Last Blood hoc-5

by Kristen Painter

  Doc tipped his head. “Thanks. Go ’head and call the elevator. We’ll be right there.” He turned back to Fi, the devilish charm she loved so much glinting in his eyes again. “Have I mentioned you look like a million bucks, Mrs. Mays?”

  She glanced at her strapless black gown. “You’re just saying that to distract me.”

  “I’m saying it because it’s true.” He winked. “Did it work?”

  “I’ll be fine. Stop worrying about me.” The elevator chimed and she gave him a playful shove toward it, following after him.

  When they stepped off the elevator, cocktail hour was in full swing. Barasa and Omur each had small groups of upper-crusty varcolai and social types gathered around them. Fi scanned the crowd for familiar faces besides theirs, but found none.

  Doc leaned in to whisper. “That blond woman in the red suit? That’s the state senator’s wife. She’s from a long line of puma shifters. Old, old family. I definitely want you to meet her. And the man next to her with the buzz cut is a former JAG we’re considering hiring as the pride’s attorney.”

  Fi nodded. “What kind of shifter is he?”

  “Lynx.” He tipped his head toward a man standing beside Barasa.

  “That’s the police chief over there with Barasa.”

  “Why was he invited after what happened with you getting arrested for violating curfew?”

  “The curfew was the mayor’s idea, not his. And he’s been fairly sympathetic to varcolai causes. It’s a relationship we want to maintain.”

  “The mayor’s not here, is she?”

  He sighed. “No, but the council thinks it would be a good idea to talk with her at some point.”

  “Screw that.”

  “Fi.” He looked at her, his expression half shock, half amusement. “It’s in the pride’s best interest.”

  A stranger walked up to them. “What’s in the pride’s best interest?”

  Doc straightened. “Hello, Remo. Our relationship with the mayor, but that’s a conversation for another time.”

  Fi tensed. So this was Remo. She didn’t like him just from looking at him.

  “Indeed.” Remo smiled at Fi. “You must be Fiona. If I can call you that?” He stuck his hand out. “Call me Remo, please.”

  She didn’t want to shake his hand any more than she wanted him to call her Fiona, but what choice did she have? “Nice to meet you,” she lied. Sorry your sister’s heart gave out. “How do you like New Florida so far?”

  He leaned in, still holding her hand. “I like it very well.” His eyes gleamed. “Very well.”

  He was too close, too strange, too… everything. She backed up, pulling her hand out of his. “Glad to hear it. I’m sure you and Doc have a lot to talk about. Council stuff and… okay, I have to go say hi to someone.” She broke away and headed for Barasa.

  “Hi,” she breathed, aware she was interrupting, but not caring.

  “Hello, Fiona.” Barasa bent his head. “Have you met Chief Vernadetto?”

  “No.” She smiled, this time genuinely. Anyone was better than Remo. “Nice to meet you, Chief. Can I call you chief? Is that allowed?”

  The stocky man laughed. “Peter is my first name, but you can call me Pete if you like, ma’am. That’s what my friends call me.”

  “Whoa. No ‘ma’am’ here. Fiona is just fine, Pete.” Calling the police chief by his first name was kind of strange, but she liked him a little more for it. He seemed like a genuinely nice man.

  He nodded. “Fiona it is. Truth is, you remind me of my niece so calling you ‘ma’am’ does feel a little odd.” His smile disappeared and a sudden seriousness took over his face. “Thank you for not holding what happened with your husband or the vampire against me. I was opposed to the curfew and was only following orders.”

  She reached out and rested her hand on Pete’s arm. His suit wasn’t expensive, but it fit him well enough. Something about that made her want to be kind to him. “I know that. But I appreciate you saying it all the same.”

  Barasa clapped the chief on the back. “Can I leave Fiona in your capable hands? I see someone I need to speak with.”

  “Absolutely.” Vernadetto beamed like he’d just been given a prize. He leaned in. “They usually make me watch the dangerous ugly ones. Not often I get the young and pretty.”

