“You’re right. It’s just hard to put on my party face.”
“It will be a great night. The Hunters won’t be back today. They ran off with their tails between their legs.”
Zoey’s lips stretched wide, but they didn’t quite make a smile. He must not be very reassuring. No surprise there. His black mood left him unqualified to cheer anybody.
He’d called Lena all day, sent her message after message. At first he apologized, wanting to make things right. Then he didn’t care if she was mad, as long as she called to say she was happy, or even just okay. Every time, he would wait for her to call back while trying not to think about it. He knew waiting for a phone call was like watching a pot boil. If he could turn his attention elsewhere, surely she would call. So he kept busy, taking orders from Zoey, but the urge to try again would rise up in him with irresistible force. He would call. She would not answer. Another message.
Zoey witnessed the cycle without comment, until late in the afternoon when she collapsed into a straight-backed chair, looking exhausted. “She’s stronger than you think. If you let her go, she’ll find her own way to being happy. But if you cling, she’ll never move on.”
“I know. I’m just afraid she’ll be miserable in household service. She deserves to be happy.” Across the table, Kos gripped the crossbar on another dining room chair.
Zoey’s eyes flicked to his white knuckles, so he moved his hands into his pockets.
She kicked her feet up into a nearby chair. “If Lena’s not happy with Mason, she’ll leave. I think she really wants a husband, and a family.”
Kos suspected the same thing, yet Zoey’s words hollowed out one more chamber in his heart. “One more reason we’re not meant to be.”
“You could give her a family.”
“Oh, hell. Please tell me Andre explained to you vampires can’t make babies.”
“Yeah. But there’s Bel.”
“Andre has sworn on everything that matters to either one of them that he doesn’t know how Mila conceived Bel. He only knows his part, or so he says.”
Zoey swung her legs off the chair and leaned over the table to whisper. “Do you know what his part was?”
Kos couldn’t help but lean forward and match her hushed tone. “No. Do you?”
“No. But, he said he knows who to ask, someone who knows how Mila managed it.”
There was only one person that could be—Uta, his mother’s closest friend. “Those were his exact words?”
Zoey thought about it for only a nanosecond. Her human brain had been fast, but as a vampire her brain worked lickity-split. No wonder she kicked their ass at poker. “Close enough.”
“Zoey, do you realize Bel might kill Andre over this?” Although, if Kos’s suspicions were right about who held the secret, he finally understood why Andre had kept it for so long.
“I’m not telling Bel, I’m telling you. If you could get over your chicken shit fear that every relationship ends badly, you could give her everything she wants—you, and a child.”
It wasn’t a chicken shit fear. It was the truth.
“You’re right. She’s better off without me. No more phone calls.”
Zoey bolted out of her chair, poised to argue, but she collapsed back down, suddenly pale and wan.
Kos sped to her side. “Are you alright?”
“Hungry.” She clutched her belly.
“When did you last eat?”
She extended one finger at a time, counting. “Tuesday.”
“Krist, Zoey. That’s too long. You’re only two weeks old. You should feed every day.”
“It makes Andre crazy.” She squeezed her eyes and crossed her arms over her gut.
“What does?”
“Watching me feed. He gets jealous.”
“Off Susan and Ally?”
“I know, it’s ridiculous. Is it a vampire thing?”
“No. It’s an Andre thing. I’m calling Susan now. And my father.” Even in a hurry, the blank screen of his phone registered as he dialed. Lena hadn’t called.
His father and Susan arrived in the dining room at the same time. Andre positioned himself against the wall like a chaperone.
Kos yanked his elbow. “Talk to me in the hall.”
Andre tugged his arm away, but Kos set his jaw, adopting Andre’s own intimidation tactics. It worked, and his father followed him outside.
“Andre, she’s faint from hunger. She’s putting off feeding because you’re jealous.”
As Kos expected, regret flashed across Andre’s face. “Davo.”
