Blacque-Bleu

by Belinda McBride

  “April came to me a few days ago. She told me Yves might have had her followed. She warned me, Bleu. If she’s involved, she doesn’t want to be.” His face was stiff and cold, but his voice gave Bleu some hope.

  Still, he slid to the floor and sat on the chilly tile. Yves was here, just minutes away. He certainly had Dane and Drusilla, and possibly April as well.

  “Mallory spoke for Yves. I wonder how long he’s been in his pay.”

  “Your Mallory will probably not live through this. Though Yves freely uses informants, he despises those who are unfaithful.”

  “Saves me the trouble of killing him, then.” Blacque stalked into his bedroom. When Bleu roused himself to follow, the wolf was dressing.

  “No, Blacque. This is my problem. It’s taken too many years of my life and hurt too many of my loved ones. I have to be the one to end it.”

  “He’s got my family, Bleu.” He pulled a ragged sleeveless shirt over his head. His muscles bulged, and for the first time, Bleu realized his arms were probably too bulky to fit the sleeves of most average shirts. That was why he had all those sleeveless work shirts. Numbly Bleu dressed, watching the wolf.

  “Blacque, I don’t know what we’re walking into. I don’t know how strong he is or how many people he’s got with him.” Bleu sat on the bed to pull on his boots. “I can move faster than you. I don’t want to hang back and wait.”

  “We’re taking my truck. You aren’t going alone.” He slipped his feet into tennis shoes instead of his normal steel toes. He was dressing to shift. He could slip out of the shoes on the fly.

  “Blacque, I can’t risk you. I’ll go to him, and he’ll free your family. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  “You are not going with him!”

  Blacque’s rage was like a hot wind whipping through the room, prickling and biting at his skin. He paced, glaring down at Bleu. “I said you were mine. I’m a wolf, Bleu! I’ve chosen, and I will not… I cannot let you go with him!”

  Bleu sat unmoving, not willing to risk enraging Blacque again. In this state, he’d charge in blinded by fury. He watched as the wolf paced, slowly bringing himself back under control.

  “How strong is he, Bleu? Really?” He turned, his eyes burning like fire.

  Bleu looked away. “I only know that he’s become strong enough to be killing me from half a world away.”

  “The dreams?” Blacque froze, looking at him in horror.

  “I doubt he even realizes what he’s been doing. For years they’ve come to me during my day sleep. In just the past few days, I’ve been free of the dreams. Just before the phone rang, I had awakened from a nightmare.”

  The fear did not fade from Blacque’s eyes. “Because he’s here, in the same time zone.”

  Miserably Bleu nodded. The dreams had ceased just after April’s arrival. It couldn’t be coincidence. “The dreams were so…obsessive. They seemed fixated on my face, on turning me. When I dreamed of Yves, the images were strangely idyllic, yet they terrified me.”

  “You were experiencing his memories. His memories were your nightmares.”

  Bleu rose and faced the wolf. “You see, Blacque? If he can manipulate my mind from halfway across the world, what will he do to me when we’re face-to-face? Like you, I know I don’t have the strength of my…alpha.”

  Blacque reached out and gripped his forearm. “You have me.”

  Sadly he shook his head. “I will submit to him. And then I will escape, just as April did. I will return to you.”

  “What about Dru and my father?” He gripped Bleu’s arm even tighter.

  “Yves is insane, but he’s got honor. He was an officer and a gentleman back when that term actually meant something. He said if I came to him, he’d release your family.”

  “What about April?”

  Bleu closed his eyes against the grief that swamped him. “I doubt that she still lives. If she does, he will not release her. He’ll want to keep us both. She’s his gift to me.”

  He pulled his arm loose. “Go to your father’s house, Blacque. Be with your pack. They need you.” That was the key to maneuvering Blacque out of the way. Duty. The same damn sense of duty that had pulled them apart in the beginning. Bleu used it ruthlessly. “Until your father returns, you are the pack alpha. You cannot leave them adrift.”

  “Michella—”

  “I heard her; she sounded terrified. She’s strong, but not enough to hold them together. Now go to your people, Blacque. Let me tend to my responsibilities.”

