Forsaking (Vampire Assassin League Book 26)

by Jackie Ivie

“Excellent extra-sensory skills. And a very adept internet liaison. Lizbeth? Join the call, please.”

  Bram heard a beep as another line connected. Marielle tipped her head to one side. Pursed her lips. Scrambled most of his wits. He didn’t know the rest of her expression. He didn’t dare look.

  “I do apologize for the interruption, Bramwell, but things have changed on our end. Lizbeth? You on?”

  “Yes, Sir.” A female voice replied.

  “Who is it?”

  Marielle asked it and snagged his attention. She lifted a long lock of hair and studied the ends as if looking for something. His ears starting experiencing a lot of buzzing. He shook his head to clear it.

  “What?” Bram asked.

  “Who is calling?” she repeated.

  “Akron.”

  “And who is Akron?”

  “My boss.”

  Akron spoke in Bram’s ear. “I am afraid I can’t give you more time for your courtship, Bramwell. You have a window of opportunity that is rapidly closing and I have an antsy client who has called our line three times. He has excellent internet skills, too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to find our new numbers so rapidly. Needless to say, he is flirting with a regrettable accident. I won’t even charge anyone.”

  “You have a boss? Does that mean you work? Vampires have...jobs?”

  Marielle laughed. Her breasts bobbed with it. Bram tightened his butt and thigh and ab muscles. The buzzing intensified. He groaned. Akron spoke again.

  “I understand your disappointment, but it isn’t a difficult hit. You should be able to handle it in a matter of minutes and then return to...whatever it is you’re doing. Lizbeth is sending the file to your computer. Any trouble receiving?”

  He wasn’t near his laptop. He kept that in his office. He wasn’t thinking of moving there, either. “Can’t you just tell me?”

  “Very well, but you really should read the file. Lizbeth?”

  The female voice spoke up again. “Your assignment is a Missus...Stimson. Yes. Here it is. Susan.”

  “Susan Stimson,” he repeated. “Got it. Anything else?”

  “What about her?” Marielle asked.

  His attention got snagged by Marielle’s movement more than her question. She shoved one side of her hair over her shoulder, putting all kinds of emphasis on her perfect torso. He was finding that mating could be problematic at times. This was one of them. It took a few seconds for her question to penetrate.

  “What?”

  “You mentioned Susan Stimson. What about her?” Marielle asked.

  “Oh. She’s the hit.”

  “She’s the what?”

  Her voice was sharp. High-pitched. It should have warned him.

  “I’m an assassin. A member of the Vampire Assassin League. We kill for profit. She is my assigned hit.”

  “You’re a what?”

  This time her question was close to a scream.

  “Assassin,” Bram replied. He turned back to the phone. “Uh. Akron? Sir? I may have a complication on this end.”

  “This call is close to the time limit anyway. We’ll call you right back.”

  The line went dead. Bram pitched it to the bottom of the mattress somewhere. Snagged another cell from the pack. Slid the front open. Hovered his thumb over the connect button. Marielle was staring at him openmouthed. Wide-eyed. A dark flush stained her pristine skin. He watched it consume her shoulders, throat. Lower jaw. She had a very set look to her entire frame, too. Bram didn’t know what to say. Do. Act.

  “Did I hear right? You kill people?”

  He waited a moment. Moved his glance upward. His heart jerked painfully as their gazes connected. And then he nodded.

  “And you didn’t think that was important enough for your ‘I am a vampire’ spiel?”

  “I was going to tell you.”

  “Oh, really? When exactly? After another lovemaking session? Where you break down my resistance some more?”

  He shook his head.

  “Bramwell!”

  Oh. Hell. Her voice was stained with emotion. He was afraid she might cry. His heart felt like a cannonball was shoved against it and pressing harder with each continuing beat.

  “You can’t do it. You can’t. Not Susan.”

  “You know this person?” he asked.

  “She’s a little shit that drives people crazy. A kid. She’s just a kid! Barely fifteen. Cute. Into gothic stuff. Claiming to be bi-sexual. Who would want to harm her?”