  Fi’s insides stopped churning and Remo was completely forgotten. “I like you.”

  Pete laughed. “I like you too. I hate coming to these things because I always feel so out of place. You don’t make me feel that way, though.” He dug a card out of his jacket and handed it to her. His big fingers swamped the small rectangle. “You ever need anything, you call me, okay?”

  She studied the Paradise City seal embossed on the crisp white stock. “Thanks. I will. Having the chief of police on speed dial isn’t such a bad thing.” She tucked it into her evening bag. “So what kind of varcolai are you?”

  The color drained from his face. “W-why would you ask that?”

  She shrugged. “Most of the people here are, but you, I can’t tell.” She’d made him uncomfortable for some reason and that made her feel bad. “I’m a ghost, you know.”

  “I’ve heard.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I’m not a, well, that is, I’m…” He sighed. “To be honest, I don’t know what I am. Probably just a few stray bloodlines that got mixed in generations back. Nothing to even talk about.” He smiled, but it was weak and forced. “I’d actually prefer it if that didn’t get around. Being police chief is tough enough without people questioning where my loyalties lie, you know.”

  She nodded. “I won’t say anything to anybody. I’m really good at keeping secrets.” Poor guy. It was clear he was either afraid of what he was or ashamed of it. She wanted to do something to put him at ease. “Look, if you ever want to talk, just call me up. I’m a great listener.”

  “Yes, you are.” He nodded hard, like he was thrilled to change the subject. “And you know, if there’s anything I can do for you, just name it.”

  She smiled and patted his arm. “Thanks, Pete. I’ll remember that.” And she would, because with Remo around, having the police chief on her side might come in handy.

  Chapter Six

  Nothing. Not a hint of brimstone, not a wisp of shadow or smoke. Samael had ignored Tatiana’s repeated requests for his presence. Requests that had quickly turned into pleas, and after the second hour, had eroded almost to the point of begging.

  Tatiana didn’t beg. But for the sake of Lilith… she might. Hands clenched at her sides so tightly that her metal one creaked, she called out to the father of her kind once again. “Samael, liege of darkness, lord of all vampires, I beseech you come to me.”

  The only reason for his absence that made sense was that she was still too weak from grief to call him properly. She clung to that, because the thought that her liege, her source of power, had abandoned her was… unacceptable.

  “Please, Samael. I-I… beg you.” The word soured in her mouth, a bitter reminder of how far she’d fallen. Because of Malkolm and his comarré pet.

  The air stayed still while she vibrated with anger. She picked up a vase and hurled it across the room with a snarl. “Damn you, Malkolm. Damn you and your meddling whore.”

  Kosmina came running in. “Is all well, my lady?”

  “No, all is not well.” Tatiana tucked the rest of her emotions away as best she could, but Kosmina knew what these last days had brought to the House of Tepes. She would certainly understand Tatiana’s frustrations. “I asked not to be disturbed.”

  “My apologies, my lady.” Kosmina’s gaze skipped to the shards of Chinese porcelain decorating the carpet. “Shall I have that cleaned up or leave it for later?”

  “Clean it.” Tatiana stalked out of the room, the overwhelming need to hold her child burning through her body like sunlight. She wrapped her arms around herself as she headed down the hall and into the empty nursery.

  The faintest tang of Svetla’s ashes still lingered, b
ut not enough to drown out Lilith’s sweet scent.

  Tatiana sank into the rocker where she’d often sat with Lilith, closed her eyes, and inhaled. She could sense Lilith’s weight in her arms, hear her soft coos and demanding cries, feel the delicate silk of her skin. Heat stung Tatiana’s eyes. She opened them and stared skyward. Not tears, she told herself. Anger. Righteous, indignant anger at what had been done to her and her child.

  One of the rocker’s wooden arms groaned under her grip. She released it and stood. It was time to make something happen. There had to be a way to summon Samael, but just in thinking that, she knew there wasn’t. Even the council had been unable to call him when they’d wished his decision on whether or not to name her Dominus.

