Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter series Book 7)

by Singh, Nalini

  He took her hand, pressed his lips to her knuckles before releasing her.

  “Do you stay in touch with any of their descendants?” she asked, his name written so deep in her heart, it would never be erased.

  He laughed, and the sound was big and warm and gorgeous. “Cher, I would be hunted down and fed to a gator should I miss a single family event. Their descendants are as fierce as my sisters were, and just as glorious. I’ll take you to the next fais do-do—or I’ll say we’re coming and it’ll be the excuse they need for a party. Then you’ll see what a wild family I call mine.”

  Ashwini had known some vampires kept in touch with the descendants of their original families, but she’d never met one who spoke of his family with such affection. For most, the loss of the old seemed to outweigh the delight of the new. Or they’d become too inhuman to find happiness in familial connections. “I’m up for a good fais do-do. As long as you haven’t told them tales about me.”

  “Trust me, sugar, you are already a favorite. My family thinks I need someone to put me in my place.”

  It was so tempting to stay here, to talk and laugh and flirt, insulated from the world and from reality, but tonight their time wasn’t their own. It belonged to a woman whose life had been stolen from her with heartless cruelty.

  They stepped out without any need to discuss the point.

  “Your fancy car will be safe here?” It was an artwork of a machine. “You don’t want to put it in one of the bigger lots with security?”

  “Elena owns an interest in the blood café over there,” he told her, to her surprise. “She set up this lot for anyone from the Guild or the Tower who needs to use it in this part of the city—it has top-of-the-line security. Your Guild hasn’t told you?”

  Ashwini winced. “Memo must be in my Guild in-box. Haven’t checked it for a while.” Words had never been her friend. “I’m dyslexic. Got help late, and while I can read fine if I put my mind to it, it’s not the relaxing thing for me that it is for others.”

  Janvier locked the gate behind them and they began to walk in the direction of the clubs. “I didn’t learn to read until I was in Neha’s court.”

  “It must’ve been hard.”

  “Yes, but there’s a scholar in Neha’s court who is very patient.”

  So many pieces of him she was seeing tonight, and she knew why. He was taking the first step, the first risk, being the brave one. Ashwini wasn’t sure she had the courage to follow him, to take the steps that would lead to a confession that, once made, would change everything. But neither did she want to belittle his trust by withholding her own. Whether it was dangerous or not, right or wrong, they were beyond that.

  “My family,” she began, “is very academic.”

  20

  “My father was a professor of philosophy; my mother, literature, with a particular emphasis on South Asian texts,” she said, heart hurting. “You know my brother is a neurosurgeon.” No matter the pain between them, Ashwini was fiercely proud of Arvi’s achievements. He could’ve permitted the agony he’d borne to crush him—instead, he’d used it as an impetus to become the best in his field.

  She just wished he’d chosen any specialty but that related to the brain. Arvi used his own skill like a razored whip with which to flagellate himself, always looking for an answer, a “fix,” and coming up empty.

  “One aunt is a paralegal,” she continued, “the other a political strategist. My cousins run the gamut, from engineers to psychologists to biomedical researchers.” Shining bright, that was the unofficial Taj family motto.

  Even the rebel in the group, the laughing black sheep everyone loved and Ashwini wanted to grow up to be, had been a brilliant scholar of languages. Tanu had interceded for Ashwini more than once, but her sister had been much older, with her own life. Away at college when Ashwini’s problems with the written word first became apparent, Tanu hadn’t been there to mitigate the fallout at home.

  “My parents were impatient with me, thought I was lazy, not trying hard enough.” As a confused child who couldn’t understand why she was being punished—by being banned from attending the dance lessons that healed every hurt inside her—she would stay up all night trying to teach herself to read the letters that got all confused in her head.

  “They were learned people.” Janvier’s scowl was heavy. “Shouldn’t they have known?”