  The wolf clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck flexed. He fisted his hand, and Bleu got a peek at the lethal claws his pup could call forth at will. Finally Blacque gave a jerky nod of agreement. His control was hanging by a thread.

  “If I haven’t heard from you by dawn, I’ll come for you.”

  “Your family will be back by then, Blacque. I promise.”

  “But not you?”

  Bleu smiled and stepped close to Blacque, then clasped the back of his head. He leaned in and kissed him lightly. “I’ll do my best to come back to you, Blacque. As soon as possible.” He pulled away, trying to put space between them. With unearthly speed, Blacque caught his arm, slammed him against the wall, and pressed his body close. There was no arousal to interfere with clear thinking. Their passion was crystal clear, uninhibited by lust.

  “You are mine, Bleu.” Blacque kissed him fiercely, his tongue pushing past lips and teeth, thrusting with an aggression that had been foreign to his behavior until now. Bleu went submissive, letting the wolf ravage him with his fear and his grief. His hands kept Bleu caged against the wall. He branded Oliver with his lips and his hands and with his body.

  “Mine.”

  “I’m yours, Lukas. My heart is yours.” He looked into Blacque’s eyes, watching as the heat and anger faded into something poignant and deep. “I love you, Blacque. With all that I am.”

  He was caught in a crushing embrace, and for an endless moment, Bleu let himself be loved by the most selfless creature he’d ever known in his long life. He wrapped his arms around the wolf, and they simply stood, their bodies entwined as completely as their souls.

  All too soon, Blacque pulled away, setting him free.

  “Be safe, Oliver.” He stood to the side and watched as Bleu left the room.

  Bleu couldn’t resist one final look over his shoulder. He grinned. “Be back soon.” He turned away and headed out into the darkness. In a heartbeat, he was in the forest, moving with the speed only a vampire could summon. The cold wind in his face froze the tears before they could fall from his eyes.

  The meadow was still foul with blood. The snow had been churned up, and silence lay heavy over the clearing. Dane hadn’t had a chance to call in help to get the site cleaned up. Briefly Bleu wondered if a witch could have given him an edge on Yves.

  He knew the vampire was nearby. His power floated through the air as though it were something tangible. Pain slashed through his head, overlaid with a vivid image of a beautiful boy, ebony hair hanging over his pale forehead. He was looking up with such love in his eyes…

  Yves was thinking of those early days, when Bleu had been flush with his infatuation. He pushed the image away, replacing it with one of Yves tearing the throat out of a young prostitute. He channeled the horror of seeing his lover dangling a youth from his hand, blood running down his face and arm.

  The boy had looked just like Oliver.

  The blanket of Yves’ power faltered. Bleu grinned. The bastard could dish it out but wasn’t too happy when retaliation came his way.

  “Oliver.” The voice came like a whisper inside his mind. It throbbed with such joy at his presence. The voice held such gratitude that his lover had finally come. Bleu looked around, knowing he had to be close.

  “Oliver.” The voice came to his ears, and without thinking, Bleu flexed his legs, jumping lightly into the lower branches of a giant fir tree. From there he saw the prone form of Dane. He was bound with a silver chain, and the win
d told him the alpha was bleeding. He caught the sent of freshly spilled blood. Drusilla. If she still lived, she’d be similarly bound.

  He pushed from the tree and landed in the snow, then stepped over the cooling body of the wolf Mallory. Bleu had no doubt the man’s payment was folded neatly inside his wallet. As a gentleman, Yves would never break his word. Of course he probably had promised Mallory payment, but not that he’d live to walk away and spend it.

  He scented the air again, searching for April, but like their maker, her scent was masked. Automatically he whipped around and looked downwind.

  “Yves. I’ve come back to you.” Yves had been forced to travel from France in order for Bleu to “return” to him, but that made no difference; Yves’ throbbing power blanketed him once again, lush with joy. Oliver gasped, nearly losing his balance. For just a moment, he felt an answering joy in his heart. His eyes filled with tears, and his groin filled with blood.

