She blinked slowly, disbelieving. “You can pretend it isn’t bothering you all you like, but I know you better than you think.” She paused and damn her, she was right. “You can see who the person is now, can’t you? The person you find all bloodied up in your dream?”
He nodded. Since she’d found him near Fort Point after the massacre, he’d had the same nightmare. Sure, there were years where they’d fade and he’d dream of nothing. But when the nightmares did resurface, the details were often blurred. They were always the same. The ominous feeling in his gut, the dank and rotten smells in the chamber, and the wormhole suction that pulled him into the nightmare from the beginning.
Recently, though—since he’d met Eve, actually—details became clear. First, he could see the chamber with increasing clarity. The brick and stone walls, the dusty floor, the dimly lit lights on the ceiling. Then he could see a body at his feet. Female, seductive, and much too young, with no recognizable features.
Once he and Eve became intimate, once she’d invited him into her bed, the nightmares resurfaced with a vengeance. Emotions like bloodlust and greed attached to them, creating a whole new twisted dimension to their relationship.
“So who is it?” Lowering her gaze, Dylan casually swiped a finger around the lip of her mug.
Ignoring the abnormally loud pounding of his heart, Ruan spun around and dug through the filing cabinet behind him. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but anything was better than the conversation they were having. Why wouldn’t she drop it? He pulled out a stuffed manila folder, flattening it on his desk.
Dylan was too still. He could sense her hesitation and feel the obvious question lingering in the air between them. Gods below, was he holding his breath? His chest felt too tight from built up pressure. Like it was about to implode. Ruan stopped sifting through vampire tracking records and met her eyes.
She swallowed hard. “It’s Eve, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he croaked.
“Holy hell.”
The clock behind him clicked over to six as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. “I know.”
She put her coffee cup down on his desk and hugged her knees tighter. “Have you told her?”
He slapped the manila folder onto the desk and shoved it away from him. “What am I supposed to say?” He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “That every night when I close my eyes, I kill her?” Yeah, that’d go over real well.
Dylan rocketed off her chair, her eyes wide. “You kill her? You never said anything about killing her. I thought, I guess, I . . . I thought the person on the floor kind of—”
“What?” he fired, blood flashing lightning quick through his veins. “You thought the woman died of natural causes?”
Her gaze skipped around the room. “I don’t know, I guess I figured you stumbled across a dead body or something. That they were already gone.” She exhaled heavily, pacing from one side of the cramped office to the other, her hands firmly planted on her hips. “How clear can you see it?”
“Can we talk about something else?” Ruan snatched the manila folder again and thumbed through the pages, scanning over lists of hundreds of vampires who had been having trouble controlling their bloodlusting urges this year.
“Where are you when it happens?”
He huffed through tight lips. “We’re not going there.”
“Come on,” Dylan pushed, going palms-down on the desk. “How does it happen? Can you see that much? Do you drain her?”
“Damn it!” Ruan pounded his fists on the desk, silencing her. “Please, Dylan.”
Son of Hades, why wasn’t there a UV blocking window in this office? He’d kill for some fresh air right now instead of this dank, thin, pathetic excuse for air that his lungs suddenly couldn’t process. “I should probably get back to work.” God, why wouldn’t she drop this and let him be. “You and Slade come up with anything while I was out?”
Dylan stood board-straight, twisted her lips, and stared directly at him. Could she see the burden he was bearing? “You have to deal with what’s happening sooner or later,” she said finally. “And if Eve’s involved, it better be sooner.”
Ruan nodded, swallowing sandpaper. “I won’t hurt her, Dylan.”
Dylan circled the desk, then planted her behind on the corner. She leaned over, cupped his cheek, and gazed into his eyes. Six months ago his insides would’ve flipped at her caress. Now all he could think about was Eve and keeping her away from this mess. It was crucial to keep his work at ReVamp with the scrolls and their relationship completely separate.
