Annalise Jean was a ninety-year-old vamp I’d met a few times. Nice girl. Big on family—had a lot of close ties to various vampires in her bloodline. Missing for months was not like her. Plenty of us took downtime and disappeared for decades; Annalise, what little I knew of her, wasn’t the type to do that.
And Toby hated Montreal. A short while back he got his ass handed to him by a local werewolf or something and he didn’t dare venture in her territory anymore. If he was being hired to track Annalise, the job was paying extremely well.
“Good news?” Nate padded past the couch and toward the kitchen; he’d shed, well, all his clothes and had a single white towel wrapped around his waist.
Tease. “Meh. Vampires have been going missing for months, apparently. Mishka supposedly kept her ear to the ground for me and never mentioned it. That seem odd to you?”
“My wife tried to kill me—my meter for ‘odd’ is a little off kilter these days.”
“Touché. So if we get you shot every day, do you promise to walk around my house half-naked?”
He stopped at the counter and retrieved the first aid kit sitting there, waved the aluminum box at me. “Needed this.”
But my gaze was traveling his smooth body—the corded muscle moving under flesh, broad shoulders, compact abs, a smattering of dark brown hair across his chest and marching in a line like an arrow pointing down into the towel...
“My eyes are up here.”
“Yes and they’re likely giving me a rather disapproving look at the moment. I’ll stick with your abs.”
He popped open the box, retrieved some gauze, and affixed it over the healing hole in his gut. “Doesn’t the horny vampire shtick ever get old?”
“Horny’s such an ugly word. I prefer...” I lifted my eyes to meet his at last and tilted my head to the side. “Hungry.”
Nate rolled his eyes and shook his head; lips parted to say something probably snarky back at me when the elevator rumbled.
Mmm, dinner. “Pizza’s here.” I started to rise but he crossed the floor to the elevator just as the door lifted.
My cute delivery boy waited, face sinking into a disappointed expression when he realized it was a half-naked man in front of him.
Nate glanced over his shoulder at me. “Cash?”
“Already paid by credit.”
He took the pizzas and dropped the elevator door again before I could protest.
“But that was Sammy!” I looked longingly at the elevator as it began its descent.
“Sammy?” He deposited the pizzas on the coffee table and slumped down next to me. Still in the freakin’ towel. I swore he did it just to irritate me.
“Yes, Sammy. My dinner.”
Warmth and tasty pizza smells wafted up as he popped open the lid of the top box. It was the cheese one. “You were really going to stand there and eat the kid?”
“Just a bite.” I snatched a slice of pizza as well. Human food and drink wasn’t something I tended to crave, but I could eat it. My body broke it down in no time, synthesizing nutrients and burning calories. The taste, though? Absolutely wonderful. Hell, I’d sit and chew on the same piece of cheese for minutes just relishing the taste. I didn’t remember food tasting like that when I was human, but then we ate a lot of dull crap in Romania three hundred years ago.
Nate’s hair was combed back straight, away from his face and resting smooth and damp against the back of his neck. The overhead light caught a shimmery scar behind his ear, widening and then disappearing into his hairline.
“How’d you get that?”
He glanced at me and must’ve guessed what I looked at. “Fell. When I was a kid.”
“Twenty years later and you still have a scar to show for it? Must’ve been one hell of a fall.”
“It was down some stairs. You saw the family home prior to the explosion—long way to the bottom.”
Uh huh. I’d heard that one before. A little theory was forming in my head, threads from all sorts of directions weaving to give me a picture. Time to test it.
One medical centre in the area catered to wealthy families—no way would the O’Connors hit the regular emergency room. Lockwood Clinic, Family Practitioners. I knew a chick, Stacy, who worked there; she got me info on a target I had to kill last winter. Poor man had heart trouble and the person who paid for the hit wanted it to look natural.
It was late, but I dialled Stacy’s home phone number. She had a sick kid and was always in need of money; I paid her handsomely so she wouldn’t be upset about the call.