  The William Tell Overture started up again. Bram had the call connected on the second note. He put it to his ear without taking any attention from Marielle. He’d been right. She was starting to cry. Her eyes filled with moisture. He’d never seen anything as heartrending as her unblinking gaze.

  “Sir?” he said into the phone.

  “You mentioned complication, Bramwell. Would you clarify, please?”

  “Who paid for the hit, Sir?”

  “Lizbeth?”

  The answer was from the feminine voice. Clear and loud enough Marielle could hear it.

  “Mister Jedediah Stimson.”

  “Her father? Oh no. No. No!”

  Marielle shrieked it. And then she started hyperventilating. Her action dragged Bram’s breathing along. That was unpleasant. He was getting light-headed. Dizzy.

  “Bramwell? Are you still there?” Akron asked.

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  “You can’t do it, Bram! You can’t!”

  Marielle launched at him. Bram caught her and hugged her to him with one arm while she burst into tears. His neck got wet. His chest. He could see a tear wending its way down his abs.

  “Did you read the file, Bramwell?”

  “Not yet, Sir.”

  “You may wish to. You might find it...illuminating.”

  “I’m not taking the assignment, Sir.”

  “Oh, you’re not?”

  “I won’t kill another kid,” Bram told him.

  “Another?”

  “You heard me.”

  “This is interesting. I believe I’ll need you to elaborate. When, exactly, did you kill a kid?”

  “August twenty-seventh. 1879. Main Street. Dobbin Creek.”

  “You just up and killed a kid that day? Why? What made that particular day so special?”

  Bram was looking inward. He was seeing everything. Just like he had for decades. In perfect recollection. Every time he shut his eyes. “The bank got hit. There were three of them. Wearing kerchiefs over their faces.”

  “You stopped a bank hold-up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were the sheriff, Bramwell. It was your duty to arrest outlaws. Shoot down bandits. Punish ne’er-do-wells. Was there a shoot-out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You obviously won. That would mean you shot the three outlaws. Correct?”

  “Two outlaws. One kid.”

  “How old was this kid?”

  “Don’t know. Fourteen. Fifteen.”

  “That was not a kid in your day, Bramwell.”

  “When a baby-faced boy dies in your arms calling for his mama, trust me, Sir. It’s a kid.”

  “I see. This explains quite a bit, actually. I didn’t know.”

  “Nobody knows. Nobody still alive, that is.”

  Tears were dripping down his face now. They mixed with hers when they hit his belly. He lowered the phone and ran the back of his hand along his eyes. Choked back a sob. Sniffed. Took a deep breath.

  “Well. This is enlightening. It is also wasting time. And has nothing to do with your assignment.”

  Akron’s businesslike tone had a sobering effect on every emotion. It even dried sobs. Bram wasn’t the only one reacting. Marielle stiffened against him. She also sniffed.

  “What did you just say?” Bram finally replied.

  “I said you have an assignment. Time is wasting. Get it taken care of.”

  “I can’t do it, Sir.”

  “Can’t or won’t.”

  “B
oth.”

  “You realize what you’re saying?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You also understand the consequences?”

  Bram gulped before replying. The motion hurt his throat. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Meet me in the Dobb Lake casino penthouse. Inferno Suite. I expect you in ten minutes. Don’t be late. I do not wish to fetch you. And bring Miss O’Donnall with you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nine minutes, forty-two seconds later, the elevator doors opened on enough space she could make a small apartment.

  Bram walked from the elevator, towing her along since she held his arm. He looked up at a security camera above a set of double doors, and nodded. The thing had a little red sensor light. It blinked twice. Bram pulled on his shirt collar and cleared his throat.

  Marielle looked about with raised brows. She hadn’t known Dobb Lake had anything this elegant. They’d been told to report to the penthouse known as the Inferno Suite. She couldn’t imagine what it might look like. They hadn’t even progressed past the vestibule. It was more luxurious than Mister Stimson’s private office. Three of the walls were decorated with mirrored panels interspaced with blood red panels. The remaining wall was one enormous painting of fire. Wait. She could make out a castle in the midst of the inferno. Some cliffs. Dark clouds. It really needed a dragon or two. They would have completed it.