He should never have brought her into all this. He should’ve watched her from a distance. Loved her from afar. She didn’t deserve this life. She deserved the best. Right now, that wasn’t him.
“You are one of the most sincere vamps I know,” Dylan said, her words falling on deaf ears. “But these recurring dreams are beyond your control. I really believe this has to be some sort of sign from the Ever After. Don’t you feel it? Your dreams, no matter how dark they are, are trying to tell you something. Maybe you should give in to them a little bit and listen.”
“Well, shit,” he said, jerking his face out of her hand. “You’d rather I embrace the dream that has me killing the love of my life and the pure blood source of the race. That should turn out great. And hey, while I’m fuck-buddies with Satan, why don’t I get into cahoots with whoever’s killing these elders and hunt one down myself?”
Wincing, she recoiled at his tone, his words.
“Damn it, I didn’t mean . . .” He reached out for her shoulder and shook his head. “Dylan, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” She was at the door in a heartflicker, her eyes shadowed over, her complexion pale. “It’s fine.”
He dropped his hand.
If things were fine, he wouldn’t be having these nightmares, and elders wouldn’t be hunted for their death shades, their mawares used against them.
Wait . . .
Tracking down an elder would be much too difficult, especially since they’ve probably tunneled further underground to escape whatever evil was killing them for their shades. But over the course of his hundred years, he’d heard rumors of a therian-run black market—one that had its fingers in all kinds of dirty business in Crimson Bay, including the kidnapping and selling of elders for their mawares.
Even though the market wasn’t around anymore, someone had to have information about how those corrupt shifters got their hands on so many elders for so many years. Someone must still have the skills to track them down or know something about how to find one.
That’s all he’d need.
Elders were the only ones who knew how to read the lost tongue, Valcish, the language of the scrolls. Even if an elder didn’t know every aspect of the ancient language, they’d know more than anyone else. More than he did.
Ruan spun around the desk and planted a kiss on Dylan’s cheek before she could react. “You’re brilliant.”
She smiled, her blue eyes glistening. “Not that I’d argue with that, but what’d I do this time?”
“I could spend years trying to decipher these pages and still mistranslate them. I’m going to try to track down an elder and ask them to decipher the scrolls.” He grabbed his coat, shoved his arms into the sleeves, and double-checked the clock. Ten minutes past sundown. Perfect. “This is the quickest way we’re going to figure all this out.”
He snatched the vampire tracking record off his desk and scanned through the list, his gaze finally coming to rest on a bloodlusting son of a bitch who had a penchant for hanging out with other misfit criminals—the exact group of vamps Ruan needed right now. He folded up the paper, shoving it into his pants pocket. He pushed through the office door and stormed into the lab, nodding to Slade, who was at his desk in the middle of the room, helping two young females fill out ReVamp’s standard paperwork.
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br /> “Okay, now you’re delirious,” Dylan said, color returning to her cheeks. “Elders have gone underground. You’re not going to be able to find one with a snap of your fingers.”
“I’m going to find someone who has the answers. I don’t care how many people I have to question or how long it takes me. I’ll find an elder one way or another.”
“Even if you do manage to track one down, what makes you think they’re going to translate Valcish for us, just because we ask them to?” Dylan remained at his office door, arms folded. “They’re not too keen on handing over that kind of knowledge.”
He turned back, fangs dropping into place. “Wasn’t it you who said I should give into the dark nature of my dreams?”
“Sounds like this mission’s right up my alley,” someone growled from behind him. He expected it to be Slade, eavesdropping on their conversation like he always did. When he glared over his shoulder, though, he spotted Dante, head to toe in black leather, a sinister grin curling the corners of his mouth.
“Where we headed?” Dante asked, opening the flaps of his leather trench coat, exposing the weapons on his belt.
Slade piped up from his desk, his usual welcome tone unmasked. “Who’s this sucker? And why’s he armed with slingshots?”
“I’m Dante,” he fired back, voice thick as gristle. “I’d hardly call these slingshots.” He moved into the lab, patting his Glock and stood near a white table behind Slade.
