She grinned at him, a dimple appearing in one cheek. “Long enough to know you’re hunting treasure that some international criminal wants as well. Geez! What a great story this will make!”
Gavin leveled a mesmerizing look at her, but for some reason it didn’t take. She continued to look animated. “There will be no story, Miss Whitney.”
She stared at him. “Like hell. That’s my friend lying out in the street. My reporter’s nose tells me it’s somehow tied in to this treasure thing.”
He stared back. Of course it was tied in, since Sigurd had no doubt been the attacker, but how in the world would she know that? He gave her a penetrating look, meant to erase what she had just heard, but she remained unfazed. How very strange.
Chloe stood up, raising her arms above her head to stretch, which also opened her fatigue jacket to show nicely rounded breasts jutting against her clingy tee-shirt. Did she have any idea of how enticing that was? She strode toward him now, her eyes never leaving his gaze. Another oddity. Most humans could not tolerate a vampire’s stare for more than a few seconds. She stopped just inches away from him, close enough that he could breathe in the scent of her spicy cologne.
“I’m on this. Don’t even think of trying to shake me.”
Gavin opened his mouth to respond and his enhanced senses gave him a whiff of her woman scent. His shaft engorged. Abruptly, he snapped his mouth closed before his fangs showed.
He had an inkling that he had just inherited one more problem.
Chapter Two
Balor rammed his cock down the prostitute’s throat hard, causing her to gag. “I said take all of me, damn you! Now do it!” Where in hell was Morgan, anyway? That was a whore who knew how to give good head, not like this slut. He should have known better than to pick one off the streets, but he didn’t like to leave traces.
He looked down at her on her knees by the bed and thrust deeper. She gagged again, this time pressing her hands against his belly, trying to push away. Grabbing her hair, he snapped her head back. She cried out in pain, her brown eyes wide and frightened.
“You don’t want to do what I paid you for?” he asked in a deceptively soft voice.
She tried to nod. “I do. You’re just so big. Just let me take a little time—”
“Forget it. I want something else.” Balor reached under the pillow and extracted a length of rope and dangled it between them.
The prostitute eyed it warily. “Tying me up will cost you more.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve got money.” He patted the place beside him on the bed and she inched up to join him. “Turn around.”
Hesitating for a few seconds, she did as he asked. Balor tied her hands behind her and shoved her face-down on the bed, fingering her ass.
“Doing Greek will cost more,” she said in a muffled voice.
“You seem to be more concerned with money than you do with pleasing me,” he said as he slapped a buttock. “I demand good service. Now spread for me.”
She hesitated again and he lost patience. Pushing her legs apart with his knees, he thrust himself inside her anus and she screamed. Instantly, he leaned down and clamped a hand over her mouth. “We can’t have that,” he said as though he were discussing menu options at a restaurant. “Motels aren’t soundproof.” Calmly, he slid the silk belt from his dressing robe and fisted it into a ball that he stuffed in her mouth, stifling yet another attempt to scream. “There. That’s better.”
Immediately, she began to twist and turn frantically attempting to get up. Holding her down, Balor sighed. “I paid for sex and I will have it.” He paused and reached for a cigarette lighter lying on the bedside table. “However, since you are not cooperating with me, I’ll have to up the anty. Don’t worry,” he said as he flicked the lighter and applied the flame to her buttock’s crack, “I’ll pay more.”
He laughed as her body tensed and shuddered from the searing pain, shoulders shaking with sobs as she made incoherent sounds behind the gag. He drove himself in, past the scorched flesh and pumped forcefully, her helplessness driving him to near frenzy. He was about to explode when she went still.
Cursing, he stared at the back of her head. The bitch had passed out! Where was the fun of inflicting pain if she couldn’t take it? Damn stupid whore.
A knock on the door diverted his attention and he glanced at the clock. Lucifer—Lucien these days—was early. Quickly, Balor lifted his eye patch, sending a flash bolt to the whore’s head, immobilizing her.
He withdrew his still throbbing cock and walked to the door, not bothering to close his robe as he opened it.
