Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

  Pénjamo, Guanahuato, Mexico, present day

  XUAN FINISHED speaking, but still sat there, staring into the flames as he had during the telling of his tale. Lana started to ask a question, but Vincent spoke first.

  “How do you know Raphael?” he asked. It was a natural enough question, but there was nothing natural about the way he asked it. Vincent’s voice was low and raw, each word precisely bitten off, as if he was suppressing some violent emotion. Even more telling were his eyes, which had taken on a copper glow that put the flames in the small fireplace to shame.

  Lana studied him in concern, but he wasn’t looking at her. Vincent’s attention was fixed on Xuan, but Xuan wasn’t looking back. He was studying the fire intently, as if it held the secrets of the fucking universe.

  “I met Raphael not long after I left Enrique, here in Mexico,” Xuan said finally, still refusing to look at Vincent. “Raphael never said why he was here, but looking back, I think he was trying to decide how far south he wanted to expand his territory. Enrique likes to pretend that Mexico has always been his, but it’s only his because Raphael didn’t want it.”

  “Get to the point,” Vincent growled.

  Lana turned her head sharply to stare at him. She’d been right. He was furious. Of course, he had a right to be, since he’d just discovered Enrique had been lying to him all this time about how his brother had died, and who had killed him. But there was more to it than that. Some deeper dimension to what Xuan had revealed, something she didn’t understand, maybe something she couldn’t understand. Something tied up with being a vampire.

  But she understood this much. The key to it all was Raphael’s insistence that Vincent confront Xuan directly. Why would he do that? Why send them all the way down here just so Xuan could tell Vincent that it was Enrique who’d killed his brother? Why not simply tell Vincent that himself? A five-minute phone call would have done it. There was something more, some reason why Raphael wanted Vincent to meet Xuan Ignacio in person, something that was pushing Vincent right to the edge of violence.

  “Raphael asked me about Enrique,” Xuan continued. “He was trying to understand what kind of man Enrique was, what kind of lord he’d be. So, I told Raphael that story, and I told him about you.”

  Xuan risked a short glance in Vincent’s direction, but whatever he saw there didn’t encourage his gaze to linger. He quickly lowered his eyes again. “Raphael could have killed me then. He was certainly angry enough to do it after hearing what we’d done, because I was as guilty as Enrique. But he agreed to let me live on one condition—that if you ever showed up at my door, I would tell you the truth.”

  Vincent jolted to his feet, fairly vibrating with anger. He stretched out his hand in Lana’s direction but he never took his eyes off Xuan Ignacio, as if he didn’t trust him.

  Lana stood and slipped her fingers into Vincent’s. His grip tightened immediately, and he tugged her away from Xuan, putting himself between them.

  “You have five days,” Vincent snarled, “to get out of Mexico. I don’t care where you go. But if you’re still here after five days, I’ll kill you.”

  Finally, Xuan looked up. “Do you think you can take him?” he asked, his gaze suddenly sharp and penetrating.

  Vincent’s reaction was immediate . . . and terrifying. He seemed to swell with rage, to grow even taller than he was, muscles straining beneath his T-shirt and at the seams of his black denims. Energy abruptly filled the small house, making the wooden beams creak overhead, sending the few pieces of furniture skating for the walls, dousing the candles and setting the flames in the fireplace to dancing wildly.

  “¿Dudas de mi, viejo?” he growled, his voice deep and threatening, the words spoken in a Spanish so guttural that she could barely make out their meaning. Do you doubt me, old man?

  Xuan had shrunk lower by the second until Lana almost felt sorry for him, cowering on the floor as if certain that terrible death was imminent.

  “No,” he whispered. “No, yo le creo.” No. No, I believe you.

  “Cinco días,” Vincent repeated, as the overwhelming sense of danger abruptly drained from the room. “¿Comprendes?” Five days. Do you understand?

  Xuan nodded without looking up. “Comprendo.” I understand.