  She looked up from the painting. The ceiling was high; fifteen feet, if she had to guess. A crystal chandelier was above them, shedding sparkles of light through the area. The floor looked to be dark hardwood, laid in a parquet pattern. Black and red, Oriental-looking rugs were arrayed on the wood. They were thick. Richly hued. There were three dark leather sofas making a conversation area in one section. A black lacquer table sat in the midst of the sofas. Concert music was getting pumped through the area.

  This was a foyer?

  Wow.

  Almost ten minutes ago exactly, Bram had pitched his cell phone, plucked her from the bed, raced to a wardrobe to show her an array of dresses. He’d pulled open drawers containing undergarments, and then tossed the armoire doors wide. That had revealed an assortment of hats and archaic-looking, button-up shoes. He’d kissed her on the cheek and told her to pick whatever she liked. It was all for her. Then, he’d disappeared. All for her? That was thought-provoking. Unfortunately, the selection was a bit on the old-fashioned side. And then some. Everything appeared to be late Victorian. Maybe early Edwardian. And if she hadn’t played dress-up with antique clothing when she was little, she wouldn’t have known any of that.

  She’d barely shaken out a teal-colored satin skirt, found a light silver blouse that sort-of matched, selected a pair of frilly knickers, and a corset top before Bram reappeared. That proved not only did he have the ability to move lightning-fast, but he appeared to have even less wardrobe options to pick from than she did. The man was dressed in boot-cut trousers of a slightly darker shade than he’d worn before. Above that was a white broadcloth, western-cut shirt. It was nicely tailored to show off his physique. His belt was black leather, fronted with a hammered silver buckle. The necktie was a strip of black satin with a silver concho to cinch it. He’d topped it with a really sharp, black, wide-brimmed Stetson. And no doubt he sported cowboy boots. She didn’t bother looking.

  “You need to hurry, love. We can’t be late.”

  “We need to go shopping. That’s what we need to do.”

  “Shopping?”

  “For new clothes. When did you get these? 1890? Maybe ’95?”

  “Please, honey? Hurry. Do you need help?”

  He was moving from foot to foot. That was endearing. And a little frightening. He didn’t look any different, but his body language was saying plenty. The man was worried. Troubled. Anxious. Marielle grabbed her armload of clothing, went behind a screen and started dressing. She ended up needing help because designers back then thought a woman needed a blouse with little pearl knobs that buttoned from each wrist almost to the elbow, and all the way to the nape of her neck. In the back. The skirt was a little large. It fell to her hips, which actually felt a bit normal and helped with the length. If this wardrobe was fashioned for her, he’d been a bit off on size and length. She’d decided on a pair of dark satin slippers. The shoes in that armoire looked like instruments of torture. The hat she’d selected was beyond entertaining, however. It was the least conspicuous, but even with the feathers plucked off, and most of the pearls removed, the hat looked like a museum piece. She’d wrapped her hair into a bun and shoved hair pins into it before donning her chapeau.

  They’d looked like an advertisement for an old west show. Their appearance stopped most of the activity on the casino floor, and engendered a lot of attention. More than a dozen flashes accompanied their progress as people took pictures. Bram’s lips had thinned and he’d pulled his hat brim lower as he’d hurried them through to this elevator.

  Marielle checked her reflection in one of the mirrored panels as they waited for entry. Dang! She really did look fantastic. The hat had a large dip in front with a strip of black lace that fell to her lash line. The blouse fit exactly to a figure the corset was enhancing, and the gap of skin between where her blouse ended and skirt began looked really sexy.

  Hmm.

  This era might be a good look for her.

  That’s exactly when she noticed that Bram wasn’t in the mirror. A quick glance showed several panels. He wasn’t in any of them. Not even his clothing. Marielle backed a step and bumped into him. His arm instantly encircled her waist. He pulled her to him. He was standing right with her.

  Absolutely none of that was in any mirror. At any angle.