His brother stood in the hall, grinning cockily. “I thought when I heard the thumping stop, it’d be safe to knock.”
Glancing up and down the hall, Balor gestured him in. Lucifer glanced at the girl lying on the bed and the scanty amount of clothes on the floor. “A street-walker?” He moved toward the bottle of brandy on the table and picked up a glass. Holding it up, he grimaced at the water spots. “At least you didn’t take her to your hotel,” he said as he poured himself a drink.
“Do you think I’m stupid? I don’t leave trails. When we’re finished here, you can have her.” Balor narrowed his eyes. “Why are you dressed like a cop?”
Lucifer shrugged. “It was the easiest way to get to the crime scene last night.” He ran a hand through his short, blond hair. “Hated having to get the haircut though.”
“It’ll grow back. Anyway, it makes you look less like a college kid.”
“That’s my cover, bro. No one suspects a fresh-faced surfer dude to be the devil.
Although,” he added with mock self-depreciation, “mortals attribute far too many of their own short fallings to me.”
“Never mind mortals right now.” Balor poured himself a glass and sank down into one of the two chairs the room had to offer and motioned for Lucifer to take the other. “Let’s talk about dragons. How the hell did Sigurd get loose?”
“Beats me. All I did was thaw him out from the frozen tundra Brighid encased him in.”
“Don’t mention that bitch granddaughter of mine,” Balor said angrily. He still had a hard time believing that a goddess had the power to exile him from Avalon. He was a god! Or, at least, he had been. And, he would be again, once he got possession of even one of the relics. He took a deep breath.
“Do you know where Sigurd is?”
“Nope.” Lucifer swirled the last of his brandy. “Actually, I prefer he stay away from me, since Tanio is his maker.”
“Tanio is a fire-god. Fight him with your own.”
“Not so easy to do. He rules the element. I’m just a fallen angel residing in hell.”
Balor snorted. “You’re a demon, but that is neither here nor there. We cannot allow the dragon to shred people to death and leave their corpses in plain view. Especially not right in front of that idiot philanthropist’s house!”
Lucifer shrugged again. “Well, you told him to keep an eye on Smith’s place.”
“Only because my human minions can’t seem to do a good job of it!” Balor said with venom. “We’ve already lost the spear and the sword due to their incompetence. We have got to recover the platter.”
“How do you know the platter will be next? The grail is out there and, if memory serves, it has a way of resurfacing at odd times.”
Balor sighed. “Sometimes, I wish you had paid more attention to those damn esoterical teachings on Avalon. If there is one thing you can count on those holier-than thou priestesses doing, it is working within the confines of universal order.”
“Yeah, well. I didn’t care too much about rules and order.”
“I remember, but even we cannot change the natural procession of life. We can make lives miserable and we can create chaos, fear, and pain, but we cannot change the natural procession. Life flows clockwise. Birth, like the dawn, begins in the East where the spear was found.”
Lucifer yawned and poured another brandy. “Is this going to take lon
g?”
Balor glared at him with his good eye. “As long as I want it to. Understand?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll spare you the whole metaphysical crap.” Balor leaned forward and took the brandy away. “The sword was found in the South at New Orleans.”
Lucifer’s eyes glowed red briefly before returning to the bright blue he preferred. Deliberately, he picked up the bottle and took a swig. “So let me guess. You think the platter is in the West somewhere?”
“Yes.” Balor sat back, scowling. “I just do not know where in the West.”
“And you think the anonymous John Smith will have the next clue?”
“It seems logical. He got his hands on the Templar manuscript and then the damn warlock provided him with the second clue. Why wouldn’t the third clue find its way to the eccentric fool?”
“Maybe he isn’t as foolish as you think,” Lucifer answered. “Light travels to those who seek it.”
Balor stared at him and set down the brandy glass. “Light? You think white magic has something to do with this?”
“The old gods left those relics on earth to protect mortals against us, didn’t they?” Lucifer grinned as he retrieved his drink. “I did pay attention to some of the lessons—a really hot, little priestess was teaching that one.”