Growling, Slade spun round in his chair.
“Cool it, Slade,” Ruan said, moving between Tweedle Dee and Dum. “He’s my trainee. And he used to work for Eve at CBU.” Ruan rolled his eyes as Slade readied his mouth to fire. “Don’t ask,” he said, stopping the verbal attack short. “Dante was just leaving.”
Dante squared his shoulders, facing Ruan, as Slade returned to helping the two females with their ReVamp questionnaire. “I’m only leaving if you are.” Dante’s eyes shifted around the room, setting on Dylan as she walked to the industrial-sized refrigeration system in back. “You were right about what you said earlier and I want to help.”
Slade chuckled, low and husky. “Well ain’t that sweet,” he mumbled under his breath.
Dylan emerged from the walk-in refrigerator with two bags of AB for the blonde clients Slade had been prepping. “Ruan, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get anywhere near an elder—especially right now, with what’s going on at the haven and the Crimson Council. There has to be another way.”
“He’s right, Dylan,” Slade interjected as he entered the girls’ completed information into ReVamp’s database. “We’re running out of time.”
Ruan sighed. He knew the possessive sucker was listening in on their conversation in the office. Step one, paint his hideous office walls a puke-less shade. Step two, heavy-duty insulate.
As Dylan passed between the men and handed the seated girls packs of chilled nourishment, Dante extended his hand. “Dylan, as in, the owner of this place? Your reputation precedes you.”
She smiled, lighting up the room. “Thanks. ReVamp has come a long way from its humble beginnings, that’s for sure. The place is dead right now, but it really gets hopping around midnight. You should see it sometime.” She placed her hand in Dante’s, but instead of shaking it, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. The tap-tap-tapping of Slade’s fingers silenced as he spun around and shot Dante death glares from beneath his heavy brow.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Dante released her hand.
“Any friend of Ruan’s is a friend of ours.” Dylan slid beside Slade and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, though Ruan wasn’t sure if it was her usual loving gesture or a motion to keep Slade from leaping up and connecting Dante’s grin from ear to ear. “Right, Slade?”
He smirked, as close to an agreement as Dylan was going to get, then swiveled back to finish tending to the female newborns who were sipping greedily on the AB packs.
Chuckling, Ruan strode toward the lobby. It was nice to see Slade’s anger directed at someone else for a change. “Come on, Dante, I’ll walk you out.”
Dante followed Ruan outside—smart move, given that Dylan wouldn’t be able to hold Slade back if he really wanted to do some damage.
Night had just fallen, dragging the three-quarter moon into the sky. Thick plumes of mist dusted their leather trench coats. The air was chillier than normal, promising a frigid-ass night. People bustled about, fumbling with umbrellas, hailing taxis, heading home from work. Thanks to the maware protecting ReVamp from unwanted mundane attention, the enormous gothic building went unnoticed. Passersby simply thought the place was rundown, closed up and vacant.
“What’s the plan?” Dante asked, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
Ruan should’ve told him to hit the road, but damn it, he might be able to use Dante’s abilities if he started questioning the wrong people. He pulled the vampire tracking record out of his pocket and unfolded it. He pointed to a warehouse on the Embarcadero near the Bay Bridge. “Here.”
Dante’s eyebrows pinched. “You looking to buy an elder?”
Ruan’s gaze snapped up. “No, I’m going to talk to a vamp named Juan Carlos. This was his last known residence, and if I remember right, there was a rumor floating around that he worked for the therians who used to run the elder black market.”
“He still works there.” Dante said nonchalantly. “But he’s no vamp. He’s therian. A shifter through and through.”
“What do you mean, he still works there?” Ruan faced him. “The elder black market’s been closed at least a hundred years. We would’ve heard something if therians had started it up again.”
“I’m telling you, he still works there. He lives in the upstairs part of the warehouse and oversees all the workings. Therians thought it’d attract less attention if it took place out of his home.”
