“The hell I am.” Dante made a sharp left, charging into the street. No one told him what he was, or wasn’t, going to do. “I came to find out what was going on, not to offer my help blindly. Juan Carlos sees me again and I’ll have to relocate to put space between me and his therian goonsquad. They’re relentless.” And he’d gotten into a damn fine routine in Crimson Bay. To hell with uprooting again. “Find Atlantis on your own.”
Ruan jerked on Dante’s shoulder, spinning him around. Ruan was lucky Dante had already fed tonight—fighting wasn’t on his plate.
“We may not be able to prove Black Moon exists,” Ruan hissed, “but our legends haven’t led us astray yet. We have to do something. We can’t stand idly by, watching our khissmates die by Savage’s hand.”
Dante didn’t hear anything past Black Moon. “What’d you just say?”
“We have to round everyone together and make a united stand. It’s the only chance we have.”
“No . . .” Dante’s mind trekked back through the forest, to the mud pit and Ariana’s words. She’d said it was the time of the Black Moon. It couldn’t have been coincidence that the same name was brought up twice in two days, when he’d never heard it before. “Black Moon is the name of the haven you’re looking for?”
“You have a serious case of ADD, my man, if that’s the only thing you caught from all this.”
They had to be one and the same. Had to be. Did Ariana belong to Black Moon’s haven? Or was she merely warning him of the time when Black Moon would come to rise? Either way, she knew something about it.
Black Moon’s breadcrumbs might just lead to Ariana. He could see her again. . . .
Damn it, he shouldn’t. He should stay far away from her. He should keep with his own, tainted kind. Ariana wouldn’t want anything to do with him if he landed on the doorstep of her haven, and rightly so.
As logic disintegrated into a tornado of possibility, Dante stepped back onto the sidewalk. “The girl managing the market tonight . . . her name’s Roxy. But I’ll need to use your cell.”
Grinning ear to ear, Ruan smacked Dante on the back. “Atta boy.”
No matter their reasons for wanting to find Black Moon, their end results had collided . . . and the crash sounded a lot like Ariana.
Two minutes and a phone call to Roxy later, Dante and Ruan were expected at the black market. They stepped up to the railing between Pier 3 and 5 and waited until the Embarcadero cleared.
“Apriligaza commando.” Dante whispered the magical words as if they were glass and could break with the pronouncing of a harsh syllable. The crisp sea air between the piers wavered, wrapping cool and quick around them.
“This Roxy . . . is she a therian?” Ruan pounded on a wooden pillar holding up a large, overhanging patio, as if testing its solidity.
“She’s Juan Carlos’s second in command—a mundane—who’s so starving for attention, she lets him rifle through her files anytime he demands it. Juan Carlos lives up top.” Dante’s gaze landed on the second-floor windows. Black curtains were closed tight. As always. “His therian brethren aren’t too keen on doing business at night when vamps could interfere, so he manages the place during the day. Roxy oversees the night shift.”
“How’d you know her?” Ruan asked as thick black swags dropped from the balcony and lolled over the sidewalk.
“Oh, she works far more than the night shift, if you get my drift. She’s got some kinky ass rooms downstairs reserved for her special tastes.” Dante approached an enormous wooden door. Lights flanking it blanketed them in glowing red auras.
He shook his head as memories of Roxy strung up by meat hooks, her legs splayed open by chains and smiling ear to ear, illuminated the darkest of his desires. “We go way back, when I tracked elders for Juan Carlos and she was his personal secretary. I guess you could say I refilled her toner when Juan Carlos didn’t. When I called just now, I simply implied she needed servicing.”
“You’re unbelievable.” Ruan shook his head.
Roxy was a blood-doll, as hot as they came if you dug the bondage scene—a mundane who voluntarily offered her vein for the erotic thrill of a vampire’s bite. For that rush, she’d give anything—her sex and her life.
Although mundanes couldn’t be turned into vamps, blood-dolls often pretended they could and lived out sick fantasies filled with artificial fangs, flowing blood and sex moshed with pain—fantasies Dante had taken advantage of more times than he’d admit.
