by Eve Langlais
She looked down. Noticed his feet didn’t touch the floor. He levitated, and yet she wouldn’t let that intimidate her. She held the upper hand since she literally had him by the throat. “Who are you?” Other than delicious looking.
The stranger had a deep tan to his skin, the kind she’d wager didn’t come from baking in the sun. His complexion went well with his dark hair and short, pointed beard. He wore a jewel-toned button shirt, slightly open at the neck. It clung to broad shoulders. A lovely hint of cinnamon spiced his scent. It didn’t take her seeing the flashing spark of green in his eyes to guess who she’d caught. But she still asked. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”
He answered only the first question. “I am Tariq.” No last name, no need of one, given his kind were almost extinct. “And you are the vampire queen. Felicia Dupuy. We meet at last.”
“Speaking of meeting, you’re early. I wasn’t expecting you and the other djinn until tonight.”
“We agreed on seven.”
“P.M.”
“Was it?” A hint of a smirk hovered around his lips.
He darned well knew it was seven p.m. yet thought he could play games. “I assume it was you pounding at this ungodly hour.”
“Ungodly only to believers in those deities. Personally, I tend to worship myself.” He winked, long, thick lashes over intense eyes.
How dare he be wickedly delicious looking? The scent of him entranced. Her mouth watered. How long since her last Persian meal? Judging by the interest stirring in her body, too long
“How did you get past the defense wards?”
“You had wards?” He blinked, but he totally missed looking innocent. On the contrary, the wickedness in his gaze lit the spot between her legs.
She fought his allure. “Yes, I had wards. Damn it. The warlock who sold them to me swore they’d work.”
He smiled. “I’d ask for my money back.”
“I will.” With blood interest.
“Were you planning to massage my neck all day?” he asked.
She looked at her hand, small and contrasting against his thick neck. She squeezed a little tighter and angled the sword she still held so that the tip pointed at his face. “You broke into my house and invaded my bedchamber.”
“I broke nothing.” His lip curled with mischief. “But I can’t deny I am in your room.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re in it. How else was I supposed to meet you?”
“By showing up at your appointed time.”
His smile widened. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Where are your companions?” The note had implied there would be more than one seeking her audience. A group of djinn. The mysteries she could unravel with one visit. Not much was known about the reclusive race. They kept to themselves. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d heard of one making an appearance.
“They’ll be along later today. They stuck to more conventional methods of travel.”
“You should follow their example.” She finally released him and tucked her hand behind her back. Because now that she had touched his skin, she wanted to keep on touching. No one had warned her a djinn would ooze sex appeal.
He drifted down until his feet touched the ground and took a step away from the bed, but only so he could better appraise her, it appeared. His gaze raked her head to foot, taking in every inch.
Let him. He wouldn’t see much. Harkening to a simpler past, she wore a white cotton gown. Neck to ankle, nothing revealing about it.
“Sexy,” he growled.
“You’ve been in your bottle too long,” was her quick retort. How would he react to the insult?
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he laughed. “Quick-witted as well as beautiful.”
“And you’re a flirt. Judging by the request I received, I assumed our meeting would be serious.”
“It is very serious. Life and death, you might even say.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Not to you. I come to you as a supplicant in need of aid.” Said by a man who held himself tall and arrogant.
“Or you’re pulling a Trojan horse.”
“What reason would I have to go to war with the vampires?”
“You tell me. You are the one who messaged me out of the blue. Who asked for sanctuary.” An ancient request she’d not heard in centuries.
His gaze darkened. “I wouldn’t have asked if the need wasn’t great.”
“Why?”
“Such impatience. You’ll find out soon when I arrive with my companions.”
“Arrive? But you’re already here.”
“I can’t stay. I must return to my travel mates. But first, a kiss for luck.”
“Excuse me? I don’t—”
The firm press of his lips against hers happened before she finished the sentence. How he’d gone from a few feet away to face to face, she didn’t know. But she felt it.
Felt the firm press of his mouth on hers. A tingling started in more than one place on her body. Before she could think to slap him for his impunity, he disappeared in a swirl of bluish-gray smoke.
What the hell just happened? She pressed her fingers to her lips.
Had she dreamt the whole thing? Felicia appeared to be wide-awake, but to make sure, she rewound the video footage for her room. Watched the whole thing from his sudden appearance—the kiss—to his departure.
It really did happen. She’d met her first djinn. Kissed her first djinn. Perhaps the next time she saw him, she’d feast on her first djinn. The nerve of him, treating her like a common trollop.
She couldn’t remember the last time that happened. The last time a kiss managed to wet her cleft…
Since sleep appeared determined to evade her, she wrapped a robe around herself and went to her home office. A flashing light caught her attention. Her cell phone beckoned from its charging stand.
A message at this stupidly early hour. Never a good sign.
She dialed into the voicemail and listened.
“Felicia.” Ella’s panicked voice came through the line. Her breathing frantic. “Oh my God. Where are you? I need you. Someone shot Zane!”
What? Felicia froze as she listened.
“He’s okay,” Ella rushed on to add, “but the person who shot us isn’t. Zane ate him.”
