by Tes Hilaire
Her eyes traveled over Tom. Tom chose not to notice the fact that she was taking in the lines of his expensive suit rather than the slightly less straight lines of his physique. He wasn’t a total couch potato, but six-pack abs and bulging biceps were things of his football past. At least he still had his hair. Basically.
He leaned in closer, returning her appraisal look for look, his eyes dipping over her rounded breasts and equally round hips that were snugged into the red dress. “I do well enough. How ’bout you? What do you do?”
She smiled, producing the tied off cherry stem between her teeth. Oh yeah. He could imagine what he would make her do with that tongue. He chuckled, plucking the stem from the perfectly straight pearly whites. Her parents must have had money to pay for that set of choppers.
“Besides that.” He winked. “Though that is impressive.”
She shifted on her stool, seeming suddenly uneasy as she picked at the knotted cherry stem. “Oh, I’m pre-law. At least I hope I am. The last test I had was a killer.”
Came from money, but bombing out in college. Perfect. Tom played at wary, shifting back a few inches and toning back the charming smile. “Ah.”
“Ah, what?” the blond asked, tipping her head to the side.
“You don’t look like an undergrad. How many years you have left?” ie, How young are you? He’d learned long ago that the best way to lure the coeds into trusting him was to seem a bit uneasy with the obvious age gap.
“I’m a junior,” she said, then frowned. He tipped his head in question. She shrugged sheepishly. “Actually, I should have graduated by now but I took a few years off to travel across Europe with some friends. That’s why I look older. In fact, today’s my birthday. Twenty-four.”
“Well then, happy birthday!” he said, raising his drink.
“Oh yes, happy birthday to me,” she said a bit hollowly as she stared at her glass. Concentrating, she lifted it and carefully tapped the fruity concoction against his then downing the last third of the glass. He noticed she had to concentrate to place it perfectly center on the square napkin.
“Looks like you’re empty. Want another?”
Her brow dimpled as she stared at the tall tumbler, probably debating if she could handle it and whether she’d look less mature if she couldn’t. Which she would. Two drinks plus a cheap drunk equaled inexperienced. Fine by him. He liked slutty and dumb well enough, but sheltered and innocent led to the biggest high when he plowed into them with that first punishing thrust.
He put an expression of great concern on his face. “Hey, you don’t have to.”
She looked up at him, her bottom lip pulled tight between those perfect teeth.
“Really, it’s no biggy. If you’ve had too much I’ll walk you out and make sure you get a cab.”
“Oh no. I definitely don’t want to go home yet.” She gave him a reassuring smile, tapping the bar. “Order me another.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. “I just need to hit the restroom first.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
With a last flash of her smile, she sashayed—a bit unsteadily—through the crowded club toward the restrooms. Tom waited until she’d entered the dim hall before turning back and signaling the bartender. The man was quick—good tips always equaled good service—and had the next round in front of him in under a minute.
“Anything else I can get you?” he asked.
“Nope.” Tom slid him a twenty and a ten. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, man.”
Tom waited another minute, and when he was sure no one was looking, slipped a pill into the fruity drink and stirred. It would take a minute to dissolve completely, but he wasn’t worried.
Five minutes later Tom was beginning to get impatient. He was tapping his foot on the barstool rung and craning his head over his shoulder toward the bathroom when someone sat down beside him.
He took in the broad-shouldered man in black and frowned. “Hey. That spot’s taken.”
The man nodded. “Is now. Oh, and thanks for the drink.”
Who the hell did this guy think he was? Tom made a reach for the drink, but the man shoved it away.
“Hey, asshole. That seat there is oc-cu-pi-doed, get it? And the drink is for my girl. If your ass isn’t outta here in three seconds, I’m going to kick it.”
“That so?” the man drawled, lifting the glass to his mouth and sucking it down a good inch.
Tom was too shocked to react. The guy must think he was some tough shit, but the joke was on him. What was in that glass would have him tripping so bad he wouldn’t even know his name in a few.
“Not bad,” the man said, studying the peachy liquid. “Would be better without the Rufie though. Don’t you think, Tom?”
Tom’s heart stuttered, then skipped ahead at high speed. “How the fuck do you know my name?”
The man’s gaze swung to him. Tom practically fell off his stool. He scrambled back, a vise clamping around his lungs as he tried to draw in air. No way. This was not happening. The man’s eyes were not red.
Tom bumped into another occupied stool, got a “hey, watch it” from the fellow he’d jostled. He blinked, rubbing his chest. When he opened his eyes again it was to find the man staring at him, black eyes filled with mock concern.
“You okay, Tom? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”
Before he could respond, the blond returned from the ladies’ room. Tom scoffed. “You know what? Fuck it. Take the lady’s seat, have her drink. We were getting out of here anyway.”
He held his hand out for Blondie. She hesitated but had just reached out to take it when Goth swiveled on the stool, putting his knees in the way as he took another sip from the fruity drink. “But if I drink this one, how are you going to drug her? Or did you spike her last drink too?”