“Damn it, Andre. You’re the one that wants me to believe it’s possible for love to last forever, and you’re screwing yours up in two weeks? Get yourself under control. You trust Susan, you trust Zoey. Let her feed on her own terms.”
Andre’s teeth ground like porcelain plates rubbing together, and his jaw muscles bulged. He rubbed his knuckles over his sternum. “You’re right. I’ll get over it.”
After one deep breath, the tension melted from his face and he padded into the dining room, slumping penitently.
His words poured out into the hallway where Kos stood frozen to the narrow Turkish carpet runner.
“Zoey. Susan. I am sorry. I have been a fool. Please arrange feedings at your convenience. I trust you both without limit.”
Moments later, he walked out of the dining room with a well-fed Zoey tucked under his arm, and a wide smile on his face.
Love—1, Kos—0.
He slammed his gaping mouth closed. Could he be wrong?
If it were possible, Hunter Headquarters was even filthier than it had been two weeks ago. Ethan tried not to touch anything.
Derek Nichols and Rob Caroli waited on the back porch, presumably because not a glimmer of daylight got into the boarded up house. There were no more initiates camped out on the living room floor, only a few full-fledged Hunters doing target practice in the back yard.
In his pocket, Ethan fingered the little toy soldier. Soon he would control all the Hunters worldwide, and do with them whatever he pleased. Pillage, plunder, terrorize. He hadn’t decided yet. Because, just like with Gwen, the how was more important than the what. He would control them with absolute domination.
Caroli squared off his hips and spoke in that deep and impersonal radio voice. “What do you make of the shield?”
Gwen’s words came back to him—sounds like you’ve seen magic.
Ethan tested the porch’s crumbling railing with his palm before leaning a hip on it. He slid his fingers into his pockets. “It defies explanation, as far as I can see.”
Caroli grunted an affirmation. “Tonight is a big party at the estate, celebrating that Blood Vine stuff. We could go after the guests on their way out.”
Before Ethan could refute the suggestion, Derek said, “Too risky. Lot of high profile guests. We’ll get the attention of law enforcement. Media too.”
Smart Hunter. It was worthwhile to avoid unwanted attention at all cost.
“Yes. And, following its distribution could lead us right to the other Croatian vampires. But if we’re right, and the vines are what’s keeping Marasović and the son so strong, then they must be destroyed.”
It would be a significant, if only symbolic victory, garnering him prestige, and the right to command.
Caroli tilted his face toward the low gray clouds. “But how, with that shield up? That’s the question.”
Ethan turned to face the sky as well, wrapping his fingers around the decrepit railing and leaning on it until it creaked. “I want the men to remain on the ready. Prepared to go back to Kaštel with their napalm and flamethrowers. I have a strategy for taking down the shield, a secret weapon of sorts.”
“What’s that?” Derek’s voice rose with curiosity.
“Who, actually. But let me worry about that.” Ethan’s lips pulled into a smile. The strategy was a very pretty blonde, for whom Kosjenic Marasović would move mountains, or even dismantle magical shields. Once they’d de
livered Blood Vine to the distributors, all Ethan had to do was get to Mason Kearney, and he’d have his hands on the precious Lena.
Gwen sent him a text message:
Ordering Chinese. Finished translation. Home soon?
Ethan wasn’t sure what sounded better, the translation or Gwen herself. He could tie her to his bed and rub her most sensitive flesh with Chinese hot peppers until she was on fire. Even the aphrodisiac of controlling each and every Hunter around the world was less arousing than Gwen’s pain.
Chapter 21
THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE THE PARTY was scheduled to start, Kos descended the stairs. Everything looked gray without Lena, the walls, the furniture, people, like a thick fog had rolled into his life making it hard to see. His body was strung tight, and his suit jacket fit all wrong. How on earth would he manage to schmooze, given his foul mood?
He walked into the parlor, and Andre poured wine for three. For Zoey’s sake, he bit out a polite phrase. “Congratulations on this party.”
“To Zoey, and to the homeland,” Andre said, adding the traditional blessing of all vampires in exile.