“Hello?” She was awake but weary on the other line. Probably up with the kid.
“Hey Stace. It’s Zara. I need a favour and I’ll pay you five grand.”
“I’ll go in early and get you whatever you need first thing in the morning. What are the specifics?”
I liked a team player. “Medical records. Ones from a lot of years ago, so they may not be in the computer system.” On the other side of the couch, Nate watched in silence; his gaze was heavy and pressing on me. I could’ve used a bit more finesse to finagle what I wanted to know, but I did better with being direct. “Patient’s name is Nathan Gregory O’Connor, son of—”
Nate shifted, hand darting out to reach for the phone. I scrambled back, vaulted over the arm of the couch, and danced backward as he rose and came at me.
“Sean Charles O’Connor the Fourth. I’m wondering about broken bones”—I dodged his hand reaching for my phone again—“and serious childhood injuries”—my steps were quick as I darted backward again—“you can call me in the morning—”
My back hit the rough plane of a brick wall. Fuck. Nate loomed over me, eyes blazing, lips twitching. Ready to snap. With his hair all combed back, the sharp, angry lines of his face stood out starkly.
It was sexy as hell. I’m warped, I know.
“Hang up,” he warned in a low voice.
Less than an inch separated us. His body heat seared me, brought fresh gooseflesh to my bare arms. I should probably have been grateful he hadn’t yet frozen time, popped out a stake, and impaled my heart, but then the towel wasn’t leaving much to the imagination and I guessed he wasn’t keeping any vampire killing paraphernalia in there.
I kept the phone exactly where it was. And grinned up at Nate. “May not need it after all, Stacy. I’ll still send you five grand, though.” When I’d hung up, I cocked a brow at him. “So?”
His chest rose and fell with angry breaths. Nate said nothing.
“Wanna know my theory?” I pitched my voice low, smile falling. “I think you got smacked around as a kid by Daddy Dearest. And I think you told your sweet wife about it and she knew all you needed was a little shove and you’d agree to have him killed. He beat you, probably your mom or maybe your older brother too. And you hated him. Didn’t matter how poor a job Mish did framing him for an attempted hit on her—you were more than willing to believe it.”
Still he said nothing, but for an instant, a boy looked back at me through a man’s eyes; a boy who was powerless and damaged. And it squeezed at my heart.
“She played you,” I said softly. “She played both of us.”
The air seemed to thicken, and if I was human, I’d probably find it hard to breathe. His muscles tensed and a shuddering breath left his lips. Oh, those lips. I tilted my head up, waiting. He was warm and he was angry and I had just the cure for the both of us.
A whoosh of cool air touched me as he backed off suddenly. Nate grabbed the bag of clothes from beside the couch and shut himself in the bathroom.
Great. Now I was hungry, bored, and once again kicked out of the only shower in the apartment.
Well played, Zara.
Chapter Nineteen
Paternity
The next night we headed out twenty minutes after dusk for the place where Heaven Thiering had been staying. Nate showed no further after effects from the magic use and I hadn’t killed him yet for irritating me, though I’d seriously been considering it.
Ne
ver, ever would I have another roommate again. Ever.
Heaven’s safe house was actually a hotel, three towns over. Or, rather, it was under the hotel. The place was owned by “one of Heaven’s people”—whether that meant employees or family members, I didn’t know—and they had been expecting us for two days, so we weren’t only escorted downstairs immediately, but were glared at pretty much the whole damn time.
The apartment under the hotel had steel-enforced walls and a big main door even I couldn’t kick down. Heaven sat inside on a couch that looked as if it’d been lifted from one of the hotel rooms upstairs. Gone was her typical designer suit and in its place was a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater that hung on her tiny frame, giving her a ragged appearance. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days and the ashtray in front of her that held a mountain of cigarette butts suggested that estimation was near accurate. Still, a regal air clung to her that nothing could touch—not her blackened lungs or her tragic ensemble.
She looked up as we strolled into the room. “What happened?”