  Vincent spun around and, shoving Lana ahead of him, strode out of the small house, not speaking again until they were in the SUV.

  “Put on your seatbelt,” he ordered as he slammed the SUV into gear and did a spinning 180° turn, spewing dirt and dust as he sped out of the yard and back onto the narrow road.

  “Tell me what just happened,” she said, clicking the belt into place.

  Vincent’s jaw was clenched so tightly that she could see the muscles bunching even with only the dash lights to see by.

  “Vincent, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to jump out of this vehicle and go back and have Xuan tell me.”

  He shot her an angry glare. “Even you aren’t stupid enough to jump from a moving vehicle.”

  She figured he was furious enough to say stupid things himself, so she ignored his stupid comment . . . for now. Instead, she said sweetly, “The vehicle won’t be moving when you make the turn around that big organ cactus.”

  “Don’t push me on this, Lana,” he said in a hard voice.

  “Don’t shut me out, Vincent,” she retorted just as hard.

  He slammed his hand against the steering wheel with such force that she heard it groan.

  “Enrique murdered my brother,” he spat.

  “I got that. Now, tell me the rest.”

  “That’s not enough for you?”

  Lana didn’t fall for it. He was trying to shame her into letting it drop, but she wasn’t going to do that. She was part of this pilgrimage, too, and she needed to know the whole story.

  “Tell me the rest, Vincent.”

  His jaw clenched again and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he said, “He was careful in how he told the story.”

  She frowned. What the fuck did that mean? “You mean Xuan Ignacio.”

  “Yes.”

  “And …?”

  He took so long in responding that she thought they’d have to do the whole song and dance all over again. But then he took her hand, threading their fingers together and resting their joined hands on his thigh, his thumb stroking back and forth as if he needed comfort.

  “Vincent?” she said, growing alarmed. Was it really that awful?

  “Xuan was careful in how he told the story,” Vincent said again, “because Enrique isn’t my Sire. Xuan Ignacio is.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  LANA BLINKED IN surprise. That was it? That was the big secret? Clearly, she was missing something.

  “How do you know Xuan’s your Sire instead of Enrique?” she asked, trying to figure out why it was such a big deal.

  Vincent scoffed. “Because I heard what Xuan said, how he described that night. And I was there, damn it! But mostly because . . . the moment we drove into that yard, the moment I saw Xuan . . . I felt something, and I knew.”

  “But you didn’t get angry until—”

  “Until I found out they’d murdered my brother because he was inconvenient!” Vincent interrupted. “Instead of giving him one more night to recover, they killed him. They did that. Not the bandits, but Enrique and Xuan, my Sire.”

  He said the word sire like it was something dirty, something disgusting.

  “But why does it matter who your Sire is?” she asked carefully.

  “Why does it matter?” he repeated, turning to stare at her in disbelief.

  “I’m not a vampire, Vincent,” she reminded him sharply.

  He let out a long breath. “The one connection that is sacrosanct in vampire society is the relationship with your Sire.
No matter what else happens in your life as a vampire, that connection is always there.” He snorted a harsh laugh. “Why do you think Raphael sent us after Xuan? Manipulative bastard. He knew that if I found out what really happened, that Xuan was my Sire and that Enrique murdered my brother . . . Raphael knew I’d kill Enrique. And Raphael wants Enrique dead.”

  “So, it’s not about Xuan being your Sire. It’s about who killed your brother.”

  Vincent seemed to deflate suddenly, all of his anger disappearing in an instant. “The betrayal . . . it’s both. That Xuan walked away, that Enrique . . . I’ve been a loyal lieutenant for more than a century to the vampire who murdered my brother.”

  Lana squeezed his hand. “But you’ve always hated him. Even when you were loyal. Maybe a part of you knew without really knowing.”