  More of Yves’ emotions. He wondered if the vampire was using his power intentionally, or if he was simply caught in the perfect storm of his maker’s wild magic.

  “Yves.” His voice was full of false love and feigned hope. “Please show yourself to me.”

  He turned slowly, looking in all directions. A glint of light caught his eye, and Bleu froze, watching as his maker moved so smoothly over the bloody snow that he very nearly levitated.

  The full moon illuminated the meadow, painting it in shades of purple and lavender and gray. Except for the stench of blood, there was a macabre beauty to the scene.

  Yves approached. The body of Bleu’s great-granddaughter dangled from his hand. She was broken and limp, black blood dripping from the tips of her fingers. She’d fought him and had fallen to this creature that Bleu had once loved.

  He carelessly tossed her to the side, and while Bleu was desperate to reach her, he remained in place, determined to play the part he’d assigned himself.

  He wouldn’t return to France with Yves. The idea was repugnant. But Bleu looked at his maker and knew that Yves wouldn’t return either. He felt the cold intent of the killer settle over his heart. That muscle grew cold and hard in his chest as he studied the stunningly beautiful visage of Yves Artois. He’d changed so little over the years. His aristocratic face was just as finely etched. His elegant body was carried as proudly as ever. His white dress shirt was spattered with blood. A few droplets had smeared along his high cheekbone. He reached up and ran a bloody hand through his dark blond hair, as expertly cut as it had been nearly one hundred years ago.

  “Oliver.”

  He reached out an elegant, long-fingered hand, and memories of that hand stroking his naked skin flooded Bleu’s mind. His breath caught painfully in his chest as long-ago sights and sounds came back in a rush. Endless nights spent in Yves’ elegant flat. Hours making love with the windows thrown open. He recalled soaking in a gigantic tub, one man at either side of the bath, their long legs tangled and stroking. Yves threw back his head and laughed in sensual delight.

  The back of a hand to his face when he questioned the blood on Yves’ uniform…

  Laughter as they danced to the little band in the sleazy nightclub that catered to men of particular tastes…smuggled champagne and forbidden delights under the cover of darkness and a tablecloth…

  Yves’ face, eyes dancing with cruel hunger as he bent to drain the life from Oliver…

  Bleu’s memories were sharp and astringent, allowing him to free his mind.

  “Yves. What have you done to my friends? My great-granddaughter?” He took a deep breath, fighting for composure, fighting to crush the horror washing through his gut. Yves looked about, appearing confused.

  “I smell only wolves, Oliver. April…she lives. She will accompany us home to France, my love.” Again, a push of sweet nostalgia, of joy and love. Bleu countered it with images from his memory, forcing a confused frown to Yves’ face.

  “Why are you angry, Oliver?”

  “You turned me, Yves. I did not want this life.” He stood still and quiet, letting the other vampire absorb his words.

  “April said something similar.”

  “She did not wish to be a vampire either. Neither of us is well suited to this life.” He glanced in her direction, but she was still and silent, her body too loose to be feigning unconsciousness.

  “She said I did wrong by turning you.”

  Finally Bleu let out a breath, taking advantage of Yves’ momentary lucidity. What had happened to bring his maker to this point of insanity? Was he simply too old? Too battered by the decades—perhaps centuries—of turmoil he’d survived?

  “My end was horrible, Yves. I saw my friends blown to pieces right next to me. I saw them choking and dying horrific deaths in the mud of the trenches. I watched my own flesh eaten away while I lived.” He looked calmly at Yves. “I earned my death, Yves. Not as punishment, but reward. I didn’t deserve these endless years of memory.”

  To his surprise, the other vampire’s eyes filled with tears. Yves reached up and touched his cheeks as though unable to comprehend his own emotion. He blinked, and as Bleu watched, sanity fled from those expressive gray eyes.

  “We are reunited in death, Oliver. I have a place in the mountains, right at the border of France and Spain. It is so lovely. We will be so happy.”

  “Will you let my friends loose? I will go with you only if you free them.” He moved a bit closer, hoping to keep Yves talking. He had no false hopes. He was reeling under the elder vampire’s power. Every time he cleared his mind, Yves pushed his way back in.

