by Kim Schubert
“Hey, Tate, I get it,” I said, easing the situation back down, or at least attempting to. “If these protestors showed up outside my gates, they wouldn’t live to see the next night.”
Tate adjusted his sleeves again, looking away. He hated to be vulnerable; we had that in common. “So,” I continued, “the best way to stop the protestors is to show them exactly how vulnerable they really are.”
“I thought there was no killing involved,” Blake muttered. He earned the glare I leveled at him.
“No killing, just following. Learn their patterns, attend their churches, befriend their neighbors, have a reason to be at their kids’ schools, meet their family members. Ingrain respectable vampires into their lives.” They were listening and thinking. “If that doesn’t work, we can kill them,” I said with a smile and a shrug.
“Do it,” Tate said before leaving.
I nodded and smiled. “Then can we go see the professor?” I asked Blake as my phone started playing Ricky Martin’s Shake Your Bon Bon.
Growling, I answered. “I need your help,” Kass hissed quietly.
“What?” I asked, instantly on alert, standing as I readied for action.
“Lorraine isn’t showing up at the Lion Ball tonight,” Kass finished with a sense of urgency I didn’t understand as I sat back down.
“Okay,” I said, waiting a breath for her to continue. When she didn’t, I asked, “Do you need me to make her?”
“No,” Kass answered hastily,” I want you to put on a fancy dress and get your ass down there tonight.”
“Kass—” I started, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
“Olivia, get dressed and get down there,” she hissed before hanging up.
Heaving a sigh, I spared a look at Mal. “Can I borrow some clothing after we finish the intel mission?”
…
I was primped, polished, and dressed in a to-die-for navy blue dress that hugged me in all the right places. Blake ran his roving eyes over me again as I exited the car.
Raising an eyebrow at him, I said, “Don’t worry; I’ll behave.”
He smiled at me. “I expect nothing less from you. You have the address to get a cab back to my place?”
I nodded, shutting the door, squaring my shoulders, and rolling my hips. The guard at the top of the marble stairs graciously waved me in when I explained I was late for my date, Logan. He was human; otherwise, I doubt I would have been allowed in.
I saw Darren first, bent low over a table, discussing something passionately with his brother. Plastering a soft smile on my lips that I forced to my eyes, I made my way over, gently resting a hand on Logan’s as I sat, pulling the anger and irritation I felt rumbling beneath the surface. Not wanting to create gossip, I smiled warmly at Darren, who greeted me, relieved.
“I don’t need a date,” Logan hissed at me.
I widened my smile, straightening his tie before murmuring softly, “You certainly do not; what you need is someone to help mask your personal problems while you deal with business.” Snagging a glass of Champaign, I took a sip before continuing. “Since you can’t be trusted to handle that alone at this moment, consider me your built-in self-control.”
He watched me warily as I smiled at people passing our table making a wide berth around the angry shifter.
Kass reappeared at that moment. “Olie, thank goodness,” she said, sitting down next to Darren heavily.
“Thank you for coming,” Darren added, nodding.
“Of course,” I answered, skimming Logan’s hand again, pulling more crap out. If the asshole thought this was easy for me, he had another thing coming. If he weren’t Darren’s brother, I would have left him here to rot as the packs vied for a more stable leader. As it stood, I was apparently now vested in Logan staying the head of the shifters. I fucking hate politics.
Suppressing a sigh, I took in the lavish ballroom with the copper-domed ceiling and intricate marble flooring with a second floor boasting of a gold railing. This wasn’t an environment I saw shifters being at ease in; they were more of a biker bar crowd, from my experience.
“Who picked the venue?” I asked as Logan took a shot of alcohol the waiter set down.
“Guess,” Kass said from across the circle table.
Scowling, I pushed away the glass from Logan, mumbling, “You’re not making my job easier.”
Settling back, he kicked out his long legs, lacing his hands across his abdomen. “How goes the case?” he asked quietly as I sipped at my Champaign.