  “It’s funny how really smart people have the most unusual holes in their worldview and perception.” For Ashwini’s mother, this supremely clever woman who was around words every day, reading was such a joy, such a wonderful escape, that she’d been unable to wrap her mind around the fact it was a struggle for her daughter.

  “There was pride, too.” Seeing a flashing sign that said part of the Quarter had been flooded by a burst water main, Ashwini and Janvier took a slight detour. “The idea of asking for help, of having me seen as different . . .” As an adult, she’d come to understand that the latter had been the crux of it, her entire family trying desperately to avoid looking into the blinding, eviscerating light of truth.

  “Pride has often led to foolish actions.”

  “Yes.” She had the Taj pride, too, and knew it. “Anyway, I was falling desperately behind in school before a teacher realized what was wrong and got me help.” Digging up a smile, she said, “I still love books, though. Listen to a ton on audio.”

  “How about if I act as your personal narrator?” Janvier closed his hand around her own. “My voice is not so bad.”

  His voice was raw sex and molten honey. Ashwini wasn’t sure she’d comprehend a word of the actual story if he read to her. “Looks like we’ve ended up at the exclusive end after all.” Breaking the handhold out of habit, she nodded at the club coming up ahead.

  The detour had funneled them to the opposite end of the Quarter from the blood café. “Might as well start here.”

  Club Masque was the definition of exclusive—and of dangerous. It was the center of the Flesh Market, a group of clubs that catered to the darker appetites of the sophisticated vampire upper class. Club Masque’s sign for the mortal queue made the club’s direction clear. It said Fresh Meat.

  Ashwini could see at least fifty pieces of hopeful “meat” in the line.

  Most would be turned away. The bouncers allowed in only the spectacularly beautiful or those handpicked by one of the VIPs inside. The hopeful were uniformly young and shiny and pretty, their flesh on display despite the cold, males included. Forget the teensy skirts and bra tops; one modelesque male with pouty lips and serious cheekbones was rocking short shorts and body glitter with biker boots.

  The sight made her want to shiver. “I feel like I’m dressed for a blizzard compared to Hypothermia Central over there.”

  Janvier turned up his lip at the display. “Cold blood is so unappetizing.” Ignoring the queue—and the eyes made in his direction by more than one clubber, he walked straight up to the bouncer.

  Ashwini knew Janvier’s charm could be lethal, but she didn’t expect the bouncer to open the door at first sight. “Wow,” she said as they walked into the black-painted hallway lit with bluish lights that created deep pools of shadow, the sound of thumping music vibrating through the floorboards. “Are you a VIV?”

  “VIV?”

  “Very Important Vampire.”

  “Mais oui, ma belle.” Winking, he turned right and said, “Strip, sugar.”

  Realizing they were at the coat check, and yeah, a place this exclusive would have a coat check, she gave the girl behind the counter her outerwear, while Janvier took off his jacket, having left his sweater and scarf in the car. She hadn’t worn any visible weapons out of politeness to being in Ellie’s home, though she was certain Ellie wouldn’t have cared, but that meant there were no awkward questions.

  Not that the coat check girl—all breathy words and wet lips—even noticed Ashwini except as
an annoyance in her attempt to seduce an amused Janvier. “So used to women throwing themselves at you that you take it in stride?” she murmured after they moved back into the corridor, using the chance to undo a couple of extra buttons on her shirt to better fit the vibe.

  Janvier, somehow managing to make a simple white T-shirt look incredibly sexy, his hair just-got-out-of-bed disheveled, shrugged. “It is a burden, cher, but one I bear.” His eyes lingered on the skin revealed at her neck, his voice rough when he next spoke. “You are dressed like an invitation.”

  “Janvier, I’m wearing more clothes than all the ‘fresh meat’ put together.”

  Leaning in close to her ear, his breath warm, he slipped an arm around her waist, his hand possessive on her hip. “It makes men want to unwrap you, be the only one to see what’s inside.” He tugged out the chain that held the pendant, knuckles rubbing across her breastbone. “It sits right between your breasts,” he said on a hoarse groan before tucking it back inside the shirt. “I don’t want any other male thinking about that but me.”