  That’s when it hit her. Like a heavy gust of wind. Realization was a physical force that stole breath. She blinked rapidly on her reflection. She was in love. With a vampire. Bram Stark really was a vampire. For real. Oh. This was bad. Terrible.

  Amazingly wonderful.

  “You all right, darlin’?”

  Thanks to his boots and her flats, he was several inches taller than her. His whisper started a blizzard of shivers. She turned toward him and looked up. Her heart did a swooping maneuver that made her a little nauseous.

  “I don’t know, Bram. I’m...a little nervous.”

  “I love you, Marielle. Forever. I am beyond thankful to have found you. I want you to know that. Whatever happens. You hear?”

  “Oh, Bram. I—.” Tears choked her voice. Blurred her vision.

  “Me, too.”

  The door clicked and one side opened a fraction inward. Bram’s arm slid down her back. His hand reached hers. They linked fingers. Her heart enlarged until it felt like it reached her throat.

  Bram pushed on the door. It slid open soundlessly. The room within was very dark. It took a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light. Another few to notice the room was enormous. And empty. An oasis of space was in the center of the room. Lit by a candelabra. With a full complement of tall tapers. It sat on the corner of a large dark wood desk backed by an executive leather chair. Also in black.

  “Ah, Bramwell. And Miss O’Donnall. There you are. Right on time. Please. Come in.”

  At the words, Marielle stopped. Her legs shook while her belly churned. She’d never heard such a voice. Bass tones resounded from every corner of the room. It was impossible to tell origin. Her fingers tightened on Bram’s. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. And then tucked her hand beneath his other arm. That gesture sent strength back to her legs. She moved with him as he approached the desk.

  “I hadn’t much choice on the matter, Sir.”

  Bram finally replied. They’d stopped about ten feet from the piece of furniture. It still loomed threateningly.

  “True.”

  The word was akin to a thunder clap. Marielle jumped slightly. Bram squeezed on her fingers. She sent a glance toward him. It was very dim. She could still see the concern in his eyes.

  And the word he mouthed.

  I
love you.

  She melted. Almost literally. Tears that had threatened spilled over her eyelids and onto her cheeks. Every breath was shuddered. She didn’t care if he was a vampire. Or what might occur here. She was head over heels in love with him. Every second was a precious commodity.

  “Did you read the file we sent over?” The disembodied voice continued.

  “I had ten minutes, Sir.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “I didn’t spend the time reading. No.”

  “Would you like to read it now?”

  “Why don’t you show yourself, Akron?”

  “I’m rarely seen, Bramwell. You know that. It is part of this persona I created. Call it my brand. Image.”

  “Make this one of your rare appearances then,” Bram replied.

  “Very well.”

  A figure materialized from right beside the leather chair. He moved forward, gaining candlelight on his midsection. He didn’t sit in the chair. He was tall. She couldn’t tell how tall. Immense, too. He had wide shoulders. He was dressed in a black suit. The shirt beneath his jacket was so white, it glowed neon. He was wearing a black cape with a hood that shadowed his facial features. And he had a really sharp sword in one hand. Marielle couldn’t breathe. If Bram wasn’t holding onto her, she’d have stumbled back. And then she’d have fainted. Thanks to the Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever tick episode, she knew what fainting felt like. She didn’t like it.

  “Marielle? May I introduce Akron Profit? Leader of the Vampire Assassin League. Akron? Miss Marielle Astrid O’Donnall. My mate.”

  “Charmed, my dear.”

  He nodded in her direction. After a moment, Marielle returned the gesture.

  “And now, we can proceed. You have an assignment, Bramwell. I need to know if you are you still refusing it.”

  Bram’s fingers tightened on hers.

  “I will not kill another kid.”

  “I don’t allow insubordination in my organization, Bramwell. It is a rule. You knew that going in. When we met. I told you. Remember?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Are you still refusing?”

  “I need Marielle to have safe passage, Sir.”

  “Have you turned her yet?”

  “No.”

  “That’s one thing in your favor. You’re only sentencing her to a lifetime of loneliness with your decision. Not an eternity. Miss O’Donnall?”