To Have: Vampire Assassin League #19

by Jackie Ivie

  She’d have checked, but they started falling. Rapidly. With an increasing speed that should have started her screaming if she wasn’t holding her breath. Her heart went crazy, hitting away in her chest painfully. It filled her ears with heavy thumps of sound, and just before she was sure they’d slam into the shore, the freefall altered, sending them sideways. Her head felt like it might as well just fly off and save her the agony of a headache, while her belly wasn’t happy with the swooping motion, either. She couldn’t think, and the speed they were moving at made it difficult to see. And weren’t angels supposed to have wings, anyway?

  Why wasn’t anything making sense?

  She glanced out again. Nothing but darkness surrounded them. The feeling of wind. The smell of ocean and city. Evie swallowed to avert another round of queasiness, closed her eyes again, and pressed her forehead to what must be his neck. Wow. If she was dying, this was bad. Really bad.

  Looked like she wasn’t bound for heaven.

  That was a bummer.

  ~ ~ ~

  He needed to calm down. Cease twirling about. Stop the massive surge of unmitigated emotion that sent him skyrocketing like a whirling dervish, before falling like a stone. It was exuberance on a grand scale. Joy to an astounding degree. Exhilaration beyond scope. It had started the moment the fire got quenched. He hadn’t even felt pain.

  He had his mate!

  By the great god of constructive energy, Spenta Manyu, it was as incredible as it was exciting. Thrilling. Electrifying. She probably thought him mad. She’d be right. He was infused with elation bordering on insanity. He had to calm this jubilation. Gather his wits. See her to the hangar. See her aboard his jet. Get home. He had to place her in her element. The palace he’d had constructed, with sky-high ceilings, gold and silk-lined walls and gold-striped columns.

  He had to get her alone.

  Oh. Rostam, the Great! Was that a breast against him? And he could feel it?

  Daron glanced down at where she was smashed against him, showing the tops of her perfect breasts. He shuddered, groaned, and then moved even faster. This was sensory overload on a grand scale. It was happening to his upper abdomen. Right below his chest. She hadn’t worn much clothing before he’d dunked her in the ocean. He hadn’t any to give her. He’d lost his upper clothing, and pulled what was left of his ghotra about his forehead, shadowing his face. She hadn’t looked at him yet, but he wasn’t allowing it until his injuries abated. He didn’t know how badly he’d been mangled. And he’d been known as a handsome man. At least, that’s what every woman he’d ever come across told him. His mate’s first look at him shouldn’t be of pitted and oozing skin and ugliness.

  No.

  He wouldn’t allow it. And that made him move even faster.

  He heard Vaughn before he saw him. The fellow wasn’t being remotely furtive. He was on a cell phone. Pacing. Daron dropped into the spot behind him with a lurch that jolted his mate. He wrapped his arm tighter about her. She didn’t respond. Maybe she wasn’t conscious.

  “No. Sorry, Sir. I haven’t seen your boy. I just woke up. That’s what happens when one of you guys keeps me in limbo. Day sleeping. Night prowling. And this place doesn’t even have a decent gym, although I do appreciate the cold beer and stocked pantry. No, I didn’t know he was going to be at the Rocking Horse tonight. He doesn’t tell me his plans. None of them do. Somebody blew a hole in the Rocking Horse? Bastards! That’s my favorite club down at the shore. Is it bad?”

  Vaughn turned about, stopped, and cocked his head up in greeting as he saw Daron. His diatribe into the phone didn’t falter.

  “Oh. Wait a sec. Looks like your man just dropped in. Yep. Got him right here. He’s a bit worse for wear...but intact. Looks like he brought company, too. A lady. Yeah. One with killer legs. Well. I can’t tell much because of all the hair, but if the legs are any indicator, your man has snagged himself a hot one, and I do mean H. O. T.”

  Daron snarled.

  “Um. I’m going to let you talk to him, Sir, before I get my head snapped off. Like...literally. Yeah. I’ll give him another cell.” Vaughn pitched another phone at Daron. He caught it before it vibrated. “About time you showed, Your Highness. It’s the big guy. Reassure him, okay? He’s worse than a mama grizzly with a day old cub. Look. I think I’ll just go and get the plane started. Deal?”

  Daron nodded and slid the front of the credit-card sized phone open. Akron was speaking the moment he touched the button.

  “Daron?”

  “Sir?”

