Duncan

by D. B. Reynolds

  “So, when are we leaving?” she asked.

  Duncan regarded her carefully, and Emma would have sworn she saw a flash of frustration in his brown eyes. So maybe the song lyrics were working to block him from hearing what she was thinking. She filed that information away for the future and gazed at him innocently. He snorted dismissively and said, “Be downstairs in ten minutes. I have to check some things with Miguel and Louis.”

  He started to turn, but Emma said, “Hey!” Duncan raised an eyebrow in question. “How about a kiss for luck.”

  Duncan grinned and wrapped one big hand around the back of her neck, pulling her in for a deep, satisfying, toe-curling kiss. He lifted his head at last, gliding his tongue along the seam of her lips.

  “I love you, Emmaline Duquet.”

  “I love you, too, Duncan. So you be careful.”

  He touched his mouth to hers one more time, and then he was gone. Emma listened, but she didn’t even hear his footsteps on the stairs. She shrugged and hurried over to the duffle bag, which was the only other thing she’d picked up at her house earlier. It held her gun and ammo, and she had a feeling she was going to need them tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Max Grafton’s house wasn’t so much a house as an estate. Emma had known he had money. Most senators did by the time they’d been around as long as Grafton had. But in his case, the money was in his family. Old money. Old Southern money. As someone who grew up in old Southern poverty, Emma knew exactly what a difference that kind of money meant. Still, she hadn’t been prepared for the vastness of his estate. There was the house itself, which was huge, along with a second two-story building that she guessed was where the household staff lived, because with a house as big as his, he’d definitely need live-in help. There was a pool, and a pool house big enough to house a family. And then there were the stables. Emma didn’t know much about horses, but if even half of the stalls she could see in the long horse barn contained animals, it had to be costing Grafton a small fortune to feed and maintain them.

  The whole estate was too big to put a wall around, but there was a white rail fence along the road, and Grafton had walled off the main buildings and barns. A short gravel drive took them to a big iron gate with a stylized “G” worked into it. Two guards wearing black combat gear stood there, each cradling a matte black semiautomatic with obvious familiarity. Emma worried as their two matching SUVs rode up to the gate, wondering how they’d talk their way in, but she shouldn’t have. After all, she’d seen Duncan zap Sharon Coffer with a look. Ari, who was driving Duncan’s SUV, convinced the gate guard they were invited guests in less time than it probably would have taken to show their IDs if they really had been invited.

  They drove past the open gate and a short distance up the drive, waiting while the second SUV cleared security. Once they were together again, the two SUVs started down the long twisting road to the house. A double row of trees, manicured to identical perfection, lined the drive, white lights twinkling in their boughs. It would have been pretty on any other night.

  “Remember, gentlemen,” Duncan said coolly as they approached the house. “We go in quietly. There will be—” He stopped abruptly, head cocked slightly, as if listening to something none of them could hear. “He’s here,” he said, then shook his head, scowling. “And he’s not alone, but I still don’t recognize him.”

  “Who?” Emma asked, since everyone else seemed to know.

  “Max’s vampire ally.”

  Ari parked in front of the house, backing in next to a line of expensive cars which presumably belonged to Grafton’s guests for the evening. Fortunately, it was a small party, so the senator hadn’t bothered with a parking service of any kind. A pair of guards flanked the front door, but unlike their counterparts at the gate, these two wore suits and carried no visible weapons. Emma was quite certain they were armed, however, and she touched her own gun somewhat self-consciously. She was wearing a jacket that concealed the Glock 9 mm tucked into her waistband in back, but it still seemed obvious to her.

  “You can still wait in the truck,” Duncan said, for her ears only.

  She turned her head sharply and scowled. “I’m going in,” she insisted.

  His lips curled slightly. “It was worth a shot,” he murmured, then kissed her softly and added, “Be careful, Emmaline.”