  Her nipples were suddenly painfully tight, her panties damp. Primal instinct told her to slip out of his hold if she had any hope of salvaging her shields. She didn’t. It was too late for that. It was also the right decision to ensure justice for their victim. Because this was a vampire club and Janvier was a known commodity.

  So was she, but not always in the best way. She’d already seen one vamp she’d hauled home to his angel. It had been three years ago, but vampires tended to have long memories about things like that.

  Bracing her arm on Janvier’s shoulder, elbow bent, she took in the dance floor. It was bathed in pulsing light several shades too dark to be truly comfortable for mortal eyes, but that was perfect for the older vampires. The view was otherwise relatively ordinary. Taut and toned women and pretty men danced limber and sexy in an effort to attract the attention of the bored-looking but physically stunning vampires who occasionally culled one from the herd.

  She tapped her foot absently to the beat. Dancing had been in her blood as long as she could remember, but she hadn’t indulged in it anywhere but inside her apartment for a long time. That wouldn’t be changing in this club. Because while the dance floor was normal enough, what was above it wasn’t.

  The mezzanine level was basically a large wraparound balcony that looked out over the dance floor. Tables and seating arrangements were laid out in intimate groupings on that level, the stairs up to the mezzanine guarded by bouncers who, again, let up only the chosen.

  In club terms, it was nothing to write home about.

  However, suspended just below the mezzanine by what looked like steel cables on each of the four corners, was a sheet of transparent glass. Glass walls about two feet in height grew up from the large flat sheet on all four sides, creating a shallow box with no top. In the glass box was a live show.

  Right now, from what she could tell, two male vampires dressed in full-on lace and leather, their shirts froths of white and their black leather pants so tight they appeared painted on, were feeding from a ripped mortal who was either naked or wearing a G-string. Then the two vamps threw the mortal to the glass on his front and she didn’t have to guess anymore.

  She could see every inch of him, including the turgid red of his erection.

  One of the vampires, his hair sleek and blond, lay down on his side beside the donor, pulling up the donor’s head by the hair to kiss him long and deep. When he released the breathless male from the kiss, it was to a raven-haired female vamp who’d stepped into the box. She took over the kiss, while the second male vamp watched.

  Words were spoken that made the woman smile, her poison red nails on the donor’s throat. Then the blond vampire stroked long white fingers down the man’s back . . . and shoved him down on his distended cock right as the second male vampire sank his fangs into the donor’s thigh. The woman went for his throat at the same instant.

  The donor screamed, drops of blood splattering the glass, but Ashwini saw no terror on his face, only a naked sexual ecstasy.

  She looked away before she ended up witnessing him spurt his semen against the glass. Not that she was sure the show would stop there. Nakedness wasn’t required for feeding, so the donor had probably volunteered for public sex or pain or both. It wasn’t her idea of a good time, but she wasn’t about to judge as long as it was all consensual.

  “Well,” she murmured to Janvier, shifting her hand to play with the hair at his nape, “do you come here often?” It didn’t seem his kind of thing, but maybe he had a kink she didn’t know about.

  He ran his hand up and down her hip. “Only so I can maintain my contacts.” His lips brushed her ear as he spoke, the music too loud to permit anything else. “For me, feeding from a partner is a private thing. As is fucking.” He nipped her ear with sharp teeth, the contact sending a jolt straight to the heat between her legs. “Not for public exhibition, but to be savored in hushed intimacy.”

  Her body was so primed, she barely resisted the urge to shove him into a dark corner and ride him to oblivion. “I’m going to the ladies’.” It was the best place to find mortals in between dancing or donating, especially if she wanted to have an actual conversation.

  Janvier’s hand slipped low enough that he was now officially—and very possessively—cupping her ass. “I’ll make sure the bouncers know to let you upstairs if we get separated. No one should bother you here, but if anyone does, feel free to fillet him or her.”