  “You have no friends. Only wolves.”

  “Yves, you told them that if I came to you, you would free the alpha and his daughter.”

  Sudden cunning flared in Yves’ face. Anger made him pale and feral-looking.

  “You stink of wolf. He claimed you as his own.”

  Bleu had to fight to hide the dismay that swept through him. Yves had been hiding, watching the challenge. He knew about Blacque.

  “Those were his words, Yves, but they are not my words.”

  The vampire drew closer; the nostrils of his aquiline nose flared. “You stink of his seed. You have taken another with your body. You came to me from his bed!”

  Just like that, Yves struck, throwing Bleu backward with what felt like the force of a train. Over the years he’d fought many other vampires, but he’d had his strength then, and none were a match for the insane fury of his maker. Bleu shut his mind as best he could and leaped into the air, barely dodging the next charge. He clasped his ribs, feeling broken bones knitting themselves back together, and he was suddenly, profoundly grateful that he’d taken blood from Blacque.

  Yves rushed him. Ironlike fingers sank into his flesh; razor-sharp fangs struck at kill zones. Bleu ducked and rolled, bringing Yves to the ground for a moment. He didn’t bother with nerve grips; the other man’s insanity deadened him to pain. He heard the vampire gasp as the air was forced from his lungs. Bleu rolled away and once again regained his footing. He panted, doubled over with pain.

  He had to use his brain. He couldn’t defeat Yves with his body. He spared a glance around, looking for weapons, desperately racking his mind for any trick that might work. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Was it April? His heart began to pound.

  Yves launched himself, covering yards with a single leap, and Bleu took a blow to the shoulder as he caught the slashing hand and twisted it hard enough to snap it. Yves landed with a howl of pain and anger.

  Bleu crouched, opening his senses, feeling stealthy movement all around him.

  Wolves. Dozens of them.

  He needed to keep Yves distracted, off balance. Bleu began to walk backward, moving back out into the blood-soaked snow at the center of the clearing. That would mask the scent of the wolves. His foot caught a branch, and he went down, unable to avoid the coming attack. Yves straddled him and clasped his forearms, bearing down hard enough to make Bleu certain the bones in his arms would shatter. It was a ni
ghtmarish replay of the last few moments of his human life. This time there was no love in Yves’ expression, only rage and the fury of a man betrayed.

  Before those wicked fangs found their mark, a gray blur whipped through Bleu’s line of vision, struck Yves, and threw him from his body. Another streak and then another, never engaging, worrying the vampire as a boxer baits a bull. The vampire’s attention was torn from Bleu, though he scrambled to stay in possession of his prize.

  He screamed, lunging at one wolf and then another, some blows going wild, others striking home. Through the noise and confusion, a tall figure emerged in the meadow. Blacque was there, striding steadily, a half dozen wolves following at his heels. He watched as the vampire struggled with the fury of the pack. Bleu staggered to his feet, taking a moment to glare at his lover through the chaos of the battle. It was then that Yves broke away and came at Bleu with death in his eyes. He caught Yves’ weight in the chest, not resisting but rolling with the blow. They plowed through the foul snow, half blinded by ice and blood and dirt. They rolled and grappled. Bleu slashed with his fangs, opening great tears in Yves’ chest and throat, then finally in his beautiful face. Blood poured over him, making his grip slippery and unsure.

  Yves shrieked. The sound was so feral, so deafening that Bleu was certain any remaining wildlife would flee the area forever. He braced the other vampire’s body above his, using arms and legs to hold him away from his vulnerable throat. He groaned with the effort, feeling the muscles of his arms and legs begin to tremble. He had seconds, just seconds to win this fight…

  A flash of silver came from nowhere and wrapped around Yves’ naked throat, snapping him backward like a dog on a choke chain. His hands flew up, and once again he screamed. The cry broke off, and a fist burst through his chest. In horror, Bleu watched as a pair of powerful hands grabbed and twisted Yves’ head until his neck broke with a sickening crack.