Blondie gasped, snatching her pretty French-manicured fingers out of Tom’s reach. Goth boy slipped off his stool, leaning down to sniff near her throat. He straightened, his black eyes going soft as he gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, love. The others weren’t drugged. Why don’t you get a cab and go home. You’re definitely over the legal limit.”
“Who are you?” Blondie asked. She was looking up at Goth as if he was some sort of fucking savior or something. Tom would see about that.
“Ready to go settle this, Tom?” Goth asked, ignoring the girl’s question.
“After you.” Tom gestured toward the back doors. With any luck Blondie would be so intrigued by her new hero that she’d wait around a bit to see if the guy came back. By then Tom would have taken care of the matter, grabbed his car, and would be back out front waiting for her. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to tail a cab to follow his prey home.
The man turned and sauntered toward the back hall. Tom followed, trying not to be unnerved by the fact that the guy, although not any taller, was definitely in much better shape. Didn’t matter, though. All Tom had to do was avoid the man’s fists until the drug caught up with him.
They stepped out into the rank alley. It was empty but for a half-dozen sewer rats and a plastic grocery bag caught on the corner of the dumpster and flapping in the light breeze.
“You know, you really disappoint me, Tom. I thought we had an understanding.”
“Oh? And what’s that?” Tom took up position with the open alley at his back, settling down into a defensive crouch.
He didn’t even get a chance to blink before Goth was on him, spinning him around and slamming him into the dumpster. “That you don’t rape women and I don’t kill you.”
That voice…fuck, that voice. It was the one from his nightmare, the one coming from the mouth of the vampire just before he’d sunk his fangs into his throat. Before I’m through with you, you’re going to wish you’d been born without that dick of yours.
No, oh God no. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real.
Sharp teeth skimmed over the collar of his suit jacket, dragging
across the clammy flesh of Tom’s neck. A sharp sting and…
“Don’t kill me. Oh, please don’t kill me.”
The sting abated, twin trails of sticky blood dripping down into his collar.
“Why not? You reneged on our deal.”
“I won’t do it again! I swear!”
“You swear?”
The man’s weight was removed from his back. Strong hands turned him around. Tom kept his eyes clamped shut. He didn’t want to see those eyes. Didn’t want to see his blood on those fangs.
Not a dream. Not a dream. Real.
“Look at me, Tom. Look at me and tell me why I should trust you this time?”
Tom obeyed and found himself staring into glowing red eyes. “I promise, I promise, I promise—”
“You see, Tom, for me, your promise just isn’t good enough.” The vampire smiled, exposing those impossibly long fangs. “And you know what that means…”
Tom tried to struggle but couldn’t; he was frozen in place as those fangs lowered down toward his neck. All he could do was force out a whispered “No! No…nooooo” before even that was cut off by the burning pressure at his throat.
Chapter 9
“You idiot!” Logan Calhoun Sr. screamed, yanking Karissa out of Logan’s arms. His hands, still strong and calloused from fighting, brushed over her slim form, chasing the swirling energy that should have branded Logan’s mark into her skin.
Logan was only dimly aware that the entire Paladin presence had crowded close, their bodies thrumming with violence as the instinctive urge to protect a fallen Paladin female rose within them. Even Logan, who’d caused her fall, was pulled to defend.
What have I done? Why didn’t the marking work? He quickly reviewed the spell and could find nothing wrong with either the words or the physical press of energy upon her. It should have worked. She should have been marked as his, not laid unconscious, the energy he’d put into the ceremonial marking encircling her like some evil net.
Logan’s father grunted a curse. “I can’t draw it off.”
By God. If his father couldn’t, no chance any of the others could break the shield or net, or whatever the hell it was either. Something in his chest fluttered, probably in result to the press of guilt squeezing his torso.
“Alexander!” his father bellowed. “I need you over here.”
Alexander looked shocked, but the huge warrior quickly pushed over to the elder’s side, dropping to his knees.
“What happened to her? What is going on?” Gerar demanded from the dais, anxiety making his voice ride high.
Logan’s father ignored him and gave his orders to Alexander. “You need to draw some of the excess energy from her.”
Alexander glanced at Logan—a silent I don’t understand what’s going on here and what the hell did you do all rolled into one—then lowered his hands to the reddened skin at the base of Karissa’s throat. Immediately his eyes flared wide, then narrowed with concentration as he began to do what he did best—steal a person’s energy.
Logan had a million questions he wanted to ask, but none more important than “will she recover?” which would, most likely, be answered with a few moments of patience. Please, let her be okay.
It was so quiet time seemed to stand still. The entire hall was breathless as they waited to see if Calhoun Sr.’s gamble worked. The danger of Alexander’s gift was that it was not specific. Once it latched on to an energy source, it could suck it and all energy in the area away. Given how pale and fragile Karissa looked right now, it seemed in opposition to what they should do. But leaving her to fend off the energy attacking her didn’t seem a viable option either. His energy. Fuck.
Logan raked his hands through his hair, muscles tense as he watched and waited. The air around him began to chill, and he started to tremble. He should move back farther. Alexander was starting to sap his energy too. And after casting the binding spell, his reserves were already low.