  “I don’t need your permission for the filleting,” she said, then leaned forward to bite him on the jaw.

  He jerked, hand clenching convulsively.

  “There”—pounding heart, shallow breath—“now no one will bother you, either, not unless they want to get filleted.”

  Walking away to the sight of his growing and hotly sexy smile, she felt her skin flush. What had started out as a lighthearted dig at his increasing possessiveness had instead betrayed her own. Annoyed with herself for her inability to stick to her guns until she’d told him everything, she snarled at a vamp who went to make a move on her.

  His eyes gleamed, but she’d already pulled a blade and had it at his crotch. “I’m no donor.”

  He became erect between one heartbeat and the next. “I know. I wouldn’t feed without permission, mistress. Please, hurt me. Please.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” She’d apparently managed to find the one vamp in this place who wanted to be prey rather than predator. “Since you asked so sweetly,” she said and slashed the blade across his thigh, careful not to do anything but prick him. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  Leaving him shuddering in ecstasy, she pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. It was as luxurious and classy as she’d expected. In front of her was a large area with mirrors on every wall and curved seating in plush red. Several women sat on the backless red couches, touching up their makeup, talking to friends, or, in one case, snorting coke. Apparently being fresh meat wasn’t enough; this one wanted to be hopped-up fresh meat.

  Going through the second door, to the section with the actual stalls, she went in one, flushing it after a reasonable pause before getting out and washing her hands, all to maintain the fiction that she was just another mortal on a night out with her vampire lover. It was unlikely any of the humans would recognize her as a hunter, and even if they did, there was no law that said hunters couldn’t date vamps.

  “Damn,” she muttered after returning to the seating area, making a show of digging into her pockets beside a gorgeous, plump brunette who was fluffing up her hair.

  “You lose your ID?” the brunette asked with a sweetness that made Ashwini want to bundle her up and get her out of there ASAP.

  “No, forgot my lipstick.”

  Her new friend opened her glittery gold clutch and took out a tube. “You can borrow mine. Just wipe it off with a tissue and use your finger.” An ass
essing look. “I think the color would suit.”

  “Oh, thanks.” She took a seat beside the girl . . . and noticed the bite mark on her neck. Two tiny circles, along with a nicely developing bruise. “You already donated tonight,” she said with a smile, while taking a tissue from the dispenser.

  “Oh, I’m with Rupert.” The woman sighed, hazel eyes dreamy. “He’s so nice to me. Look.” She wiggled her fingers to draw attention to the large rock on her index finger.

  Well, at least she had protection. “That’s some ring.” Ashwini took the hand, examined the jewelry. “He must really be into you.”

  “He is.” A bright smile. “Just like that vamp you came in with is into you.” The brunette waved a hand in front of her face. “God, talk about cute.”

  Ashwini didn’t think Janvier was cute—he was too sexy to be cute—but she went with it. “Yeah, he’s not bad,” she said with a grin that implied all sorts of things.

  The other woman squeaked. “Oh, that’s so hot. Rupert and I haven’t, you know, because he’s old-fashioned, but I’m hoping tonight . . .”

  Ashwini decided she might like this vampire named Rupert. “That’s nice,” she said. “That he cares enough about you to wait.”

  “He really does.”

  Having stroked on the lipstick with her finger, she wiped the tube again and gave it back. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Are you guys regulars here?”

  “We come once or twice a week,” the girl said, putting her things into her clutch. “Did you want to meet up? We can exchange numbers. I’m Lacey, by the way.”

  “Ash.” She took Lacey’s number because contacts were contacts—and because she liked the sweet brunette. “I’ll call you if we come back this way, but I was wondering if you knew another donor.”

  “Oh, who?”

  Ashwini decided against flashing the image she’d sent to her own phone from Janvier’s during the drive. It was obviously not of a living person and this investigation was all about subtlety. “I’m asking for a friend who’s a vamp. They had the one-night thing, you know.”