“You just said he’s therian.” Dante wasn’t making a lick of sense. “Why would ReVamp have his drinking preferences on file like he’s a vamp who’s sought services before?”
“Maybe that’s the easiest way to keep enemies off his tail. You wouldn’t exactly go barging into the home of one of your own, would you?” Dante shrugged nonchalantly. “Wouldn’t take much of a disguise. Anyhow, if it’s a vampire elder you want, hitting up Juan Carlos’s place is your best bet.” He pointed to the warehouse in question on the Embarcadero. “Elders are just too hard to track independently right now.”
How the hell did he know all this?
Before Ruan could rapid-fire questions about Dante’s past, he continued. “I hope you realize that even though no one will ask what your plans are for your elder purchase, therians are everywhere in that place and they often follow you home. How bad do you need one?”
More than life itself. Eve’s life depended on it and to save her, he’d give everything.
Ruan weighed his options. He could continue on his original course, question a bunch of shady suckers about elder whereabouts, and hunt one down himself—though he could spend months or years hunting and still come up dry. Or he could sneak into the battle pen, avoid therian eyes, spend a shitload of money he didn’t have on an elder, question them without revealing his identity, and get the hell out of dodge before he attracted too much therian heat. If that’s how the place was run.
Although the former was semi-risk-free, the allure of the latter made his veins sizzle with anticipation. He’d been jonesing for the rush of a mission like this.
“Can you get us in?” Ruan asked, crossing the street, Dante on his heels.
“Getting in will be easy . . . the problem will be getting out.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Living long enough to transition into an elder is a privilege, not a guarantee.”
Elder Baylor, 750 year-old vampire, oldest male on record, whereabouts unknown
EVE P
INCHED HER eyes tight, focusing hard on Lilith’s touch. Her perfectly soft hands covered her own, stroking small circles around the heart of Eve’s palm with her thumbs. It tickled like a feather’s caress.
Eve stifled a laugh.
“You’re not trying and it’s very frustrating.” Lilith dropped the connection. “Perhaps you do not know how little time there is or how much work you have left to do.”
It was no wonder she’d given up trying to tap into this energy Lilith spoke of. Eve’s legs had gone numb from sitting pretzeled on the floor, and her hands ached from being held out, grasping Lilith’s for such a long period of time.
Eve let her shoulders slump. “We’ve been at this for hours and I’m just not getting it. Maybe we should try something else, or a different position—like sitting up on the couch, for starters.” Those cushions looked rather lonely. Eve tried to stand up but Lilith tugged on her arm, pulling her back down.
“This is the way it must be. To draw on your powers you will not always have a couch, a chair, or a nice room like this one to channel in, but you will always have an uncomfortable floor to sit upon.”
Well wasn’t that profound.
Lilith brushed a fire-red lock of hair over her shoulder like a beauty queen from a forgotten age. Eve tried fluffing life back into her own hair, but it was too flat to be saved. “You will get it if you keep trying. You have to focus all your energy on our connection. You must feel my energy run through you in order to warm the amulet and use it the way we need.”
Eve sighed and readjusted her knees, pulling them tighter. Man, she was going to have bruises on her backside from this. “Fine, but I’m telling you, I don’t feel any different.”
Lilith’s eyes closed, her eyelashes settling lightly on the curve of her cheek. “You will.” She stretched out her arms. Eve filled Lilith’s hands with her own, feeling Lilith’s delicate fingers wrap around and curl over the sides.
Eve listened to the familiar sounds of her apartment, letting her senses drift past the numbness of her body. The buzz of the city outside her window soothed the ache in her arms. The hum of her refrigerator lulled her mind while the ticking of the clock mounted on the kitchen wall matched the soft pitter-patter of her heart. When those sounds began to merge into one hypnotic rhythm, her shoulders grew heavy like lead. Her neck lolled downward to her chest. Her breathing slowed until she felt as if her body was asleep while her mind was still awake. She let herself drown in the deep waters pulling her toward complete relaxation.
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