She was an innocent in their world, but she was no angel. She had a dark past that had long shriveled her soul . . . and it had fed Dante’s hunger in his twenties during the early years of his transition.
Dante’s stomach soured as the sins of his past washed over him. Damn, the pull of his voices had been strong back then, hadn’t they? No matter how Roxy had cried out for more, no matter how Dante tried to convince himself that she’d known what she’d been getting into, he couldn’t shake the guilt over what he’d done to her.
“You know, when women used to say I was unbelievable before,” Dante said as the door squeaked open, “I thought it was a good thing.”
Roxy emerged from the shadows, nearly six feet tall in her spiked white boots. She oozed a natural air of vamp heiress in white leather pants and a matching stringed corset. A waterfall of slick, raven black hair framed a round face with endless black eyes, a wide nose, and glossy red lips. And arching over the top of her right breast was a horrific slash. A scarred groove that had turned a shimmery shade of healing purple. Far cry from the bloody mess it had been when she’d demanded Dante slice her open a handful of years ago.
“I was dead wrong,” Dante whispered. He forced a smile, though his insides were squirming with regret. “Time has done you well, Roxy.”
Sizing him up, she swiped her tongue across her lips, then let it linger in the corner of her mouth. “Wish I could say the same for you. You look like shit.”
“We’ve come to the right place,” Ruan laughed. “She recognized you right away.”
“Bite me, would ya?” Dante leaned against the door jamb and turned his gaze to Roxy. “You going to invite us in or leave us standing in the street?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“I don’t remember you being so cold.”
“It’s been so long since you paid a visit, I doubt you remember anything about me at all.” Her black eyes burned like coals sunken into her face. “Besides, we’re still cleaning up the mess you made last night. Juan Carlos won’t be too happy to know you’re here.”
“I was hoping he could be left out of our little loop.”
She blew out a thin stream of air through her lips. “Quit playing games, cowboy. I’m not in the mood. What’s the real reason you called? Leave somethin’ behind?”
This was going to be tougher than Dante thought. Roxy had grown some thick skin since he’d left. She wasn’t the pushover he remembered. And she’d clearly learned to see through his bullshit. “My buddy Ruan is new in town. I wanted to show him a good time—a night he wouldn’t soon forget. A Roxy kind of time.”
Ruan nudged Dante with his elbow as her gaze flipped between them. Dante didn’t chance a glance in Ruan’s direction, but he would’ve bet his right fang that Ruan was pissed—glaring him into the grave.
“Oh, I see,” she said, nodding. “You want somewhere private . . . somewhere no one can hear the screams.”
“Exactly, doll.” Dante winked, catching a wicked gleam in Roxy’s eye. “Think you could hook a lover up?”
“Sure.” She moved aside slowly, extending her hand. “For two grand.”
“Not only have you turned ice cold,” Dante said, closing the distance between them, “you’ve become an extortionist? Not the Roxy I remembered at all.”
A dimple pricked her left cheek. “Juan Carlos pays the bills, but he hardly leaves room for fun . . . and
you know how I like to have my fun.”
Oh, Dante knew all right. Hated himself for a quarter of a damn century because of it.
Ruan slapped a wad of cash into Roxy’s long, lean fingers. “Take it,” he spat. “Let’s get this over with.”
As Roxy stepped aside and let Ruan and Dante pass, she whispered, “He always such a downer?” into Dante’s ear.
He nodded. “You have no fucking idea.”
A few steps into the brick and tile entry, safe from Roxy’s prying eyes, Ruan jabbed Dante in the back. “What the fuck was that about? You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going anywhere with her. And you owe me a wad of cash.”
Eyes rolling, Dante struggled to keep his voice low. He thanked the Lord Roxy didn’t have heightened senses like the vampires and therians that frequented the place. “Calm down, tiger, I’m good for the money. Roxy’s masochistic. She likes pain inflicted upon her, not vice versa.”