Zoey clinked her glass against each of theirs, and they sipped the wine—currant and pepper, tart and sweet, and underneath all that, the taste of home. The fog receded, and Kos remembered their purpose. The shambles of his love life were small potatoes compared to the fate of his kind, the other vampires wasting away, weak and starving.
Zoey bit her lower lip and drummed her fingers against her thighs. She hadn’t forgotten their purpose for a second. Andre touched the small of her back, and she seemed to relax.
Kos crossed to the stereo. Although it might grate on Andre’s nerves, Kos turned on Ella Fitzgerald’s cover of “Our Love is Here to Stay.” It was a peace offering. He did truly wish them an eternity of such contentment.
After Andre and Zoey had bonded, Kos and Lena had thrown them an informal celebration. Lena said the happy couple needed a song and suggested the Gershwin piece. She’d arranged the whole thing behind the scenes for her new friend, and she’d been so alive at the celebration, her laughter drifting above the party sounds as she floated among people chatting. And when she’d thrown back her head to laugh, exposing the curve of her throat, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Now he knew how soft her skin was there, under her jaw. And he knew the taste of her blood pulsing underneath it too. The honeyed flavor still lingered in his mouth, the last blood he’d swallowed. He should feed from someone else and stop teasing himself with it, but he couldn’t bring himself to wash it away.
The doorbell rang, and he hoped the guests were arriving to distract him. He opened the front door as Andre and Zoey emerged from the parlor. A delivery person stood outside holding an enormous flower arrangement.
Andre turned to Zoey. “Did you order those?”
“No.”
His father strode to the door. “They’re Dalmatian Irises. They only grow in Croatia.”
The delivery woman confirmed. “That’s right, we had them flown in this morning.”
Who on earth could have sent such an extravagant bouquet?
Zoey signed for the flowers as Andre opened the envelope. Kos hovered behind and read over his shoulder. There was a card inside and a folded piece of paper. Andre read the greeting aloud.
Congratulations on Blood Vine. Very good news for all of us.
It’s time for us to talk. I’ll be there soon. -Uta
P.S. Say hello to the halfling for me.
“Who’s Uta?” Zoey’s eyebrows scrunched together.
“An old friend,” Andre croaked, his voice thick with the dread Kos felt.
Shit. She was coming? Here? Not good, especially given what Zoey had told him about Mila’s secret. Kos tried to hide his concern with a joke. “I believe the modern term is frenemy, Father.”
Bel and Pedro slid into the room together. Kos hoped he hadn’t heard the message from his estranged aunt. With any luck, Bel would be back in Los Angeles before she arrived. Perhaps he could avoid dredging up the past—
“Did you say Uta?” Bel barked. “What does she want?”
Damn it, Kos had no luck whatsoever.
“Who’s the halfling?” Zoey asked, all unknowing curiosity.
“Did she call me that? Bitch!” Bel snatched the card out of Andre’s hand.
Kos held the paper Uta had enfolded in the card. Opening it, he was stunned by what he saw and took a moment to speak. “Krist,” he finally rasped, before passing the paper to Andre, whose eyes widened.
“What is it?” Pedro and Zoey asked at the same time.
Kos ran his palm over his scalp, searching for the words. “It’s a color photo of an ancient Greek text, with illustrations.”
“Saying?” Zoey didn’t keep the irritation from her voice.
“I don’t know, my Greek is rusty. It’s the illustration that’s got my attention.”
Andre flipped the paper to show them the odd, vibrant image of a battle scene. Warriors fought with heavy swords, and both armies of soldiers had yellow-gold eyes. Half also had fangs, exaggerated in length by the rudimentary style of artwork. It was a battle between Hunters and vampires, both with golden eyes. Pedro, Zoey, and Bel huddled around the sheet of copy paper, trying to get a good look.
When it was clear they couldn’t all see at once, Pedro gave up his spot to step next to Andre. “This gets us closer to learning why they hate us.”