  * * * *

  Duncan stroked his knuckles over the softness of Emma’s cheek as Louis jumped out of the truck and pulled Duncan’s door open. He stepped out onto the gravel drive, with Miguel right behind him. Emma made an exasperated noise and hurried to follow, but Duncan didn’t wait. A whispered word dealt with the human guards as he climbed the steps and opened the front door. He found it curious that the guards were only human, when he knew for a fact that his vampire enemy was somewhere inside. Did the other vampire think Duncan could be fooled, that he wouldn’t sense his presence? A vast underestimation, if true, and a fatal mistake. He’d take great pleasure in pointing that out when they finally met.

  Miguel and Louis were a step behind him to either side, as he walked into Grafton’s house. Ari was next, then Emma, with Baldwin right beside her and the six vampires from the second SUV ranging behind. Once through the door, they fanned out, except for Baldwin who had orders to stick to Emma like glue.

  The front door opened into a huge room. The ceiling lofted overhead to more than two stories, with thick beams crisscrossing the open space. The floor was marble, and furniture was sparse, although there were plenty of plants clustered in a way that split the room into more manageable spaces while still leaving it wide open. It was a space made for large gatherings, and it was completely empty.

  Duncan wasn’t fooled into thinking the house was empty, however. A quick sweep told him there were roughly twenty humans in the house, most of them gathered somewhere straight ahead. There were also . . . he paused briefly . . . twelve vampires, and among them he clearly tasted the mind of the master who’d tampered with Clint Daniels’s mind and suborned him into burning down Duncan’s residence.

  “Twelve vampires, one master, twenty or so humans,” he said quietly. Most of the vampires Duncan had brought with him were strong enough to detect the humans as easily as he did, but not all of them would accurately count their vampire opponents. And Emma could do neither. He wanted her far away from the fight, but he also wanted her to know what they were up against.

  Duncan started across the room, not wasting breath to tell his people what to do. These were all seasoned security operatives; it was why he’d chosen them. He slowed, then stopped a moment before the hard crack of boot heels announced what he already knew. Max Grafton was at last coming to greet his uninvited guests.

  “Mister Milford,” Grafton said with false cordiality, entering the room through a corner doorway and walking toward them. “I’d heard you were dead. You’ll forgive me for being disappointed to find the rumors were mistaken.” He stopped ten feet away. “And Ms. Duquet. You’ve been far more trouble than you’re worth, my dear. At least Lacey—”

  His next words were trapped in his throat along with his ability to breathe. There was no reason for Emma to listen to this man’s poisonous words about Lacey. Grafton was grabbing at his neck in a predictable, if useless, gesture. He could slit his own throat open, but still no air would reach his lungs until Duncan decided it was time. The senator fell to his knees and his face first turned red, then took on a bluish tint before Duncan released him.

  Grafton fell forward, nearly doing a face plant as he sucked in a rasping breath and began coughing. “You bastard,” he gasped, glaring up at Duncan while tears ran down his face.

  Duncan grinned, baring his fangs. “You’re wasting my time, Grafton.”

  “You’ll pay for this.” Grafton’s voice was thready, but filled with hatred. “You’re not the only game in town.”

  “Yes, I know. Shall we get on with it?” Duncan said, affecting boredom as his mind searched the house, looking for a trap.

>   It was Grafton’s look of shock that finally drew his attention. “You know?” Grafton sputtered.

  Duncan spared the effort to look at the human directly. “That your pet vampire tried to burn down my house with me and mine in it? Of course—”

  “I’m no one’s pet, Duncan.”

  Duncan didn’t move, only his eyes shifted to follow the voice, recognizing his enemy at last. “Phoebe?”

  Phoebe Micheletti strolled into the room, granting Grafton a disdainful glance as she stepped around his still kneeling figure. She stopped in front of Duncan, hands on her hips. “You’re surprised. Good.”

  Duncan gave a negligent shrug. “I am. Not surprised enough to save you, but you were very clever.” Inwardly, he was seething, mostly in anger at himself. They’d never met in person before that first night at the grave site, but if he’d taken her blood oath then, he’d have known the taste of her mind and recognized later that she was the one who’d tampered with his guard. But she’d made damn certain he wouldn’t think it necessary. Had she already been planning to suborn someone from his daylight guard? Or was it simply caution on her part?