  The father of all noble vampires only came when he wanted. That was the trouble with the ancients. They only did what they wanted, not what benefited their children. As parents went, they were wretched examples. How would they know how desperately she wanted, no, needed Lilith back? How could they begin to understand?

  A knock on the nursery door dispersed her thoughts. “Yes?”

  Kosmina stuck her head in. “My lady, Daciana has returned with your new comar.”

  “That didn’t take long. I guess Rennata didn’t want to deal with my emissary any more than she wanted to deal with me.” The tickle of anticipation trilled down Tatiana’s spine. Her sorrows temporarily pushed aside, she nodded and pointed out the door. “Send them to my office. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Yes, my lady.” With a short bow, Kosmina left.

  Tatiana took a long look in the nursery mirror and arranged her expression into one of calmness and serenity. She would drink from this new, unspoiled comar until her strength was completely returned to her, until power rippled over her skin. Then she would call Samael again, and this time, he would come to her. She hoped.

  “Faith,” she whispered, nodding solemnly at her reflection, seeing the woman who had defied her human life to rise through the ranks of her vampire brethren until she’d been named head of her House. There was no one above her. No one who had the power she did, power that had been given to her by the very creature who now refused her beckoning.

  She smiled, showing her fangs. “This time, my liege, you will not deny me.”

  Creek approached the old Catholic church with caution. He knew Preacher wasn’t a big fan of company. The front doors didn’t look well used, so he went around to the side. He knocked twice. No point in overloading the man’s vampire senses.

  “Who’s there?” The door stayed closed.

  “Name’s Thomas Creek. I have information about your daughter.”

  The door moved, but only an inch, the light from inside casting Preacher in shadows. “What kind of information?”

  “Where she is and what’s being done to get her back.”

  “You work for the mayor?”

  Creek made a face. “Hell no.”

  The door opened all the way. “Come in.” Preacher stood back, watching him. His nostrils flared. “Your blood smells strange.”

  Creek came in but not too far. “Most vampires think it smells sour.”

  “No,” Preacher said. “Smells sweet to me.”

  Creek laughed once. “Figures you’d think that considering where you live. I’m Kubai Mata. You know what that is?”

  “Nope. Should I?”

  Creek shook his head. “Most vampires don’t and those that do don’t believe in the KM. I guess you could say I’m part of a secret society organized to protect humans against othernaturals.”

  Preacher’s stony expression cracked into a grin a few seconds later. “You mean you’re a vampire slayer?”

  Not the reaction he’d expected, but then nothing was expected when it came to a vampire like Preacher. “You could say that.”

  Preacher crossed his arms. “Prove it.”

  “You mean you want me to try to kill you?”

  He laughed. “I think we both know that’s not going to happen, so I’d find a different way if I were you.”

  Creek thought for a moment, then shucked his jacket and his weapons holster. As much as that went against his self-preservation instincts, he had a feeling showing Preacher the brands on his back would do the trick. He turned and yanked his shirt up.

  “Latin.”

  “You read that, don’t you? You were a priest, right?”

  “A chaplain. I read a little.”

  More than most. Creek helped him out anyway. “Omnes honorate. Fraternitatem diligite. Deum timete. Regem honorificate. Translated that says, ‘Honor all men. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the king.’ It’s the code of the Kubai Mata and it comes from—”

  “The New Testament,” Preacher finished. “1 Peter 2:17.”

  Creek pulled his shirt and gathered up his holster as he turned around. He nodded. “Proof enough for you?”

  Preacher stuck his hand out. “Good to meet you, son.” Creek shook his hand, and then Preacher turned on a dime and headed into the church’s interior. “We can chat in here.” He took a spot on one of the front pews.

  Creek sat a few places down from him. “The KM would like you to know that we have some intel on your daughter’s location and we’re working on getting her back but that it would be in everyone’s best interests if you let us handle it. The ancient ones that have her are more powerful than you can imagine. Chances are if you went after her, you’d end up dead before you got close.”

