closed the scrapbook. “As far as I know, this is the only surviving photo of Dracula from this angle.”
John was young, and enamored of heroics. “Should I kill her for you, Nana?”
“No, darling.” She tucked a wayward piece of hair behind his ear. “The time for killing is past. Your grandmother and mother work too hard with Bishop Tempesta for things to go back the way they were. But if you find her, tell her I knew.”
As John solemnly nodded, the contents of the chest distracted him.
A dazzling array of weapons greeted his eyes. The sheer number of stakes, knives, crosses, pistols, and boxes of bullets stunned him. A glimmer of gold to one side caught his attention. As if in a daze, he dug for it.
A gold medallion inscribed with a pair of wings nestled into his hand like a loving dog searching for petting.
It was beautiful. Everything from the finely detailed feathers to the tiny rubies around the circumference called to him.
“Grandmother?” He held the disc up to her. “What does this mean?”
She sat next to him and placed her hand over his. “That you are a Guide to a Fallen Angel.”
“You’re joking,” John said. Everyone knew that Fallen Angels didn’t exist.
Nana smirked in a way that made John decidedly uncomfortable. “Soon you will meet the person you are to help.”
“How will I know that?” he challenged.
“Well, from everything I’ve seen, you’ll want to slug him right in the face the very minute he opens his mouth.”
John rubbed his hands against his face. Lance Soleil, ex-chaplain, soldier, and Fallen Angel, was fucking Dracula. Merde.
Getting the two of them to move in was going to be a challenge. Good thing John liked his life complicated.
Chapter 23
The first day of the Twelfth Annual Paranormal Citizen’s Conference was lovely beyond compare.
Graceful green glass towers soared above the twelve thousand people surging around the Oregon Convention Center. The rain-scrubbed building gleamed under the winter sunlight. An unfamiliar sense of optimism bubbled under Valerie’s surface composure. All those people working for the betterment of the world. What a beautiful thing.
Or perhaps she had just experienced the best sex of her entire existence.
Either worked, Valerie decided.
She sat shotgun in the armored Town Car carrying Lance to the conference. Traffic edged forward as slowly as a dying man reaching for water.
As reverently as a nun working her rosary, Valerie’s fingers traced the bandolier of M84 stun grenades in her lap.
“You’re the bodyguard. Here. Guard us.” Lance had pulled the crowd-control devices from his gun cabinet and shoved them into Valerie’s hands. “Don’t kill anyone,” he warned as he took her stakes and pistols from her. He didn’t want her to use any of her usual weaponry, even after they had bonded over her personal arsenal.
He was so cute when he tried to save people. She twisted in her seat to glance back at him.
His icy blue eyes held warmth and passion as he met her gaze. The nasty black splotches on his aura had lightened to a soft gray. His clove aroma radiated calm control. She puckered her lips into a kiss. Lance blew a kiss back. The ache between her legs throbbed in memory of his touch.
Don’t kill anyone. Silly man. She faced forward again. Lethal weapons were strictly forbidden at the conference. She knew better than to carry deadly hardware into a delicate situation. All she needed was the sharpened pencil in the breast pocket of her boringly conservative blazer and slacks. One fast strike to the heart, and Radu would be swept out with the trash.
Her redemption would be over and she could start her life. The first thing she would do is throw this drab outfit in the trash.
The thought of Radu’s death did not fill her with the satisfaction it used to. She felt Lance’s gaze on the back of her neck. Finishing Radu would end her time with Lance. His Higher Purpose would not allow for her preferred finite solutions.
He would leave her, but at least he’d be alive.
The thought was cold comfort, colder than the metal of the grenades under her hands.
The driver slowed even further as they neared the VIP entrance. The sight that greeted Valerie made her very glad Glenath had insisted on the car.
Any discussion of PNC rights brought the crowds. Huge crowds. Loud crowds. Angry crowds.
She automatically sniffed as she held the door for Lance. Repulsively smelly crowds. Valerie regretted testing the air for Radu’s presence.