Probably to replenish what he’d lost. Not a surprise. Vampires weren’t the forgiving sort.
“Thing is, I’ve been chatting with the ghost of the shooter, and it turns out we weren’t some crime of circumstance. That demon thing that possessed me earlier sent him to kill Zane!”
“As part of a plot to get to you,” Zane interjected, his voice gravelly in the recording. “Which is why you need to give me that phone.”
Ella’s voice got softer as if she held the phone away from her ear. “I can’t give it to you. I’m talking to Felicia.”
“No, you’re talking to her voicemail. Hand it over. If we’re being tracked, then we need to rid ourselves of the technology that might be at fault.”
“Demons can’t hack GPS locations.”
“Do you know that for sure? Because I don’t,” he stated. “Hand it over.”
“But I love my phone.”
Felicia could imagine Ella hugging that stupid smartphone with its bedazzled pink cover. A present from Felicia who thought every woman should have pink jewels in their life.
“I’ll get you a new one.”
“But if I give it to you, how will Felicia call us back?”
“She won’t. We’ll contact her. Now hand it over.”
“Make me,” Ella said stubbornly, and probably still looking cute. “Zane! No. Eek!”
End of message.
Felicia frowned and replayed it. She didn’t learn anything new. Next, she tried calling both Ella’s and Zane’s phones. They went straight to voicemail. Another call placed to Zane’s home put her in touch with the very capable housekeeper.
Anna answered with a b
risk, “You’ve reached the Langley residence. How may I help you?”
“I need to talk to Zane or Ella.”
“I’m afraid the lord and lady are indisposed.”
“Are they at home?” Felicia asked, irritation growing.
“No.”
“You know who this is. So don’t mess with me. I need to contact them. It’s urgent.”
“Does Madame wish to leave a message?”
“No, what I want is for you to tell me where Zane and Ella are. They’re in need of my aid.”
“If they want you to know their location, then they’ll contact you.”
Click.
As loyalty went, Zane’s housekeeper was one of the best. A pity Felicia would have to kill her for being so insubordinate.
At least Felicia had some kind of assurance Zane and Ella were safe. Odd how she worried about their welfare. One might say she considered them friends. A queen usually eschewed those kinds of relationships, mostly because the majority of people she encountered only played nice that they might in turn use her. There was a certain cachet that came from being seen as in favor. But Zane…he’d never been interested in anything Felicia could give him. The only thing he ever asked for was help with Ella.
As for Ella…Felicia hated to admit it, but she liked her even as she sometimes wanted to throttle her. It fascinated her that Ella didn’t fawn over Felicia. Didn’t treat her like a queen at all. Anyone else would have lost their life for the temerity. But Ella was special, and powerful. If someone was targeting Zane in order to clear their way to grabbing Ella, then nefarious deeds were afoot.
And no one invited me.
Being the paranoid sort—which explained her longevity—she immediately wondered if whoever planned the ambush had designs on her throne. After all, she held one of the most esteemed positions in the supernatural underworld. Vampire Queen for North America, second in power only to the European King—who was older by a century and the winner of their wager; Marie Antoinette was indeed not wearing underpants at her execution.
Felicia’s wrong guess meant she abandoned Europe—on a wooden boat with the hold packed tight with her belongings and servants—to live in the wilds.
Best thing ever.
In a funny twist of fate, her ignoble demotion was the thing that ended up making her more powerful on the world stage. Not only did the United States of America become a force to be reckoned with, her court wasn’t mired in as many politics.
But that was only because she ruled with an iron fist.
Given Zane was one of her strongest, most loyal allies, harming him was, in fact, a blow against her throne. Was another vampire attempting a coup?
Except a vampire would have known a headshot required precision. Someone of Zane’s age had excellent restoration abilities. Short of removing his head, burning it and his body, then scattering the ashes, you’d be hard-pressed to kill him.
So probably not a vampire. But someone willing to risk a queen’s ire to get a hold of Ella. A cheerful woman with too much power at her fingertips. A sorceress who could cause a lot of damage if in the wrong hands.
Judging by the message, the attack was connected to Ella’s earlier possession. Why? Where did this new enemy sprout from?
She wondered if Zane kept the shooter’s body for evidence. She wouldn’t mind a sniff and bite to find her own set of clues. Ella might talk to spirits, but Felicia’s discerning palette could tell a lot, too. Associations with the wrong sort always left a flavor in the meat. Think of it as a marinade that was a little more complex than vinegars and spices.
Alas, Zane wasn’t available, the human snack she had brought to her room didn’t really satisfy, and sleep still eluded her. She paced, restless, wanting to do something.
Anything.
But she was stuck. It didn’t take a vampire’s special cognition to know that beyond her shaded windows the sun shone brightly. Driving around trying to avoid its laser-like rays wouldn’t accomplish much other than to irritate her.
Sitting around waiting for any kind of news irritated as well. She needed distraction.
For some reason, dancing green eyes and a pointed beard came to mind.
Tariq never did fully explain why he’d appeared early. For all his teasing, she knew what time the delegation was set to arrive. They’d been travelling for days now. First by boat, then by train. Which made no sense given he’d popped in and out of her place with no problem.