Balor laughed. “I hope you succeeded in screwing her. That would be ultimate justice.” Then he sobered. “You know damn well the power in those relics is neutral. Whoever has possession has the power to use it as he will—and I do not plan for white magic to play any part at all.” Not when he could wreck complete havoc on the planet and bring it close to Armageddon. He felt himself grow hard at the thought. Too bad the slut was still out cold. “We cannot afford to lose the platter.”
Lucifer sipped more brandy. “Well, you’ve got Caldwell installed at Smith’s, supposedly writing Smith’s memoir, haven’t you?”
“Yes. I was rather persuasive in explaining to Caldwell that he had better be willing to suck the man’s cock to get back into that house after he so foolishly got himself thrown out over that fencing incident with Smith’s vet.” Balor smiled. “I also reminded Caldwell that I know exactly where his elderly mother lives. Just like I know where Toby Clark’s frail, invalid sister lives.”
“Spare me the details.”
“Was Clark there last night?” Balor asked. “I got him that job at the newspaper for a specific purpose.”
Lucifer nodded. “Yeah, he was hanging around the edges. Don’t think he had the stomach for the bloody pulp though. There was a pretty hot chick with orange hair, too. Maybe I could work that lead.”
“Right now I don’t want you directly involved, bro. We’ll use Clark and Caldwell—and Sigurd, if we can find him.”
“I have a feeling he’ll find us soon. Dragons like affection and he seemed really taken with your little witch, Morgan.”
Balor raised a eyebrow. “Well, maybe Morgan will have a second use then. I’ll make a call. I need some good service anyhow.” He glanced at the whore on the bed and stood to walk to the door. “Take care of this little matter, will you?”
* * * *
Lucifer watched him leave and sighed. He was getting a little sick of taking care of his brother’s loose ends. He looked at the woman who was groggily coming out of the stupor Balor had put her in. She wasn’t half-bad to look at. Maybe he’d give her a good screwing before he left her for Sigurd to find.
Chapter Three
Chloe meant every word she said about wanting to discover why Jake had been killed, but standing this close to Gavin—practically leaning over him in Mr. Smith’s parlor—she caught the subtle scent of expensive after shave and something more. Something raw and earthy and all male. Damn. This guy made her tingle all over. He was way more sexy than James Bond. And that dark seductive look he’d given her—half-hooded, intense, yet sensual—she could practically feel herself pressed up against him naked. At twenty-eight, sex was not a hang-up for her, probably due to the fact that her mom had no idea who her father was and it had never really mattered.
And Gavin was doing it again—giving her that penetrating look that made her want to step even closer—and then he turned his head away. Losing his gaze was like having cold water splashed on her. She sat down in the other chair in front of Smith’s desk.
“Who was your friend out there?” Gavin asked.
Chloe swallowed hard and tried not think about what she had seen. “His name is Jake Baxter. He was a sharp reporter, but a gentle soul underneath. Kind of a beta-hero.” Not at all like the sexy, leonine hunk sitting in front of her—she’d bet Gavin was all alpha-male.
Gavin’s eyebrow rose. “Were you lovers?”
“Of course not! He was happily married with kids. I so do not go there.”
“Any idea why he would be in an up-scale neighborhood like this? This is hardly a place to look for crime.”
“I’m not sure, but I think Jake was still trying to get an angle on the dragon story from a few weeks ago. I mean, like how often do people see dragons flying around? I didn’t believe it myself.”
“But why look here?” Mr. Smith asked.
“Sophie Cameron was your veterinarian, wasn’t she? And it was her clinic that the dragon descended on. Then she disappeared and so did the dragon. Or, at least, it hasn’t been sighted. I think Jake was just following up on any leads, trying to find a loose thread somewhere.” A thought struck her and she widened her eyes as she looked at Gavin. “Did the red dragon do—do that horrible—that horrible—”
“It may not have been a red dragon,” Mr. Smith said hesitantly.