“Not really. All it tells us is hostility erupted in a battle long ago.”
Pedro frowned. “Not quite. It also tells us I’m not the first vampire with Hunter eyes.”
“Davo. I didn’t catch that. Double Davo.” Andre looked from Pedro’s eyes to the paper.
“You’re all missing the most important thing.” Zoey annunciated each word as if speaking to school children.
Kos hadn’t missed it—he just didn’t know what the hell to say.
She let go of the paper so Bel could have it to himself and continued to explain. “They’re in the sunlight, all of them. The battle takes place in the middle of the day.”
Bel still hadn’t peeled his eyes off the paper, but he was the first one to pipe up with a theory. “Pedro, my man, maybe you can tolerate the sun.”
Kos had thought the same thing the moment he saw the illustration. And if he fed from Lucas, or perhaps a prettier Hunter, maybe he could walk under the sun too. He didn’t even know he craved daylight until the possibility occurred to him. In a place inside him already full of longing for another radiant body, his desire for the sun also bloomed.
Everyone was silent. A grandfather clock ticked in the dining room.
“How on earth could you test that?” Zoey finally asked.
Bel dropped into the high-backed chair by the door. “Maybe a tiny laser beam of light with the same radiation composition as sunlight—some ultraviolet and infrared in addition to the visible light. But even that much of the solar spectrum might turn a vampire into bacon.”
“Don’t you mean Vacon?” Pedro’s laugh sounded forced.
Bel cringed. “Dude. You wouldn’t laugh if you’d ever smelled it. Not good.”
He was right, a vampire turned to ash was a nasty, smelly, horrible thing. Kos was not about to volunteer to be a guinea pig in that experiment.
He rose his voice to steer them back. “I’d like to keep thinking about sunlight, but there are more important questions. Where is this picture from? Why does Auntie Uta have it? And how did she know to send it to us?”
“She sent it because of the Blood Vine,” Andre said, his tone certain. “She must know there is a connection between the wine and Hunter blood. She knows something of the history and the little witch did not share it with me for the two thousand years we were neighbors.”
“No surprise she never told you,” Bel said. “She’s a selfish bitch.”
“Ah,” Zoey said. “I’m getting the frenemy thing now.”
Andre folded up the paper. “P
edro,” he commanded, “go to your Lucas and see if he knows anything.”
Pedro paled. “How could he possibly know anything?”
“Relax,” Kos whispered. “Just go ask.”
Pedro put his hands in pockets and strode from the room.
Just as the young vampire cleared the door, Bel spoke up. “May I be dismissed? I couldn’t stop thinking about Hunters even before this picture arrived.”
Andre nodded, and Bel followed Pedro.
His father pressed the paper into Kos’s palm. “Put this somewhere safe and we’ll deal with it after the party.”
Kos unfolded it and smoothed out the creases before carrying the photocopy to his office as if it were the ancient page itself. Only a game changer of this magnitude could distract him from Lena enough to move on. He almost felt grateful to his Aunt Uta. Almost.
When Ethan stepped into his apartment, Gwen called out. “Dinner?”
“I want to see the translation.” He strode to the desk where she had been working.
“I’m not ready to show it to you.”
His head jerked back to her, and her eyes gleamed in hungry defiance. She was looking for a fight.
He dragged her to his room and tied her to the bed. Her eyes shone even brighter with anticipation. But once she was secured, he gagged her and went to look for her notebook. The sound of her frustrated grunts faded as he walked down the hall. The translation wasn’t on the desk, or in any of the drawers. He searched her bags, pried open her locked briefcase—nothing.
On the bed, Gwen’s wrists and ankles were red from straining against the ropes.
“Where is it?” He kept her gagged and searched her eyes for an answer. They still showed defiance. He hit her hard with the back of his hand. “Where?”
She grunted from the impact of his slap, then attempted to speak behind the gag. He untied it.
“Fuck me.”
He hit her face again, and her grunt was louder without the gag.
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