  Vincent smiled bitterly. “Every powerful vampire reaches a point when he no longer needs his Sire to survive, when his own power is enough to sustain him. But even then, the ties of affection can remain, making the idea of killing the one vampire who gave you this life unthinkable. I say this only because I’ve seen it in others. For my part, I always knew I’d challenge Enrique someday, and it never bothered me to know that I’d gain power literally over his dead body.

  “But now that I know the truth, now that I know what he did, his death will taste even sweeter. I’ll rip his beating heart from his chest and watch his life fade into dust. And then I’ll seize his territory and everyone in it. Everything he ever cared about, everyone he ever loved—if a black heart such as his is capable of such a thing—will be mine.”

  Lana’s eyes went wide, her lips flattening into a narrow line. “Okaaay,” she said eventually, figuring it was best not to challenge Vincent when he was plotting mayhem.

  Vincent squeezed her hand, as if trying to reassure her that her heart was safe from the whole ‘getting ripped out of the chest’ treatment.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she asked carefully.

  He gave her an almost amused glance. “Of course.”

  “Why are you driving like the hounds of hell are on our heels?”

  He gave a bark of laughter that had no joy in it. “Because if I had to spend one more minute in that bastard’s presence, I’d have ripped him to bloody pieces. And I didn’t think you’d understand.”

  Lana’s chest filled with warmth. That was almost sweet. And then she choked at the thought. It was sweet that her vampire lover didn’t want to rip a person to bloody shreds in her presence? Clearly, she’d fallen down the rabbit hole without noticing.

  She drew a deep breath through her nose. “Well. Good. So, are we driving to Mexico City, then?”

  Vincent almost smiled as he squeezed her hand tightly. “Michael will bring the plane and we’ll fly. But not tonight, querida. Tonight, we’re going to find a hotel, and I’m going to show you what it means to have a vampire lord in your bed.”

  FIGURING THERE WAS at least a small chance that Xuan Ignacio would ring up his old buddy Enrique and fill him in on current events, Vincent decided he and Lana had to get as far away from Pénjamo as they could before sunrise. They ended up in Guadalajara, which was only a hundred miles, but it was big enough, with over one million residents, to afford them some anonymity, not to mention lots of hotels and a major airport.

  Vincent selected a hotel at random—not his usual modus operandi, but probably safer under the circumstances. Anyone who knew him well—and Enrique did—would know his preference for high-end lodging, which meant staying in a cookie-cutter businessman’s hotel near the airport was probably the most secure place for tonight.

  The check-in went smoothly. They used Lana’s ID and credit card to at least slow Enrique down if he came looking, and they were the only ones riding up in the elevator. Most of the lobby traffic consisted of businessmen going in the other direction, off to catch an early morning flight. Neither of them spoke in the elevator or on the long walk down the bland hallway to their room. Lana inserted the key card, but Vincent pushed in ahead of her, ignoring her exasperated sigh. She was going to have to get used to his protective nature, because there was nothing he could do about it. Well, he supposed he could have changed if he’d wanted to, but he really didn’t want to.

  He grinned as Lana came in behind him and threw her bag on the bed. At least he’d let her carry her own duffel. That was enlightened of him, wasn’t it?

  “What are you grinning at?” she grumbled.

  He dropped his own duffel to the floor and grabbed her. “You,” he told her. “You make me smile.”

  “Right,” she dismissed, pushing away from him. “I need a shower before it’s too late. You up for that?”

  Vincent quirked an eyebrow at her words, and Lana tsked at the obvious path his thoughts had taken, but she didn’t manage to hold on to her stern expression for long. She was already smiling when she dropped to the bed and started unlacing her boots.

  “Big plans, vampire?” she teased, pulling off first one boot, then the other.

  Vincent tugged his T-shirt off over his head and sat down to work on his own boots. “Big vampire, querida,” he riposted.