  “It is you. Good. I understand there was a fairly large explosion down at the shore tonight.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well. Nobody approved 4-D techniques.”

  “Wasn’t me, Sir. Suicide. Personal carry. C4.”

  “And you didn’t stop him?”

  “Why? Poetic justice. And he was after my hit.”

  “Got him, too. Well. They have his lower torso, anyway.”

  Daron grunted.

  “Scanners report two confirmed dead, a dozen injured, and according to Nigel, what’s known as a shitload of partygoers still unaccounted for.”

  “Where is the pipsqueak anyway?”

  “Nigel is in what’s known as time-out.”

  “You put Nigel in time-out?”

  “I just said so.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “He was perpetrating ceaseless attempts at information gathering. And he’s not even sneaky. You have your mate, then?”

  Daron stilled instantly. Akron’s abilities always surprised. “Yes.”

  “She survive the blast?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Keep in touch this time. I don’t like worrying.”

  Daron was smirking before he chucked the cell into the trash bin. Akron. Worrying? If he hadn’t just heard it, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Did he just call you...Highness?”

  His mate spoke, sending a hint of breath that raised a legion of goose bumps on his skin. It affected everything. It even altered his voice, making it higher-pitched than normal when he answered.

  “Uh...yes.”

  “Highness?”

  Daron cleared his throat. “Yes. I am called that because it is my title. I am a prince. From the Achaemenid Dynasty.”

  She didn’t answer for a bit. Daron moved, using his free hand to pat down the back of his head. It wasn’t hair. It was moist-feeling. Bubbly? It definitely did not feel normal. And that meant she wasn’t to see him. Not yet. Not when he was ugly. He brought his arm back down. For the first time since immortality, he actually could have used a mirror.

  “Am I...dead?”

  Her voice was hesitant. Lovely. It started a riot of reaction throughout his entire body again. His legs even trembled.

  “There is no correct answer, eshq-e man,” he answered. Daron stiffened slightly and nipped at his tongue. The words had slipped. He hadn’t meant to call her his love. Well...not this soon. But she didn’t seem to notice.

  “There was an explosion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right where I was standing.”

  That time it wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact.

  “Again. Yes,” he answered.

  “Then, I’m dead.”

  “Yes and no.”

  “You might as well just tell me. I mean, everyone dies sooner or later. But this really sucks. I’m young and I really wanted to make an impression...and. Crap. Just. Crap. Tonight was my night, know what I mean?”

  “Tonight?”

  His heart wasn’t the lone casualty of those words. He was having trouble breathing as well. The motion was nearer a gasp, each one matching hers. Was it possible? Maybe – even – she’d felt him?

  “I dressed this way for Mister Goldstein. Okay? I mean, I don’t normally look like this.”

  Well. That deflated his recognition theory,
and severely undermined his self-confidence. Especially with how her head shifted...as if she might be trying to catch a glimpse of him. Oh, no. Not yet.

  “Goldstein’s dead, too, isn’t he?”

  “Gold...stein?”

  His voice warbled. He should have cleared his throat again. This was incredible. He was acting unsure and hesitant? A prince of the mightiest realm the ancient world had seen? A man used to commanding his own section of the army? A man feted and acclaimed everywhere he went. A man who...what had she just asked him? Goldstein. Goldstein. Did he know a Goldstein?

  His mind wasn’t functioning. It was competing with his body and losing. Every cell that hadn’t reanimated was doing so, and every bit of him felt it. She should feel it, too, since he was trembling in place. But before he could formulate a reply, Vaughn started speaking over the loudspeaker right beside his ear. Daron jumped.

  “Greetings, Your Highness! You and your guest want to board, already? Engines are revved. We’re cleared for take-off. And you’ve got a bright sunny day in your immediate forecast. Could be a bitch for new initiates. So. You coming or not?”

  Daron narrowed his eyes at the speaker. Vaughn was a skilled fighter, an excellent pilot, and usually a great companion. He hadn’t taken any interest in being immortal. Right now, he was close to getting that altered. And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “Where are we going?” his mate asked, jolting him from his train of thought.

  “Uh. Oh. My home.”

  “Really? Okay. Just tell me it isn’t underground. That’s all I ask.”

  Daron stilled. How could she have known that?

  ~ ~ ~

  Evie jerked up her head with a motion that made her eye sockets start pounding. She skimmed a hand along what felt like satin before opening her eyes. Well. She’d been right. Upon close examination, it proved to be pale, peach-shaded satin. Puffed and quilted and embroidered throughout with little tiny stitches that made leaf-shaped patterns. She stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment. Why was she face-down atop satin? And where was the guy with the voice like dark silk?