She switched her focus. “What? Are you saying there’s more than one dragon loose?” She noticed Gavin had riveted his full attention on Mr. Smith too. The man almost seemed to shrink behind his desk.
“Well, Sophie mentioned when she called that some huge, white thing had swooped over Charleston while they were there and someone had spotted a white sea monster near the Florida Keys. She also said an old fishing guide in New Orleans had mentioned flashes of lightning when the night skies were clear. Michael McCain thought it might have been an old Saxon dragon.” Mr. Smith looked a bit smug as he opened a drawer and pulled out a manila folder. “I am quite intrigued with the Dark Ages and the medieval period so I did some research.” He shuffled through the sheets and extracted one. “I was going to ask Michael about this when they got back, but—” For a moment he looked sad and then he brightened. “I think this goes back to Vortigern trying to build his castle and Merlin telling him it would continue to crumple because two dragons fought below the surface. A red dragon and a white one.” Mr. Smith practically beamed now. “Isn’t that just the most exciting possibility ever?”
Chloe stared at him, not sure whether Mr. Smith was just an eccentric billionaire with odd interests—she’d seen the whole medieval weapon collection lining his walls—or someone who should have been carted off to the psycho ward at John-Peter Smith Hospital in Ft. Worth long ago. She glanced sideways at Gavin, but his expression was impassive. Surely, he wasn’t buying this? “Uh—are you talking, like, King Arthur’s Merlin?”
“Of course! There’s only one Merlin.” Mr. Smith practically giggled. “After all, we were looking for Excalibur.”
“Excalibur.” The man was definitely loony-tunes. No one in his right mind would think someone in the 21st century was looking for Arthur’s sword. But it might be good fodder for a romance—she was always looking for inspiration. And Gavin would make a perfect hero. She could almost see him in armor on a huge, black destrier.
She glanced at him again only to find him leveling that dark, penetrating stare at her again. It was disconcerting and she lost her train of thought. What had they been talking about? Gavin was all virile male—How could any man look so dangerously sexy in a suit? Of course, he’d taken the jacket off, leaving a perfectly-tailored, dazzingly white shirt that managed to hint at really nice pecs and biceps. Chloe didn’t need
to use her imagination to set him in a hot, sexy scene where that shirt would peel off… Geez, she was practically drooling.
Gavin frowned slightly. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Whitney? You have an odd look on your face.”
An odd look. He thought a passionate expression that practically oozed estrogen out of her pores was odd? With an effort, she managed to rein in her erotic thoughts. “I was just—um, what were we speaking of? Oh! Excalibur.” For a moment, she thought Gavin looked annoyed. She turned to Mr. Smith. “I’ve always wanted to write a romance. Maybe I could use these dragons in an urban-fantasy story?”
“Oh, my dear! That would be wonderful!” Mr. Smith clapped his hands, looking pleased. Gavin didn’t look pleased at all.
Chloe glanced at her watch and then jumped up. “It’s almost 2:00 am! If I’m going to get this story in by the time the presses roll at 3:00, I’d better get going.” She looked down at Mr. Smith’s notes. “I would really like to take a better look at your research. Could I come back tomorrow?”
“Of course you may! I’d be delighted!”
“Thank you.” Chloe turned to Gavin who was nearly glowering at her. “And I intend to work with you too.”
“I work better alone,” he said, “but if I find out anything about your friend, I will let Mr. Smith know. You can check with him.”
She smiled sweetly. He wasn’t going to get away that easily. “Have you forgotten that I told you I’m not letting this go? You may be able to get all the police help you need, but as a reporter, I have leads that are—ummm, perhaps a bit shadier, if you know what I mean. I can ferret out information—”
“I will not allow you to put yourself in danger, Miss Whitney. I will take care of this situation.”
For a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Gavin wanted to protect her? Ohmygod, it was like he really had stepped out of a romance novel! Her fanciful imagination won out over her practical side. “Are you some kind of knight-in-shining-armor come to save helpless damsels?”
The Immortals III: Gavin Page 2