He threw on an overcoat and went outside with a mind to check on the horses. His stallion had put a foot wrong the evening before last and had come up lame. Cade wanted to make sure that Mulligan, his groom, had followed his instructions. As he passed the carriage house, voices carried on the wind.
“You should have heard him, Mully. He made right good sense, did Otto Hammer. A leader should spend his time leading, not gallavantin’ all over town bedding whores and widows.”
Cade halted. The speaker was his street runner, Johnny Pringle.
“What difference does it make to the likes of us? Kincade pays us well. That’s all I care about.”
Johnny’s laugh, borne by the fretful wind, sounded hollow and twisted. “And you want to shovel horse shit for all eternity? Sure, I’ll take Kincade’s coin, but if there’s a way to better our lot, I’m for it.”
Hammer. He’d let his foe rise too high and run his mouth too much. And he’d have to take care of Johnny Pringle. There was a price to pay for disloyalty.
HE PICKED UP CHARLET the following evening, and after bedding her to the roar of a cozy fire in the master bedroom, he retreated to his study. He’d already addressed the problem of Johnny Pringle, calling for the suckling to ostensibly carry a message, but the message was to Johnny himself. Don’t fuck with me. Cade wrung the suckling’s neck as one would kill a chicken.
He raised his head to find Charlet standing in the doorway, dressed in her chemise and a midnight blue satin dressing gown. Her hair fell in golden ripples over her shoulders, but her face looked as bleak as the night, full of dark planes. It was hardly the countenance of a woman recently made love to. “What’s wrong, my love?”
Her fingers gripped the collar of the robe as if she wanted to tighten the garment. “I should say ‘nothing,’ turn around, and walk away.”
Her scent washed over him, and with the musk of lovemaking was the sourness of fear. “But I’d know it for a lie.”
“I know you would. You always know my feelings. Am I that transparent?”
She was stalling. Something was obviously on her mind, and something was just as perceptibly wrong. Self-expression was not one of Charlet’s problems, yet her beautiful and talented mouth was having trouble finding words.
“To me you are. You’re afraid.”
She hugged herself as if she were cold. “Even that you know that with so much certainty scares me.”
He rose. “And what else does? Are you afraid of me? After what we just did?”
Her gaze wandered around the room as if she’d never seen it before. “I’m in a place I shouldn’t be in.”
Cade wasn’t sure that she meant what he thought she meant, so he waited.
She took two steps into the room, but came no closer. “In the beginning I thought you were just eccentric. Being able to see you only at night. Not eating in public, or even with just me . . . the way you know things that are unknowable . . . the stories you’ve told that are totally inconsistent with someone your age. I’ve stepped into a world I’m not a part of, and it scares me.”
She suspected. If not that he was a vampire, then some preternatural being. “I have no hold on you, Charlet. You can leave any time you want.”
She shook her head and hugged herself even tighter. “No, I can’t.”
He stepped to within a foot of her, saying nothing, wanting it all to come from her. It was no surprise that her curious mind would question the paradox of his being. His only shock was that it had taken this long.
“I can’t leave,” she continued. “I’m in love with you.”
He didn’t know what to say. “Charlet . . .”
“But I want to know what you are.”
Expected, yet he despaired. He’d waited two hundred years for the Manitou’s prediction to come to pass, and now, all too quickly, he saw it ending. Continued lies would lose her. And the truth surely would. He made his decision, already knowing the outcome. It would be truth. A lifetime of deception had been his, but he needed her to know him. “I was born in 1682, a half-breed conceived of a European father and native mother. My father died, and my mother was a slave. The Kaskaskia raised me as their own until a European . . . malady killed me in 1707.”
Her eyes had closed when he’d begun speaking, and when he paused, she opened them. “Killed? Are you a ghost?”
“No. I’m as real as you are. But I’m not human. Nor mortal. The malady that killed me and gave me rebirth was vampirism.”
She erupted in a nervous laugh, but when he didn’t join in, her laughter died. “It’s a joke. Isn’t it? Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m sorry, Charlet. It’s no joke.” He did something he rarely did, and never in front of mortals. He smiled wide enough to show his fangs.
“Mother of God,” she breathed, and she turned to run, but grabbed the door frame instead, as if she needed the support of something solid merely to stand.
He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to lose her, but he was reasonably certain that her Catholic upbringing did not shine a very favorable light on unholy bloodsucking creatures. “Charlet.”
“I’ve heard of horror stories of such beings. You subsist on the blood of others?”
“When I need to feed, yes. But I would never hurt you,” he added, as if that might make a difference.
“But you’ve hurt others,” she pressed.
“When it’s been necessary.”
“Take me home.”
He moved past her without touching her and ordered the phaeton. She dressed in private, and he sat and waited. He could compel her. He could even make her forget, but he wouldn’t do it. Unless she wanted him—fangs and all—there was no point to any of it.
The ride to the Malebisse house was a silent one, with Charlet’s face turned to the street, not him. It was a harsh night, with no promise of spring in the air, and even the shadows seemed blacker than usual. He knew she must be cold, even under the lap robe, but she held herself stiff and still, not even shivering.