Yet, they’d chosen one of the most sluggish methods to travel. She had one of her servants watching over the djinn as they made their way from the port in San Francisco cross country to her modest castle.
If by modest you considered sixteen bedrooms, twenty-one full bathrooms, a ballroom, three dining rooms, a conservatory, and her own theatre big enough to seat one hundred modest. Compared to the vampire king of the European states, she was living in a mere cottage. How she envied Raymond his authentic stone castle in the Swiss Alps.
Thinking of accommodations reminded her… She dialed the wizard who’d set the spell on her house.
The moment he answered, she said very calmly, “Puffbans Emporium of Magic, your spell failed.”
“Impossible,” he sputtered.
“A djinn not only made it past your wards but into my bedchamber.”
“A genie? I thought they were extinct.”
Since she could still smell the spice of him, she begged to disagree. “Not extinct, merely not interested in humankind. And he made it past the wards with ease.”
“An anomaly.”
“Was the evil spirit who possessed a guest of mine also an anomaly?”
“Are you actually claiming demonic possession?” The wizard snorted. “Please. Demons don’t exist. They’re a hoax meant to scare the religious into following the doctrines of churches.”
Actually, demons did exist. They were just kind of useless. Mostly they worked security and were considered expendable. Funny how the legends had them painted as big and bad. “I never said it was a demon.”
“Probably just a mere ghost then. I warned you the spells wouldn’t stop them, and you were fine with that.”
“Ghosts, yes. This was something else.”
“Says you. Perhaps you are mistaken?”
She paused a moment. “Mistaken?” The word curled dangerously. “You will return the fee with interest unless you wish to have your blood used to power the new wards I’ll have made.”
“I will return your wretched money. Djinn and demons indeed.”
Hanging up, Felicia tapped her chin. The human had given her food for thought. Demonic possession. Could it be? The ancient texts spoke of it happening. The demons of today might find themselves diluted, but what if a strong one existed? A demon more like the stories of old. A killing machine with the power to jump into a body.
Worrisome. Ella had a lot of potential power that wouldn’t be good if controlled by the wrong parties.
Tapping her nails on her desk, Felicia fired off some messages. The first to her keeper of the archives. Send me everything we have on demons.
The second note went to her aesthetician. I need a wax. Because she couldn’t rid her mind of those sexy green eyes and that smile. But what she could get rid of was the hair on her legs and mound.
When it came to arming herself, Felicia knew not all battles should be fought with fang and sword. Sometimes, the weapon between her legs was the mightiest of all.
Four
The pleasure almost wasn’t worth the fatigue. The journey to visit their hostess had taxed his magical reserves, and yet Tariq didn’t feel he had a choice. How else to ensure their final destination would provide a safe haven?
Then again, there was no other valid option for sanctuary. The humans wouldn’t provide succour to one of his ilk. More likely they’d try and dissect him, or have him accomplish impossible wishes, the kind that killed a djinn who expended all his magic.
Greedy humans.
Now more than ev
er he wanted to return to his bottle. Enjoy a few centuries of solitude with nothing but the classics playing and his books. Alas, he couldn’t relax. Not until a certain crisis was averted.
His departure and return to the train went unnoticed by his companions, which disturbed him. Had they learned nothing yet of being vigilant? Apparently not, for his mates drowsed. He could understand the temptation. The lulling motion of the train could put anyone to sleep. Especially since the boredom was very real.
Two days now they’d been riding the rails across America. Big place, the USA. He’d not expected such size. Was it any wonder Tariq got impatient and popped ahead for a peek?
Probably better his travel mates remained unaware of his jaunt. They would chide him if they saw how he wasted his magic. And yes, they’d call it waste. They guarded theirs close. Hoarding every last bit.
As if that would do them any good. Now was the time for them to be bold. To act. Too long had they spent simply existing, apart from the world.
Who could blame them? For so long, the djinn had been slaves to the humans. All because their damned cousin became friends with that little thief, Aladdin. To think he’d had movies made about him. Made it seem like djinn granting wishes for humans was a good thing.
It wasn’t. Ironic how the stories omitted the part where Aladdin’s djinn had his magic stripped and was exiled to the Arctic. He didn’t fare so well with the wildlife. When Tariq was young, his uncle told him that when the polar bears passed wind, the remnants of djinn magic colored the skies over the north. Ignorant scientists called it the aurora borealis.
Djinn called it polar farts. Which was funny, and yet the tale of the thief and the djinn was a warning to them all. Don’t get caught and used by humans. The entire incident was also the reason they’d created new djinn laws that basically outlawed the giving of wishes. If the leprechauns could keep their gold and turn aside those following the rainbow, then the djinn could stop playing slave to humanity’s whims.
Now his kind used magic for themselves.
See where this was going?
With no one to serve and no one to hold them accountable, the djinn grew lazy and complacent. The life of leisure and peace had that effect. Their birth rates, already low, dropped further. Their numbers dwindled. Their magic weakened from lack of true use. The last battle djinn—once a coveted role that required centuries of training—had died and with him the rantings of a time before this one. A time when they had to fight to survive.