  Phoebe was glaring her hatred at him. “Tell me, Duncan,” she said tightly. “Did you ever think to ask if any of us wanted the territory before you swept in like a vengeful angel? I’ve been waiting for more than a century—”

  “That’s not how it’s done, Phoebe, and you know it. If you wanted the territory, you should have taken it. If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else.”

  “I’m the one who deserves it, the one who’s put up with Victor all these years, while—”

  “And what was it you did for him?” Duncan demanded. “Dispose of the bodies? Help him brutalize those women?”

  “I cleaned up his messes, just like I do everyone else’s, you bastard. That woman was already dead when I got there. All I did was get rid of her body so Victor’s precious politicians could pretend it never happened. We were going to move it to someplace permanent, but then you showed up and everything went to hell.”

  “How many others were there? How many women were tortured while you sat back like a fat spider, watching and waiting? Doing nothing?”

  “I wasn’t ‘doing nothing,’” she lashed out angrily. “I wasn’t strong enough to take him on alone. I had to wait, to get stronger, smarter, become a better fighter, build my own backup.” She made a beckoning gesture over her shoulder and vampires began to slip into the room behind her. “I’ve spent decades preparing, and now suddenly you appear out of nowhere, you and Raphael with your grand plans and your arrogance.”

  “Raphael has always been fair with you. He treated you with respect, admiration even.”

  “Oh, my.” She fanned herself theatrically. “Aren’t I simply the luckiest girl alive? Fuck Raphael,” she snarled. “I don’t need his patronage, his pats on the head like I’m some sort of clever pet or—”

  “He never did that,” Duncan snapped coldly. “You forget. I was there.”

  “Yes, you were there. Always by his side, currying his favor. His favorite lapdog. Victor had that much right about you. And now here you are, with Raphael’s blessing, I’m sure. A territory of your own, a gift for serving him so well for so long. But there’s something you don’t understand—”

  “No, Phoebe,” Duncan said, cutting off her litany with a gentle smile. “It’s you who doesn’t understand.”

  He released his power then, letting it rush out of him like water trapped behind a suddenly open dam. It roared through the room like a hurricane, battering the vampires who stood staunchly at his back, sending Max Grafton shrieking across the slick marble floor to crash against a nearby trio of urns. Behind him, he was aware of Emma gasping in surprise, but standing strong, her determination to stay and fight not wavering for a moment.

  Phoebe stared at him, her dark hair a wild nimbus around her head, her eyes widening briefly, before they narrowed to angry slits. Her hands fisted at her sides, and Duncan felt the draw of power as she called upon the vampires who’d chosen to stand with her against him. One or two of those sent him triumphant glances, but the others avoided his gaze, as if hoping to escape detection. He scanned their faces quickly, not recognizing any of them. A more careful examination and he realized why. These were Phoebe’s own, vampires she’d made herself over the years while, according to her, she prepared for Victor’s demise. But they were young—the oldest was not even a hundred years, most far younger than that—and none of them was a master. Their presence would still help Phoebe, as much as doubling her power, especially if she was willing to drain them dry in order to win. But in the end, it still came down to Phoebe versus Duncan. And Duncan would win that battle.

  It would sadden him to kill Phoebe. He’d thought her a friend. Though they’d never met, they’d worked together many times over the years, consulting by phone and computer as she conducted her investigations all over the country. But she’d tried to kill Duncan and all his vampires, had been willing to let Emma die in order to get to him. He could never forgive that. And as a vampire lord, he could never tolerate that kind of challenge to his rule. She had to die.

  Duncan reached out from within the depths of his power and touched Phoebe’s thoughts—a brief touch, there and gone before she could sense the intrusion. He felt her determination, but also her fear for her husband, Ted Micheletti. They’d been mated far too long for Ted to survive her death.

  “What about Ted?” Duncan asked quietly. “What about all of these others?” He gestured to the vampires who ranged behind her. “Surrender to me, Phoebe, and they needn’t die with you.”