When they arrived at the house, he held her arm with a light touch. “Charlet. Hear this before you go.”
She didn’t strain to pull away, but neither did she face him.
“I’ve never shared the knowledge of who and what I am with another woman, or any mortal for that matter. Never.”
He hadn’t meant it as a threat, rather an expression of how much she meant to him, but the quick glance she gave him showed the same steel in her blue eyes as in her backbone. She neither replied nor waited for him to help her out of the carriage, but stepped down and braved the cold walk to her door on her own.
“Where to, Sir? Back home?” asked Mulligan, who acted this night as driver.
“No. Take me to the club.” Plenty of work awaited him—work he’d neglected to spend time with Charlet.
“Sir? If I might ask, have you seen Johnny Pringle around? He ain’t been by the carriage house tonight.”
“He quit last night, Mully. Said he had a better offer elsewhere.”
Mully raised a frosted brow and said no more, and Cade climbed back into the carriage.
That was another thing he’d neglected too long. His enemies.
Chapter Twenty-two
PELLETS OF RAIN battered his face, and Cade opened his eyes. He’d survived somehow, against the odds. Maybe the Hairball had been sloppy in not finishing him. Maybe the power of the Manitou had intervened. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t died.
Cade lifted his head, and no grinning bat met his sight. The weapons were gone, and so was the Asian. Red’s body was nearby, face down on the concrete apron of the garage. He dragged himself to her side and turned her over. Watery trails of blood crisscrossed her neck and chest, but he focused on what lie beneath her skin—the fragile life that still commanded her heart to beat. But
she smelled of death as much as life, and he knew she was beyond saving.
“Red! Can you hear me?” He called her name, compelling her with all the strength he could muster until her lids fluttered open. He did the only thing he could do. He ripped off what was left of his coat and shirt, grabbed Gravedigger, and sliced his chest just below the shoulder bone. Blood welled from the cut, and before the rain could wash it away, he swiped two fingers across the wound then pressed them to Red’s lips. “Take it, Red. Take my blood. You must.”
She licked her lips, and her glazed eyes looked at him for a second before drifting shut again.
“Come on! You can do it.” He lifted her into his arms and brought her head to his chest. “Drink from me. Come on, fight!” He felt her lips against the wound, but they were already cold, and the blood trickled down his chest untouched and was washed away by the rain. Her head fell forward, and he felt her life force slip the barrier of her skin and take flight. He pulled her body close and held her, and he mourned the death of a mortal for the second time in a week.
SWEET SISTER! WHAT had Cade fucked up now? Thor shoved his phone into his pocket, left the safe house, and drove toward Uptown. Red had been just this side of hysterical, begging him to come quickly to help Cade. In between shrieks and exclamations about dead bodies, she’d run on about assassins and weapons, but he’d gotten the gist of it. One of the droves of mortals and undead alike who were after Cade had somehow caught up with him, and Cade had come out holding the short end of the stick.
It didn’t escape Thor that not only was Cade going down fast, but that those around him were being sucked down the same drain hole, himself included. But until he knew who was pulling all the strings, he had to play his part.
And Red . . . if Cade had let anything happen to her, he’d pay, somehow, some way. He wondered if Cade knew or even suspected how many times Thor had banged Red. She’d begun strictly as prey—a donor—but her beauty and infectious spirit had driven him to take more. She’d given her all gladly, but she was different from the others who advertised their wares on the streets and in Noctule. They wanted the thrill of being taken. Red wanted him.
The thought of Cade fucking Red was enough to make Thor want to finish whatever mayhem the assassin had started.
He found the address of the house Red had given him on the phone, then turned into the alley across the street. If some assassin was still in the area, he was safer in the car than on foot, even with the loaded Glock stuck in his waistband. He turned the corner in the alley and stepped on the brake. The headlights caught two figures slumped on the ground. It was Cade, with his back against a garage door, and the body in his arms could only be Red.
Cade looked as helpless as the losing chicken in a cock fight, bloody and bedraggled. Nothing would be easier than finishing the job someone else had already started. Thor could feel his heart racing at the thought. There’d be no more Che Kincade. No more imperious superior to give him menial orders. No more legendary face to steal the gaze of the prey Thor wanted. But there’d also be no one to witness the feat of vanquishing the greatest vampire ever to walk Chicago’s streets. Someone older and stronger than Thor would vie for the position of doyen, and Thor would just end up again in the service of someone else. Above all, though, it would be a coward’s way. Thor didn’t have much of a rule book when it came to fighting, but this would be dishonorable, even for one who didn’t worry about such matters.
He cut the lights and engine and climbed out. “What the fuck happened?” He knew from her scent Red was dead, but he wanted answers to who, what, and why the fuck she’d died.
“Get my phone,” ordered Cade. “It’s in one of Red’s pockets. If you have a blanket in the trunk, take her and put her in the car.”