“So what’s the plan?” Ruan said.
“You get Roxy into one of the back rooms and get her chained up. I’ll head downstairs, rummage through the rooms, and find the elder you’re looking for. By the time she’s hot and heavy, wondering when you’re going to pounce, we’ll be out of here.”
“If I just walk out mid-play she’s going to scream olly-olly-oxen-free and rain therians down on our parade.”
“You’ll get a phone call from some jealous, possessive lover and have to check out early,” Dante said as Roxy swept into the entry.
She draped an arm over each of their shoulders, smelling like rum and a gagging variety of off-brand mall perfume. A drunkard’s dream date.
“Shall we, boys?”
They pushed through a floor-sweeping velour curtain running from ceiling to stone, and headed straight for the spiral staircase on the right. Dante didn’t miss the stairs on the left that curved upward to the second level. Juan Carlos was probably sleeping up in his loft, his eye and nose busted from Dante’s superior handiwork. Part of him ached to pay him a second visit. One that’d land the warped ringleader six feet under.
Instead, Dante followed Roxy down the first step into the pit of the warehouse. He glanced down into the center of the theatre, where twenty-four hours earlier it’d been bustling with therians, vampires, and celebrity mundanes aching to buy a piece of elder magic.
Ariana had been there—right there—in the center of the ring, standing tall and regal, refusing to answer a single one of Juan Carlos’s demands. She’d refused to give her name, no matter how he’d smacked her around.
Dante never realized how attractive stubbornness could be until he laid eyes on Ariana. Her petite lips had pursed. Her plush little cheeks had flushed hot. She’d driven the crowd wild with her show of strength.
Tonight, though, the miniature coliseum was empty and hollowed. Like Dante’s soul on a purge night. Movie theatre seats were plush and dark. Thick swags draped down the sides. It was Underground Goth. Where both the money and women were dirty . . . all except one.
Ruan and Roxy led the way downstairs, Dante trailing closely behind. As he took the final step before descending completely into the pit below, a flash of light from above caught his eye.
Juan Carlos had turned on his light.
A door squeaked, opening on the second floor. Someone was headed to the main coliseum level and would be on them in a second. Dante really didn’t want to explain their reason for being here to another dumb ass.
“Ruan, hold up.” Dante picked up his pace, meeting them on the basement level. Doors slammed shut. Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs dropping to the first floor, across the wide stage and toward the basement staircase. “Remember the plan I had earlier ’bout the way this would go down?”
Ruan nodded, his emerald eyes glowing in the overhead amber lights.
They didn’t have nearly as much time to look for the elder as Dante thought. “We gotta work double time.”
“Ooh,” Roxy purred, dancing her fingers down his chest. “I’ve always been a fan of doubles.”
Roxy had no idea what was about to go down. They just had a massive change of plans. Not only would she have to be chained, she’d have to be quiet. “Roxy, how do you feel about being bound and gagged tonight?”
She shivered beneath his stare. Her body rippled, the leather crinkling as she pressed against him. “Oh, cowboy, you do remember what I like . . .”
Chapter Five
“More elders are dying by Savage’s hand than by all causes combined over the last five hundred years. His powers are now unmatched. We are sending a Watcher to shadow his every move and relay info.”
WATCHER ARCHIVE, UPDATE
WAITING FOR PROJECTION jitters to wear off, Ariana drew her knees to her chest and squeezed. Closed her eyes, pinched them tight, and replayed the words in her head.
Get her body off the ground, Echo . . . Yes, sir . . . Good man . . . Get her body off the ground . . .
The headache from hell had sprouted thorns and tore into her temples. She planted her palm on her forehead, willing the pain to subside through gritted teeth.
What had Echo done? Who was the other man who seemed much too calm, coming upon them in the forest like he knew where they’d be and what they’d be doing?
“What am I going to do?” She swallowed down the panic rising hard and fast in her throat.
Echo must not have realized she could still hear as her projection cast out.