“Got in another gunfight yesterday. Nate nearly got killed. Didn’t think you’d want me to lead anyone here, so we waited ’til tonight.” I took the chair across from her while Nate said nothing and sat in the middle of the loveseat to the side. The air was dense, still smoky, and might have bothered me if I was human and had to breathe to live.
“Have you learned anything about who killed Mishka yet?” Heaven asked.
“No luck. Confused as ever. How are you doing?”
She shook her head, lit another cigarette, and inhaled the smoke deeply. “I’m losing my mind,” she said, breathing out the smoke as she spoke. “I can’t stand being in here all day, but everyone I know who isn’t dead is in hiding. Those I’ve been able to get a hold of don’t seem to know anything about all this. It just doesn’t add up.”
“And also on the list of things that don’t make sense, someone—probably the same someone attacking the covens—is trying to abduct vampires.”
“You weren’t the only one then?” Heaven asked.
“No, apparently I’m not that special after all. A friend”—I shuddered inwardly, as I used that term quite loosely with Jamie—“showed up last night and said someone tried to grab him the same night they went after me. Then I spoke to someone else who heard reliable rumblings that vamps have been missing for months.”
“Zara, I know we aren’t friends by any stretch of the word, but...” She took another long drag from her cigarette and paused to look for the right way to saying something she obviously didn’t want to. “But you saved my life the other night—”
“Yes, I did,” I interrupted before she got all dramatic. “And let me be abundantly clear as to why. I’m not here because I want to help the covens. I’m not here to avenge Mishka. I couldn’t care less about all your petty problems. But someone is after vampires, which, obviously, means me. And, while saving myself, if I should happen to assist the remaining members of any surviving covens, I fully expect some monetary show of gratitude.”
Heaven nodded, her expression showing understanding and even respect for my directness. “And you will be compensated by all of us—I guarantee it. But I want whoever did this to Mishka to pay...severely.”
“And now onto the subject of our dearly departed little witch, I think we should be looking at what she knew.”
Heaven frowned. “What makes you think she had anything to do with this? Wasn’t she killed because she was a witch as well?”
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” I said. “Everyone else was simply attacked head on—whoever it was stayed in Mishka’s apartment for a while. They were arguing when I showed up. I don’t know if they were looking for something or talking to her or what was going on, but the entire attack was different. Plus so far we’ve just encountered regular humans—both at your house and last night when they followed us to one of Nate’s contacts. The ones at Mishka’s place weren’t human.” I sent a sideways glance Nate’s way, though his expression remained neutral. “And then there’s the matter of her hiring a hit to go down the very night of this huge, international assault. Had I hung around O’Connor’s house any longer that night, I would’ve been blown up too.”
Doubt spelled out across Heaven’s furrowed brow. “So you really think Mishka’s the link?”
I told her exactly what Nate and I knew so far, which, granted, was little. I skimmed through their elopement, talking without pausing as to not give her an opportunity to interrupt and then finished up by telling her about the contract on Nate.
When I was done, she sat in silence for a few moments, taking everything in. She got to the end of one cigarette, put it out, then pulled out another.
“She didn’t need to kill any of the O’Connors for us to take her back,” Heaven said. “Nor did she need to marry anyone as wealthy as Nathan just to secure my affection. She was my only daughter—all she had to do was come home, and I’d accept her. Mishka knew that. It was her choice to leave and her choice when she wanted to return.”
“Jeffrey didn’t seem to have that outlook,” I said. “He seemed certain I was to blame. Actually, Mish had me under the impression you both felt that way.”
“She never told you why she left?”
I vividly remembered the kid camped out on my doorstep; her eager green eyes, voice pitched high with emotion as she ranted about her parents.
“Teenage rebellion. Everyone does it. I brutally slaughtered hundreds of people for the fun of it, Mishka left her comfortable life to crash on my living room floor. It’s all the same thing.”
Heaven glanced at Nate, and the apprehension in her eyes seemed to send out a shadow over the rest of the room.