Giving a slight shrug, I scanned the crowed absentmindedly. “We have a few leads; hopefully, something will pan out. Did you check on your family plot?” I asked, returning my attention to him.
Sitting forward, he pulled my chair closer to his own. “Yes, and you are correct, the body of my grandfather is missing. I’ve forwarded the list to Grams of those allowed in and those with enough power to get in.”
Nodding I blew out a breath. “I was afraid of that.”
“No additional murders have been reported?” he asked.
Shaking my head, I answered, “Not that I am aware of, but I have lost my connection to the police.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “Look at you, making friends.”
I shrugged. “It’s better they’re not involved anyway; this is a matter for us.”
He nodded, tracking something over my left shoulder. Turning, I smiled at the clearly out-of-place couple who had tried very hard to fit in, based on their awkward gait and self-conscious demeanor. Pushing out confidence and a sense of ease, I watched the shoulders of the blonde in the breathtaking red dress relax.
“Hello,” she greeted.
I smiled, extending my hand, as they came flush to stand between Logan and me, even though we were still very close together. “Hi, I’m Olivia; we were just finishing discussing some sensitive business, but please let me scoot down so you both can grab a seat,” I said, sliding down two chairs on the large table.
Logan followed my movements, his darkening eyes making me worry he was too drunk to pull this off.
The woman nodded, smiling as she sat exchanging pleasantries with Logan, which I tuned out, focusing on Kass. She shrugged, hiding a smile as my eyes glazed over.
Fucking politics.
The rest of the evening passed much the same. I was overjoyed when dinner was served, but slightly disappointed when the only thing I could eat were the over steamed veggies and buns.
Huffing a sigh, I tried to pick around the bacon potatoes.
Logan leaned over, grabbing a bite off my plate. Pushing it toward him, I said, “You can have the rest; I don’t eat meat.”
He looked as though I had grown a second head, and I shrugged, picking at his steamed veggies in turn.
“That can’t be healthy,” he said around a mouthful of meat.
“Neither is how much I drink,” I said with a shrug, taking another inventory of the room. I kept smiling in response to the curious glances we kept getting. I probably needed to come up with a cover story on why Lorraine was not here. Telling people she was a worthless slut would not be in keeping with tonight’s theme of keeping the lion shifter head of the packs.
“There is dissention in my packs,” Logan rumbled close to my ear.
“I’m aware,” I said gently. Leading wasn’t easy, it wasn’t simple, and someone was always unhappy. Always.
“Do you need help in handling it?” I asked, poaching the rest of the veggies.
He sighed, switching plates with me as we huddled together, talking softly. “I’m trying to avoid a blood bath,” he said, taking another bite.
“You’re a shifter. It’s in your nature,” I assured him.
“And what do you know about our natures?” he asked almost suggestively.
“Enough,” I answered, pushing back my plate and leaning against the uncomfortable bamboo chairs, forcing myself not to cross my arms.
The parade of people picked up now that Logan’s shoulders had relaxed and he cr
acked what appeared to be a rare smile.
Twirling my straw in the third or perhaps sixth drink, I decided I was sufficiently liquored up enough to ask Logan to dance at the next lull he had in visitors, which was looking to be about now.
Leaning over, I nudged his arm, resting on the table. “Wanna dance?” I asked hopefully. Dancing would recharge my control and expend the annoyance I had sucked from him.
“I don’t dance,” he informed me.
I huffed as Darren cleared his throat. “With all Olivia has done, a dance wouldn’t hurt,” he said, glaring at his older brother. My heart warmed at Darren, trying to make my life easier by provoking the sibling he was already having a hard time with.
“We were just on our way to the dance floor,” Kass said, taking Darren’s hand hurriedly.
Reluctantly, Logan stood, following my lead onto the sparsely occupied dance floor. The ballroom was richly decorated with a painted ceiling depicting a Centaur in battle. Smiling, I hesitantly reached for Logan and was shocked as he gently drew me close with calloused hands resting one massive right hand on my hip while his left took my right hand to nestle against his chest. The moment was charged with an intimacy I didn’t anticipate as I belatedly realized my guards were slightly down.