He was expecting her to bring back an elder. Is that was this was about? Using the elder she brought back for . . . what? For their maware? For some sort of bargaining chip to gain acceptance into Black Moon?
“I’m gonna kill him,” Ariana mumbled. “That’s what.”
Could her people-reading skills have really been so out of whack? She’d put her faith in him for years. Who could she trust, if not her only friend?
She pulled herself to her feet, dusted off her robe, and quickly scoped out her surroundings. Maybe she could find a weapon to use on Echo when she re-materialized.
The chamber was the same one she’d landed herself in last night; formal in an old Victorian way, with the unmistakable stench of seaweed burning her nostrils. Two weathered nightstands flanked a cherrywood sleigh bed piled high with mountains of feathered down. A floral upholstered foot bench butted against the bed, and a bulky dresser stood in the corner, with two candlesticks perched on top. The air was cold and damp and the energy was dark, floating beneath the door, across the hardwood floor, and coiling around her feet.
Not a single window cast moonlight into the room, giving the small space an eerie chill that skittered across Ariana’s skin. A bulky wooden door directly in front of her led to the hall of cells where elders were kept, though she couldn’t bring one back with her. Not anymore. She couldn’t chance putting the elder, or their maware, in danger.
But it wasn’t the wrought iron slats on the door that had Ariana staring hard, peering through the dark. It was the embossed silver knob that turned . . . and clicked softly, opening.
Someone was coming . . .
Her stomach somersaulted. She couldn’t get caught. Not again. Especially not by Juan Carlos, that slimy, foul excuse of a man.
Snatching a candlestick off the dresser, Ariana slinked behind the door. Held the makeshift weapon against her chest. Took a deep, quiet breath.
She’d hit, then run, that’s what she’d do. A silver candlestick wasn’t going to do major damage, but maybe it’d be a distraction. Even a few-step lead could give her the chance she needed to get away.
As the knob continued to turn, Ariana’s heart raced, pounding against her temples, thumping in her ears.
Calm. Stay calm.
The door opened with a squeak, freezing the breath in her lungs.
Before Ariana could suck in a breath, a vamp the size of a mountain stepped i
nto the room. He had to be over six-feet-six, two hundred fifty pounds of sheer muscle. He was colossal, his shoulders and arms like a massive suit of armor pulsing behind a shiny leather coat. His hair was dark and spiked on top, his jaw square and pulsing.
When she finally forced herself to breathe, Ariana picked up on the familiar scent following him into the room. It washed Ariana in its rich and woodsy wake, teasing a memory out of her. It was so . . . tantalizingly familiar, yet the memory of the scent remained just out of reach.
She shouldn’t be taking this long to hightail it out of here, familiar stirrings or not . . .
Gripping the candlestick tight in her fist, Ariana tiptoed around the open door. Beneath her feet, a loose board creaked, echoing through the chamber.
She stilled, then bolted into the hall.
It was too late.
Strong hands grabbed her from behind and dragged her back into the room. Adrenaline spiking hot in her veins, Ariana screamed and thwacked her attacker in the shoulder with the candlestick. Instead of fighting back, he spun her around until her back was flush against him. He clamped a hand over her mouth.
Ariana bit at the flesh on his fingers and reached back, smacking him over the head. With a grunt, he ripped the weapon from her hands and tossed it on the bed.
There went her distraction.
She reared back, heeling the toe of his boot. She jabbed an elbow to his gut. A fist to his shoulder. He barely twitched from her efforts, only moving in a way that’d hinder a straight shot and waste her energy. When the realization hit—that escape was futile while trapped in his massive grasp—Ariana stopped fighting.
And saved her energy for the chance to bolt.
“Calm down,” he whispered.
Her skin bloomed in the most perplexing way.
“Therian guards were right behind me. Scream like that again and you’ll bring them right to us.”
She stilled. There was only one person, one vamp, who made her skin feverish from a few meaningless words. Gooseflesh sizzled across her body and crinkled the hairs on the back of her neck. Just like it had last night in the forest.
Last Vamp Standing Page 5