Still he didn’t, his gaze fixed on the inert body laid out upon the ornate tile floor, cherry-cola curls spread like a halo around her snowy white face. Even her freckles had paled and her lips, God, her lips had turned that lifeless shade of blue.
Logan started to step forward. “He’s going to kill her! He’s taking too much energy!”
A hand clamped down on his upper arm, jerking him back. “Don’t be more of an idiot,” his father growled. “She’s a teleporter. She has far more energy than even you.”
How had his father known she was a teleporter? He hadn’t been in the room when that revelation had been made. More questions for later. Right now…
“I’ve done all I can,” Alexander announced, pushing off the floor. He stood, staggered, then planted his feet wide to balance himself, arms on knees, his chest heaving, sweat pouring off his brow. Anyone who didn’t know him would have assumed he was exhausted. He wasn’t. Logan had seen him after draining a half-dozen merkers before. Alexander was so pumped full of energy now he was having trouble containing it.
Almost immediately there was a push of bodies as the other men in the room tried to get a closer look at Karissa.
“Back off!”
His father’s command came in the nick of time. Logan’s gift of pulling heavenly light might not have hurt any one of these men, but he wasn’t beneath fighting dirty if the need arose.
It was his father’s authority, and that alone, that had the men stepping back again. Anyone else would have been ignored. “Is the east wing suitable for visitors?” he asked Gerar.
The east wing, of course—his father would want to keep her far from where the other Paladin resided.
Gerar looked a bit taken aback but nodded. “It should be. The caretakers are ordered to keep it up.”
Logan stepped forward, ready to offer his aid.
“No,” his father rebuked. “Alexander will carry her. I think you’ve caused enough trouble for one night.”
Feeling like a scolded puppy, Logan stepped back. He gritted his teeth as Alexander bent down again, and then fisted his hands as the brute lifted her, cradling her head against his chest so it didn’t loll over his arm like a rag doll’s.
Frustrated with his inability to help, Logan followed them out of the hall, meeting the accusing gaze of every Paladin as he did. Of course they would accuse him. Even though every one of them had been ready and willing to do the same.
“Are you done posturing yet?” his father asked in a hushed whisper filled with disapproval.
Guilt and agitation, sizzling through Logan’s veins and prickling at his nerves, went hot. So hot it burned white. It was all he could do to keep the fire from erupting in a brilliant flare of light.
“Wasn’t it you who taught me that face is everything?” he asked softly. On this one thing his father and he agreed. Family politics should be kept among family.
His father grunted but didn’t say anything further until they were well out of the hall, the heavy doors closing behind them. Then it was simply a directional command to Alexander.
“This way.”
They crossed the dimly lit expanse, heading for the rarely used east wing. Once, the entire complex had been filled with Paladin. Now the roman arches framing the long hall, the Gothic columns, the exquisite marble inlay of the floor seemed but a cold show to an absent audience. Less than fifty Paladin were left and only half of them resided at Haven. Logan preferred his small row house to the vast, lonely corridors, the endless supply of unused rooms at Haven.
His father pushed open a set of ironbound, wood doors. Simultaneously Logan and his father cast a pair of glowing orbs to light the way.
Logan started forward, but his father raised his hand. “Wait here. Make sure no one else comes in.”
“If she wakes she will feel safer if someone she knows is there.”
“The same someone who attacked her?”
Logan clenched his jaw but wisely kept his mouth shut. His father had a point. He folded his arms, pointedly turning his back so he did
n’t have to watch Karissa being taken from him. Regardless of his father’s logic, he still felt like he was abandoning the woman he’d promised to keep safe.
“You will stand guard at the entrance to the connecting hall,” Logan’s father told Alexander when he returned from settling Karissa in her room.
Alexander nodded and pushed through the heavy wood door. The doors had no sooner closed when Logan’s father lifted up a large block of heavy-duty wood, sliding it into the iron grooves, and effectively bracing the door shut.
“Hold on while I put a shield on this,” his father said.
The task was simple, a gathering of power, then build it into a spinning illusion of energy using the doorframe to mark its edges. It wouldn’t last forever and there were some who could break through, but it was another barrier at least, and as long as Alexander kept the rest of his brothers at a reasonable distance, it was one that shouldn’t be needed.
“You are putting a lot of faith in Alexander. He could absorb the energy of the shield if he wanted,” Logan said when his father was done.
His father flicked his hand expansively in the air. “Alexander wouldn’t be interested in the likes of her.”
Why the hell not? Now that it was obvious to every single man present tonight that she had power…
A horrible thought cropped up: Maybe she was part merker. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been able to mark her. A Paladin’s mark would be like an attack on a merker’s essence. The inherent opposition of their purpose morphing the purpose of the bond.
“Why…” He cleared his throat. “Why did my attempt to mark her not work?”
“Not here.” Calhoun Sr. spun on his heels, forcing Logan to follow if he wanted to get answers. They ascended the stairs to the main hall of the wing, traversed another short hall past endless doors before they entered into an old study of some sort, dusty books lining the shelves and groups of seating arrangements with various lamps and tables between them, each draped in ghostly sheets.
The door hadn’t even latched behind them before his father had spun back around. “Damn it, Logan. What possessed you to try to mark her?”