That was the second time today; damn, so much for my perfect control. Logan shifted under my slight weight at his shoulder. “Sorry,” I muttered building my walls back up.
“Is that how you control people?” he asked guardedly.
Rolling my eyes, I answered, “I can’t make anyone do what they don’t want to do. I can only provide my own emotions that click with their own, amplifying the process. For example, if you’re angry, I can’t make you happy.”
“But you eased my anger,” he pointed out, genuinely interested.
I shrugged, meeting his intense caramel gaze. “I can take emotions from people; suck them, if you will.”
“That gives you power, energy?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“Quite the opposite,” I answered, flicking a glance at Kass, “it’s intensely draining. Over the years, I have built a fairly large tolerance for other people’s crappy emotions.” I sighed, staring levelly so he understood it was his crap I was now sealing in a metal ball in my head.
“I thought you all gained your power from sex,” Logan asked, definitely suggestive.
Lowering my darkened lashes, I peered up at him, letting just the tip of my pink tongue slip out to lick the side of my mouth, which he followed like a good little puppy. Leaning closer, I whispered to his entranced gaze, “I am a master of all emotions and sensations.” Pulling back, I smiled to his smirk.
We twirled effortlessly around the dance floor, and I was actually letting him lead, a man who could dance; that was attractive.
I was about to continue my explanation when a sharp tap on my shoulder had me turning. “Thanks for keeping him company; I’m feeling much better,” Lorraine said with a fake smile as the irritation I had sucked from Logan bubbled to the surface.
Smiling, I inclined my head before sending a nod to Kass’s disapproving gaze, followed by a shrug as I grabbed my clutch and headed out into the fresh night air. Blowing out a deep breath, I slipped into a cab and relayed Blake’s address, my mind roving over Logan and Lorraine.
I could understand why he made it to the top of the shifter pack. What I didn’t understand was why he had chosen a mate so poorly. Lorraine lacked political knowledge and physical abilities. Hell, she wasn’t even a support system that he would need. She could never be an asset in the challenging path he would undoubtedly navigate on a daily basis.
More importantly, it was none of my damn business.
Chapter 12
The cabby exhaled twisting cigarette smoke tendrils from his ancient mouth as he announced my total. I cringed, handing over the crisp bills to his greasy palms. Gross.
It was early still, according to Blake’s schedule, as I pushed open the front door. He did say he wanted me to come back tonight, but an unlocked door? That had every instincts I had screaming, and I listened well to those.
Creeping as silently as I could, now that the creaking door had announced my arrival, I almost went down in a pool of blood that trailed back to a human with his throat ripped out. Fuck, the asshole was heavily loaded with military-grade clothing and guns. I cringed, unclipping the .40-caliber pistol at his waist, waiting a breath to listen as I straightened back up.
The one night I leave all my toys at home; really I, of all people, should know fucking better. My own ass kicking could wait until I could secure Blake’s health and welfare. For all I knew, he already had the cleaners on the way over. Fingers crossed.
The kitchen was empty along with the living room and parlor as I crept slowly up the stairs, my worry growing steadily as the blood stains and body count increased.
At the landing, I stepped over the human who had prepared my grilled cheese sandwich. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Steeling my emotions, I raised the gun, following the noises coming from Blake’s bedroom.
I could hear him gagging, hear him fighting growling, and threatening even though it sounded like he was gagged. Slowly, carefully, I slipped down the hall to the illuminated doorway as my core cooled and my breathing evened out.
This was what I was designed for.
Pointing the gun down the hallway, I stepped over bodies and around pieces of bodies gingerly. There could not be many left given the carnage. I had counted at least nine dead. Blake alone could handle that, I kept telling myself foolishly.