Fortunately, odor was the only assault. The convention center’s security, the Portland Police, and the Oregon State Police hustled their tight asses to prevent violence between the arguing groups. Strong bodies moving under tidy uniforms gave her chills, always had.
Valerie clenched her own buttocks. Down, girl. One day of relentless, overwhelming sex and rampant desire rode her harder than revenge. As she closed the passenger door, one of those tasty-looking state troopers met them.
“Father Soleil? This way, please.”
Valerie’s stomach growled quietly as they waited in the elevator. The nice young man would have been a much better breakfast than her quart of animal blood. Lance placed his hand on the small of her back. Her hunger subsided. Their security escort led them through a quieter upstairs hallway toward elegantly simple meeting rooms. The convention center strained at the seams with luminaries from around the world. All species, all colors, all sizes roamed the building and inspected the fabulous art and the largest pendulum Valerie had ever seen.
Lance whispered in her ear, “Amazing.”
She nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. No way could she tell him it was like this in Paris after the war. Everyone had mingled, celebrated, and shared. So many secrets between her lover and herself, she thought.
The policeman left them for more demanding duties after they were safely inside. Lance adjusted his tie as every one looked at them. Valerie assessed the occupants for threats. Some of the most dangerous beings in the world were in this room.
The most dangerous one of all approached.
Glenath Tempesta wore a royal blue velvet jacket, a long, multicolored skirt, and clanking heavy silver jewelry up and down her arms. Valerie didn’t know it was possible for a non-predatory species to smile that large.
“About time you got here.” She linked arms with Lance and pulled him into the room, aiming right for an enormous werewolf surrounded by his enforcers. Valerie touched her pencil. This was about to get problematic. Vlad Dracula knew that werewolf.
Once upon a time, Dracula had been the head of the European Shadow Creatures. Lucifer’s scaly elbows, she’d been a sucker for high-profile, paperwork-heavy positions.
“Ah, Luc. I would like you to meet a new friend. Luc Breton, Lance Soleil. Luc was my fellow conspirator for the Prague conference.”
“You bring another human amongst us, Glenath.” The Great Wolf, the head of all European paranormals, lifted his lip to show ragged canines at Lance.
Luc always had been an ass.
“Get over yourself, Luc,” Glenath snapped, clearly exasperated. “We don’t have the time for this.”
Luc shook Lance’s hand with bone-crushing force. Lance smiled pleasantly and pressed back. Luc’s heavy eyebrows flickered upward slightly, and his grip relented. “Well met, Soleil.”
Typical alpha wolf behavior, Valerie thought. Luc hadn’t changed since he had taken over. Poor Luc was always over-compensating for being compared to Vlad. Speaking of Vlad, Luc had met him on a number of occasions, even tried to kill him more than once. Valerie bit the inside of her lip. Luc might notice her resemblance to her former self.
Sometimes thinking about her past gave Valerie a headache. Vlad was a man, but Valerie was a woman, but they were both her. Him. Whatever. Pronouns sucked.
“Always a pleasure to meet a friend of Glenath’s.” Luc’s gaze traveled over, then down to Valerie. He frowned. “And you are?”
Valerie bristled. The tall bastard actually looked down his nose at her. That upstart pup needed a lesson in humility. Her own lip started a trip up her fangs. The air in the room chilled as Luc’s hair fluffed out.
“Don’t be an ass, Luc. She’s Lance’s bodyguard,” Glenath answered, commanding Luc’s attention and defusing the situation with easy grace. “The usual death threats, blah blah blah. It gets boring, really it does.” The bishop led Luc and Lance away from Valerie. “I wanted to talk to you two about …”
They wandered off, leaving her to watch their backs. Or rather, Lance’s backside. Prime real estate on that boy, she thought. The very next chance she had, she would show him how vampires could suck cock. Not breathing was good for some things.
She didn’t have a chance to enjoy her thoughts.
Radu and his coterie swept into the lounge like Louis the XIV and his courtiers.
Her shock erased the erotic thoughts. For a moment, she’d forgotten her own mission. Instead, she had started thinking like a real lover. No, no, no. Lance was her bait, nothing more.