Bastard. But he did as he was told, flipping the phone to Cade, then retrieving a blanket from the car. He wrapped it carefully around Red’s body and tucked her into the trunk. She had two bite marks that he could see, one on her neck and one on her breast, and she’d obviously been bled to death. He returned to Cade.
“Did you do that to her?”
Cade gave him a look so pointed it could pierce flesh. “No. Have you ever heard of a hired killer named Ran Jian yi?”
Sure, like somebody who dished out drinks and counted receipts for a living hung out with hitmen. “Chinese?”
Cade nodded. “Maybe a half-breed. Pale eyes. Carries a Kung Fu sword and a halberd.”
“No.” He held out his hand to Cade, who didn’t look like he could stand, much less walk. Much of the blood had been washed away by the rain, but half-healed cuts scored Cade’s torso like it was a tenderloin, and a large slash still showcased muscle and innards to the world.
Cade accepted his hand, but once on his feet, he shook Thor off.
Cade hadn’t explained shit. “So what happened?”
“Let’s get out of here first. There’s a body on the other side of this garage.”
He looked. There was nothing. “Not anymore there isn’t.”
“The Asian took him, then. Get my Bowie. There should be two more knives nearby. Bring those, too.”
He can walk and talk, but he can’t pick up a knife? Well, why should he? He’s got you. But as Cade got into the car, he did as he was told. With the Bowie sheathed and the daggers slipped between the seats, Thor started the car. “Where to? I’ve got a safe house not far from here.”
Cade nodded. “Get my bag first. The house is across the street.”
“Yeah, Red gave me the address.” His blood boiled every time he thought about Red, but as always, it was easy enough to hide his anger behind the mask of the submissive tyro. He pulled out of the alley and parked in front of Cade’s safe house.
“Master bedroom, second floor. It’s packed and ready. Don’t bother with anything else. I’ll send someone to clean out the house.”
Cade gave him the house keys, and he ran into the house and upstairs. The same bag he’d brought Cade was on the floor of the bedroom. Red’s bag was nearby, also packed. Cade would send a vampire to clean the house, and Red’s things would be disposed of, just like her body would be disposed of, as though she were never here. As though she were never part of this debacle of Cade’s. He opened Red’s bag, pulled out one of her sweaters, and brought it to his nose. It smelled like her, a combination of her perfume and her own scent. But there was no time now for sentimentality. He dropped the sweater and rummaged through the bag, finding her jewelry. Among the rest was a red heart necklace he’d seen her wear numerous times. He slipped it into his inside coat pocket, grabbed Cade’s bag, and left the house, locking it behind him.
“You took your time about it,” said Cade when he got into the car.
He started the engine. “Just making sure the back door was locked.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
Thor stepped on the gas and resumed his questioning. “So how did they find you?”
“After the visit to Vamphasia, we met with Nate Burnham.”
Thor raised his brows. “Nate fuckin’ BOS Burnham? Why?”
“He said he had information. He said he could help.”
“And you believed him?”
Cade looked in his direction. “Yeah, I believed him. After we left him we picked up a tail.”
And you didn’t see that coming? But Thor expressed his opinion regarding Cade’s stupidity only in his silence.
Cade continued. “The tail was a pro named Ryder. The daggers were his, as was the body that disappeared. But his job was obviously just to locate me for the real assassin, the Asian. We fought, but he vanished midway through the clash. That’s when Red showed up. I told her to call you and then take the car and leave. She wouldn’t, and the Asian returned.”
“And you couldn’t protect her?” An edge in his voice came through, and this time he couldn’t h
elp it.
“Not with the halberd pinning me to the ground and the sword through my heart. He bled her in front of me. I tried to turn her after he left, but it was too late.”
How does he do that? Cade’s voice was as dispassionate as if he were giving orders at the club. “So if he was so good, how come you’re still here?” The edge was still there, along with a trace of sarcasm. Tough shit.
“I don’t know. Maybe something scared him off. Maybe his orders weren’t to kill me.”
And maybe he just wasn’t all that good, and you don’t want to admit you failed to save Red from a second-rate opponent.
Thor pulled up in front of his safe house ten minutes later and kept the engine running. He looked at Cade, who was leaning his head back against the headrest like he was enjoying a nap. “So what do we do now?”
Cade drew a deep breath and lifted his head. “I’ll need a couple days to heal. I was heart-pierced twice. Have you ever been heart-pierced, Thor?”
He’d been heart-punched more times than he could count while he’d been mortal, and he’d shed his share of blood as one of the undead, but he’d never surrendered heart blood. “No.”
“It feels like all the hounds of hell have sunk their fangs in your heart and are trying their damnedest to rip it from your body. Anyway, the first thing is to clean out my safe house, get rid of Red’s body, and dispose of the two cars—the black Chevy on the street and Red’s Mustang in the garage. I want you to take care of it personally.”
Get rid of Red’s body. Like it was trash. “I’ll need help moving the cars.”
“Call for whatever help you need, but no one from Noctule. Use someone off the list of safe house caretakers.”
“Then what do we do?” Then what do I do? You’ll be on your ass.
“Add three more names to your list—Nate Burnham, Ran Jian yi, and Sol.”
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