  Lana’s only response was to stand and remove her T-shirt and pants, leaving her in nothing but her bra and panties, both of which were simple, black cotton, not lacy, not sheer. Not particularly sexy. But then she stripped them away and, with a coy look over her shoulder, headed for the shower, her naked ass swaying as she pulled the tie off the end of her braid and threaded her fingers through her long hair until it fell like black silk over her bare back.

  “Son of a bitch,” Vincent muttered. He made fast work of the rest of his clothes, catching Lana as she pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the tub. He hated tub showers. There was never enough room for a proper shower. But tonight, he especially hated it, because there wasn’t enough room to fuck Lana the way he wanted to.

  “I hate these showers,” he said as he pushed in behind her, leaving the shower curtain half open, not caring about the water splashing onto the floor.

  “You’re spoiled,” she said, reaching for the tiny, paper-wrapped bar of soap.

  Vincent took it from her and ripped off the paper. “I hate bar soap, too.”

  Lana laughed. “You’re awfully grumpy. You want me to step outside so you can be alone?”

  Vincent grabbed her around the waist. “Not if you value your life.”

  She turned in his embrace, her naked breasts pressed against his chest, her head tilted back to look up at him. “You’d never hurt me.”

  Vincent lowered his head until their lips were almost touching. “You’re right. But that doesn’t mean you can get away with anything you want. I have my ways, you know.”

  “Do you?” She stretched up on her toes, closing the small distance between them as her arms twined around his neck and her mouth touched his. She kissed him tentatively at first, her lips opening slowly, her tongue gliding along the crease between his lips, asking for entry. Vincent slid his hand lower on her back, holding her in place, while his other hand twisted in her long hair, tugging her head back as he took control of the kiss, feeling the heat of her mouth, the delicate dance of her tongue as she explored his gums . . . her gasp of surprise when his fangs responded so quickly that he nicked her tongue, filling their joined mouths with blood.

  Vincent swallowed, closing his eyes against the jolt of lust. His cock, already aroused by her naked body, grew even harder at the taste of her blood, pressing against her belly, her skin satiny wet and slick, just like her sex would be.

  He growled and lowered his hand to cup her ass, lifting her higher. Lana’s arms tightened around his neck as she curled her leg around his thigh, trying to fit her pussy to his cock. She made a small frustrated noise, no more than a needy little moan, but it sent him over the edge. Spinning her around, he grabbed the soap and
lathered it between his hands as he reached around to caress her breasts, pinching her nipples into hardness until she laid her head back against his shoulder with a pleasured sigh, covering his hands with hers as he stroked down over her belly, as his fingers dipped between her thighs.

  She gasped as his fingers slipped deeper, as he began pumping her with long, slow thrusts, while his thumb toyed with her clit, rubbing circles around it, grazing over the tight bundle of nerves without quite touching it. Lana wiggled against him, trying to maneuver his hand where she wanted it, to force his teasing fingers into giving her what she needed. But he held her in place, his other hand still cupping her breast, pinching one nipple, then the other, his mouth at her neck, kissing and sucking, tasting the damp saltiness of her skin, reveling in the scent of her blood so close.

  Lana slid her hand between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around his cock where it was nestled against the firm cheeks of her pretty butt. She stroked him once, twice, then released him, only to reach back and grab his ass, holding on as she rubbed herself against him, squeezing his cock against the tempting curve of her backside. Too tempting.

  Vincent cupped her breast a final time, pinching her nipple until it was bright pink and swollen, and then he slid his soap-covered hand between their bodies, stroking down into the cleft of her ass, finding her opening and dipping inside. It was as slick as her pussy. And then, as Lana’s nails dug into his thighs, as her cries filled his ears and her pussy squeezed his fingers, as she came so hard that she bucked in his grip, he slid his cock into the hot, tight channel of her ass with a groan of pleasure. This was perfection, her pussy pulsing around his fingers, his cock buried in the velvet heat of her ass, her helpless cries in his ears as multiple orgasms rocketed through her body.