“She didn’t tell you, her ‘husband?’” she asked.
For barely a second, Nate’s gaze passed my way, then returned to Heaven. Expression stony and guarded, he shook his head.
Heaven took in a deep breath, then expelled it loudly. “A few weeks before you first came to our home to steal, Zara, Mishka turned sixteen. It was then she started noticing certain...‘gifts’ emerging.”
Oh god, it was like a bad paranormal novel. “Gifts?”
“Magical abilities,” Heaven clarified. “Ones she wasn’t expecting and wasn’t prepared to handle. We used to be so close...” Her voice came close to breaking and I hoped she didn’t get into another crying fest, or else we might be waiting all night. “Naturally, she told me about it and I finally had to tell her why.”
Although I’d criticized Nate for witches not understanding drama the night before, it was clear they got the concept of melodrama. “And the reason was...?”
A full minute ticked by in silence, just the beating hearts of the witches sounding in my ears.
“Her bloodline,” Heaven finally said. “It was because of who her father was.”
“So Jeffrey had some kind of—”
“No,” Heaven said. “Not Jeffrey.”
My jaw dropped. Literally—it fell wide open. I gaped at her for a moment as she cast her eyes downward and fidgeted. Jesus Christ, of all the parent-bashing Mishka did, she had never once suggested anything like that. This was like a fucking soap opera! If she brought up coma babies or evil twins, I was grabbing some popcorn. “So who was her father?”
Heaven licked her lips, stared at the coffee table. Her face flashed crimson, embarrassment an almost palpable tension in the air around her. “Jeffrey was sterile. He knew it, though I don’t think he ever completely believed it. I wanted a child, so I resolved to use whatever means necessary.”
Right, so she banged the hot gardener. “You really don’t have to justify your affair to me. Just tell me who Mishka’s father was.”
“It wasn’t an affair—”
Oh my god, I was going to kill her in a minute. “Cut to the proverbial chase, Heaven. Who was he?”
“We don’t...” She chewed the words around for a moment. “...speak his name.”
�
�Why? Is it ‘Candyman’ or something?”
Her green gaze, so much like Mishka’s, snapped my way; power flared in her irises. “This isn’t a joke.”
“Well, it’s still pretty funny.”
“Take your pick of names then—” she whispered finally.
“Fine, then I’m calling him ‘Fred.’”
“But the demonologists know him simply as Lo.” She closed her eyes and bowed her head.
Nate took in a sharp breath. I waited for a few moments, looking from him to Heaven, but no one gave me any indication of what that meant. Heaven kept her head down, shoulders trembling like she might be crying.
“Lo?” I asked. “Anyone going to tell me what that means?”
Nate cleared his throat, still staring at Heaven. “It’s short for Lord of Oblivion.”
“Wouldn’t that technically be ‘Loo?’” They both ignored me, so I continued on anyway. “And isn’t that a pretty lame name?”
“It’s the closest translation into English,” Heaven said.
“Lo doesn’t exist,” Nate insisted, eyes still fixed on Heaven. I couldn’t completely place the emotion in his voice but it sounded like...fear. He’d had a lot of shit lately to be afraid of and usually brushed it off, so this had to be a big deal.
“And that non-existent person is...?”
“A myth,” Nate answered. “Said to be the only mortal son of one of the most powerful, highest ranking demons in the other realms.”
“Highest ranking...so you mean like the real life equivalent of Lucifer or something?”
“Lucifer was a story to keep people in line. True evil is something humans can’t even comprehend.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d done plenty of evil things—I knew evil. “So this Mr. Loo is his son?”
“Her son, but it’s only a myth.”
Heaven’s voice dropped to a whisper. “No, he’s not. You must have friends who know about these sorts of things, Nathan. Ask them.” At last she gazed up at us and tears streamed down her face.
“But Lo was supposedly born two millennia ago,” he said.
“He currently exists in another dimension,” she replied. “And has been there for most of those two thousand years.”
Bloodlines (Demons of Oblivion) Page 14