Hope is a tricky emotion. No matter what I tell myself or how I force myself to act, I always have hope, even in the darkest, sickest nightmares I call my memories, I always clung to the fabric of hope, although I didn’t always know what it was called. I don’t give up. I keep hoping, and I haven’t decided if that is a good or bad thing.
So, when I heard Blake scream with the tearing of tissue, I hoped I was wrong about what had happened. Blowing out a breath, I picked up an unoccupied arm, flinging it down the hallway with a resounding thud past the open door. It gave the desired outcome as several additional men, clad in the same military-grade equipment fanned out from the room.
Too bad I was a faster shot, no hesitation to kill my greatest strength, if anyone ever asks.
Four went down like jelly, their brains spattering over each other and the walls. The fifth went back into the room, firing out. One human, I thought to Blake, this you should be able to fucking handle.
Sliding right next to the doorframe I waited a breath until I heard Blake grunt followed by the rapid repetition of gunfire and a blistering pain in my left upper arm. Not waiting for an invitation, I flung myself into the room, landing on top of the last bad human, only to be thrown against the wall. The fucker should not be that strong, I thought dimly to myself as I realized I had lost the gun and he had gained a knife.
“Pretty dress, vampire fucker,” he said, admiring my now ruined borrowed dress. Oops. He shook his head. “What they got a normal man don’t?” he rasped.
Fucker thought I was human. “Stamina, for one. Eons of experience for second.” I tapped my bottom lip while I pretended to think. “Third, they don’t kill innocent bystanders,” I hissed, bunching my quads as I smashed into him, his knife digging deep into my stomach as we hit the floor.
Wrapping my hands on his throat, I slammed down with every ounce of energy I had until I felt his skull split and the pathetic excuse for a brain slide slickly out.
Grunting, I turned to look at Blake, my horror having been realized. Stupid, foolish hope.
“Here,” I said, ripping the dress over my stomach wound as I rolled over to my back.
Slowly, he pulled himself towards me, a mess of battered and bloodied clothing. Opening his mouth, I saw the missing fangs, and my heart broke for him.
“Drink; you need to heal,” I said as he looked mournfully at me with those big blue eyes. I tried to smile, probably failing as he
lowered his still bleeding mouth to my wound.
He drank deeply as I ran my hands through his bloodstained hair, my mind already working on a to-do list once he was finished. Poor Blake, this was a serious blow to his image, not to mention his body. He would regenerate the fangs, but the process was painful and long.
It was, however, an extremely effective form of torture. Something these boys couldn’t have figured out on their own or the body count would not be so great. The humans had inside knowledge; the question was, from whom?
Blake leaned against my stomach, looking mildly better. “They were juiced,” he said painfully, obviously unaccustomed to the extra space in his mouth.
“On steroids?” I asked, leaning on my elbows and wincing as my arm protested.
He shook his head. “Vamp blood.”
“Oh fuck,” I said, slipping back down.
…
Mallory was stitching up my stomach wound as the bodies were assembled on the driveway. Tate had pointedly ignored my advice to keep this quiet and hide the bodies; instead, he decided to call out the police. They were incredibly nervous, with good reason, as they now had first-hand knowledge of the death a single vampire could deal out.
The press was gathered outside the exterior gates, which had been shut soon after the police arrived.
Mercer stood up from one of the piles he was examining, coming my way.
“Ouch,” I hissed at Mal. “I said I was sorry about the dress.”
She glared at me. “It was on sale,” she said again, slamming her first aid kit together and shaking her head as she stood up to head over to Blake.
“Olivia,” Mercer stated tentatively.
“Mercer,” I responded, making no move to get up.
“Sure got yourself a mess here,” he said, pocketing his hands.
“Nope,” I responded, looking at him, “you have a mess here. What I have is a housekeeper and cook who was brutally murdered by humans.”
He didn’t have a single thing to say to that. Instead, he turned as Blake and Tate brought her body ceremoniously out of the house. I sighed, looking back at the press, hoisting myself up with a groan.