Valerie pursed her lips when she saw young Chad Trask walking amongst the consultants and bodyguards. He really was connected in high places.
Radu’s trajectory would take him within five feet of Valerie’s position. He didn’t even notice another vampire in the room, let alone recognize his brother. The boy had always been nose-blind.
Reluctantly, she removed her pencil from her pocket. Getting past his bodyguards and friends would be child’s play for someone trained in the art of sneak attacks. A quick jab and she’d be done.
Just then, Lance removed his suit jacket and laid it over his arm. The white dress shirt clung to his broad shoulders and skimmed down to his narrow waist. His perfect, round ass clenched as he shifted from side to side during his conversation. His aura glowed so sweetly, too, illuminating the room with his charm and purity. Her labia ached in sudden excitement.
She dropped her pencil back into her pocket. Lance was right. This was the wrong time and place to kill her deceitful brother.
After all, vampires had all the time in the world.
The next ten minutes took for-fucking-ever. Lance, Glenath, and Luc talked until Valerie wanted to stab herself with her own pencil. Being in the same room as her brother was killing her.
Finally, Lance broke away from the little tête-à-tête. He nodded toward a quiet, inconspicuous corner where a VIP bathroom was discreetly located. Valerie guarded the door, her hands dangling easily at her sides, as Lance locked himself in.
Chad Trask oh-so-casually drifted away from Radu’s group toward Valerie. He studied the artwork on the wall next to the bathroom.
“What are you doing here?” Chad hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
Inwardly, Valerie snickered. Outwardly, she said, “Trying to catch peeks of men urinating.”
“Are you spying on me? I should …” Chad’s hands curled into fists.
“I have bigger fish to fry than a half-assed delinquent,” Valerie replied calmly. “But if you really want to solve this with violence, I would more than enjoy it.”
She cracked her wrists and let her fangs completely distend. The boy gasped.
“Let’s dance.”
Chad just stared, frozen. Arousal pumped off of him.
His excitement fed the heat thrumming through her veins. She parted her lips, deliberately ran her tongue over a fang.
He trembled at her gesture, his gaze locked on the movement. His dress slacks swelled as he stared at her mouth.
That clarified a thing or two for Valerie.
“You want a strong woma
n, don’t you?” She circled him until he pressed against the wall. “Don’t be ashamed of wanting a woman with power.”
He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed under his peach fuzz stubble. Valerie leaned in, bracing her arms on either side of him, close enough to kiss or bite. He smelled of ripe, sweet testosterone and youthful pheromones. A heady mixture. She inhaled, long and deliberately, telling him without words that his offer of himself pleased her.
The boy stared at her mouth, caught in the lure of danger. She opened her lips, letting him look his fill.
Chad ran a quivering finger over her fangs, around and around. A soft moan reverberated in the back of his throat when the sharp tip dragged against his flesh. A surge of hunger made her shake. No question he was willing now. He was practically begging for her to bite him, right here in front of everyone. She could nearly feel the hot slide of blood down her throat.
Vampires weren’t monogamous by nature. Every instinct she had suppressed for six hundred years screamed at her. How she wanted to sate her raging desire for more passion.
Chad closed his eyes, surrendering.
The toilet flushed.
They both straightened. The two of them stared at each other as the sound of running water washed away their temptation.
“Don’t be stupid. Run away. Find yourself a nice girl with a wild streak and forget you ever thought this,” she breathed in his ear. “You keep on this path and you won’t like yourself.”
Chad looked into her eyes. What he saw there made him nod. He ducked under her arm and tried not to sprint across the room.
Valerie watched him go, her fangs subsiding.
The bathroom door opened.
“You okay?” Lance asked, his blue eyes icing over with concern.
He smelled more delicious than anything she had ever imagined. “Never b*,netter,” she replied truthfully.
Radu was a master multitasker. He was capable of listening to Joe at the same time he observed Chad and the other vampire’s little interaction by the lavatory.
That was the one who had interfered with Lance’s demise. Since Roger had disappeared, Radu knew he had to take care of his own annoyances. Get rid of her, and he’d quickly be rid of Soleil. Perfect.
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