  “No!” Ted burst into the room from the hallway, pushing his way through Phoebe’s vampires to reach her side. He was a big man, towering over his diminutive wife as he glared at Duncan. “Don’t you dare, Phoebe,” he growled. “Don’t you let him sweet talk you into giving up. I’ll stand with you ‘til the end, my love. I want it no other way.”

  She spared him a tear-filled glance, then turned back to Duncan. Her jaw jutted forward with resolve. “On any given Sunday, Duncan,” she said, borrowing from the idea that no contest has a forgone conclusion. “I might surprise you.”

  Duncan gave her the respect of nodding in agreement, though the outcome was indeed forgone is this case. Even with her power doubled, Phoebe couldn’t defeat him. She’d been deluding herself all these years if she’d thought she could have overthrown Victor, and Victor hadn’t stood a chance with Duncan.

  “As you wish,” he said. “Miguel?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Hearing the tension in Miguel’s voice, Duncan gave his lieutenant a quick half grin. “No worries, Miguelito,” he said fondly. “Watch my back?”

  “Always, Sire.”

  “Emma!” he called without taking his eyes off Phoebe. “Remember your promise.” He thought he heard a dismissive puff of breath from her, but it may have been his power rattling the foliage.

  His point made, Duncan sucked his power in closer, aware of his vampires backing away to give him room and to avoid being caught in the deadly vortex of his defensive shield. The raw force of his unbound power, which had been tearing the room apart, shut off like a thrown switch. The room was silent in the aftermath as everyone froze, listening.

  Duncan favored Phoebe with a cold look. “Ladies first,” he said mockingly, intentionally pricking the pride he’d felt from her earlier, the pride that had driven her to think she could become a vampire lord.

  Phoebe reacted predictably, curling her hands into claws in front of her and screaming at him in rage. Duncan strengthened his shield in reflex, a move honed into an automatic reaction over decades of practice, requiring no thought on his part. But if he’d had any doubts as to the outcome of this battle, they fled in the face of Phoebe’s first assault. Driven by fury, carrying the full measure of her power, it was sucked into his defensive shield without a trace. There was not even a momentary dent to indicate its impact. Phoebe looked up a
nd met his gaze, and he read the knowledge of failure in her eyes.

  “Last chance,” he called.

  “Fuck you, Duncan,” she snarled.

  “As you wish.”Duncan drew on his tremendous strength, forming a blade of pure power, invisible to the naked eye, but shining like a silver sword to those with eyes to see. Phoebe had such eyes. She saw the blade and howled in fury, dropping down to a crouch, making herself small as she sucked juice from her vampire children and wove their combined power into as tight a shield as she could make. One by one her vampires collapsed behind her as she sucked them dry. Even Ted crumpled to the floor, a trickle of blood leaking from his nose, as Phoebe pulled his small bit of energy back into herself in a desperate bid for survival.

  Duncan was already stepping forward as Phoebe howled her defiance. He thrust the shining blade of his power through the spinning shell of his shield, slicing through Phoebe’s defenses as if they weren’t there, stabbing into her chest, shattering her ribs and piercing her heart.

  Phoebe screamed as her heart exploded, as Ted convulsed and as her vampires died. Duncan held the blade in her heart until there was nothing left of the organ, until it was dust in her chest. He pulled the blade back then, drawing the power into himself, clenching his fist as if his fingers gripped a physical hilt. Dropping his shield, he took a step back . . . and stumbled, falling to his knees as a something with the force of a sledge hammer slammed into his back, tearing through muscle and bone, aiming for his heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Emma knew she was being herded. She knew Duncan had appointed Baldwin as her protector, probably on pain of death or something equally unpleasant. She didn’t mind, because there was nothing she could do about it. If you’re going to fall in love with a big, bad, alpha male, you have to accept the mile-wide protective streak that goes with it. So, she didn’t fight Baldwin when he took her arm and moved her to one side, even though it made her feel like one of the potted plants, especially when Phoebe—Phoebe!—showed up.