  “You want me to agree to this, you’d better keep me informed.” Preacher stared at him. “I’m not without skills. You keep me out of the loop or lie to me, and I will do whatever I feel necessary.”

  “Understood.” Creek decided to test the waters a little further. “You asked if I worked for the mayor. I take it you don’t get along with her?”

  “She may be the mother of my late wife, but she’s got bad ambitions. That ignorant woman tried to get me to turn her into a vampire.”

  “Interesting. I can tell you she found someone else to do it.”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped and his eyes lit with anger. “She is not getting her hands on my child.”

  Creek nodded. “The KM shares your sentiment on that.”

  Preacher twisted to stare at the altar. “The mayor was just here not long ago. She wants me to come see her at her office. Says she has information on Mariela.”

  “That’s your daughter’s name?” Creek asked. “I didn’t know.” He leaned forward. “Go meet with her. See what she has to say, but don’t let her know that you and I talked. She’s not a big fan of me anyway. We know she wants Mariela for herself, but let’s see what else we can find out.”

  Preacher nodded without looking at him. “Will do.”

  Creek stood. “I’ll be back when I have information to share. Until then, keep a low profile.” The guy seemed all right. Not entirely normal, but not bad for a vampire. “If you need me, I live in that old machine shop.”

  “I know the place.” Preacher rose. “And don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid. I have a daughter to live for.”

  “I didn’t think you’d show.” Lola didn’t get up as the housekeeper brought Preacher into her office. She glanced at her watch. “You’re almost four hours late.”

  “I said I’d come. I didn’t say when.” The dog tags around his neck gleamed against his dull green T-shirt and camouflage jacket.

  “But you were too busy earlier? When I came to you?”

  He sat, his expression neither pleased nor displeased. A hard man to read. “Yes. Too busy.”

  “Doing what?” Because honestly, she couldn’t imagine what filled his schedule.

  “I see you got what you wanted. Found someone to sire you.” He snorted. “Can’t sense you, though, so I’m guessing you must be some kind of vampire I don’t know about.”

  Fine. Play it that way, don’t answer. Once again, his loss. “House of Paole,” she told him. “It’s the inherited power all nobles of that house receive. We are un
detectable to others.”

  “Can you daywalk?”

  “You know very well that is a gift you and you alone possess.”

  He stared at her, a hint of impudence in his eyes. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

  “I thought you might want to know. I had a team go after Mariela.”

  He sat forward. “Why wasn’t I brought in? I’m trained for that kind of thing. I could have been an asset.”

  She held her hand up. “This was more of a diplomatic exercise than a military one.” She lifted the prepared letter. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t successful.”

  “They didn’t bring Mariela home?”

  Lola pushed her tongue against the tip of one fang until the pain made her eyes water. “I am very sorry to inform you that Mariela perished during the mission.”

  The muscles in his neck tensed and his eyes seemed to grow slightly brighter, more liquid. “What do you… mean… perished?” His voice was throaty and rough.

  “You know what I mean.” Even as she imagined Mariela really being gone, she bit down, tasting blood. The combination was enough to cause her eyes to well. She let the emotions fill her voice. “She was killed in the escape.” She held the letter out to him. “It’s all right here. You can keep this copy, if you like.”

  He took the letter, folded it up without looking at it, and tucked it into his jacket. Then he stood, his body rigid with military stiffness. One nod to her and he turned sharply and walked out.

  She waited until she heard the front door open and shut, and then she leaned back in her chair and nodded with satisfaction. That had gone so much easier than she’d anticipated. Now Mariela would be truly hers.

  If she could just find out how to get ahold of the ancients Dominic claimed had taken Mariela. They would be harder to deal with than a crazy daywalker who lived in a church, but how much harder?

  She flexed her hands into claws, wishing she had something to grab hold of. She had worked around Preacher; she would find a way to work around the ancients. Mariela would be hers soon. She could feel it in her bones.

  Chrysabelle stood her ground as Fi came at her again. For the second time, Fi failed to flip her over. “Come on, Fi. You’ve got to bend your knees and use the power of your legs.”