  Oh. Wait. Something had happened.

  But...what?

  She dropped her head back. Surely, it weighed a ton and somebody was tapping on her temples with a little hammer in tempo with every pulse beat. She’d never had a migraine, but this must be what everyone moaned about. Somewhere above her was a light source. Not bright. Not glaring. It was diffused and soft, echoing the shade of the bedding. There was a barely-there vibration rippling through the structure she lay atop, too. Not a heavy rumble, just enough to provide a purring background.

  Ah. That was right. She remembered now.

  She’d died.

  It was nice to find out there was an afterlife, but so far, it didn’t match anything she’d read or heard. There was no bright light. No murmur of voices. No loving arms reaching out to embrace and enfold. It was just a weird realm without one other soul in it. And what had happened to the guy with the incredibly sweet voice and even better embrace?

  Was this purgatory, then? Solitary confinement, combined with massive ache?

  Crudballs. She hurt almost everywhere. Her head was just the first casualty on her trip to awareness. Her shoulders and back joined up next, before the ache made it all the way to her toes. This wasn’t good. If this was purgatory, she was in real trouble.

  And then it got worse. The structure she rested on dipped with a belly-churning motion before righting. Something flashed across the room. Evie turned her head in that direction. It was either a portal to another dimension or a very large mirror. And there was a banshee having a very bad hair day staring at her. The image’s eyes widened, and then they both slapped a hand to their mouths to stop the scream.

  Hell’s bells. Was that...her?

  “You may not wish to move about much.”

  Evie dropped her face back onto the satin. Mister Silken Voice spoke from somewhere behind her. She didn’t know where he was. He hadn’t been in the mirror. Good thing, he might have seen her image, too.

  “You may be suffering what is known as a concussion.”

  “A concussion.” Like that’s possible. When I’m dead?

  “The internet search I did gave that as a probable result. Yes.”

  “Internet search.”

  “Yes. And you have my abject apologies.”

  “For the internet?” Shit. Having this conversation was making her head hurt worse.

  “No. For the bomb.”

  “What bomb?”

  “The one that exploded in the club last night.”

  “Last night?” It was the next day? Purgatory had days?

  “Yes.”

  “You mean...the explosion...was intentional?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, no. No. Please don’t tell me you’re...the bomber?” And if he was, that was some real shit. Would she really be expected to spend purgatory with her murderer? And be so attracted to him, her skin was rippling with goose bumps? There wasn’t a description for how awful that would be. And just what had she done to deserve it? Because if that was her penance, she didn’t even want to know what they gave adulterers or murderers. He was speaking again. She missed the first part. She blamed the headache.

  “...apologies are for my lack of foresight. And then, my slowness.”

  “Slowness?” Was she insane? Wasn’t he the entity that had somehow found her in the ocean, held her on her feet before rocketing skyward, and then ended it all by swooping about? And damn! Her belly churned just with the memory of that flight.

  “You must rest. We will be arriving shortly.”

  “Oh. That’s right. You did say we were going home. Yes?” Her voice was almost non-existent on the last word.

  “Yes”

  “Okay.” Her back actually sagged with what was probably relief. Or the satin just felt that nice. If she was going to his home, maybe it wasn’t hell, after all.

  Maybe.

  ~ ~ ~

  Daron watched her settle into the center of his over-sized bed. He amended that. He watched her upper thighs and the slightest glimpse of hot pink undergarment as she snuggled into a ball atop the mattress. Every iota of his frame was aware and alert, and bothersome. Daron put out a hand and watched it shake. He would never allow a woman to wear so little! Especially this one.

  And this was why.

  Hadn’t his natural life instructed him well enough? Women were not to be trusted. They used and manipulated. And if one was favored? Oh. Then, it was worse. They took a man’s emotions as their due and used it for their own ends. Any man allowing a woman that much power was a weakened man. A shell without integrity. A puppet at the end of a wire. Women were deceit wrapped in beauty. As for this emotion they called love? That was another lie. Perhaps, the biggest one. Any man allowing a woman into his heart gave away his power. His strength. His reason. Women started wars. Turned brother against brother.

  Daron was proof.

  He remembered it as if it happened yesterday. A woman was the reason he was here now. Undead. And she hadn’t been near as feminine and womanly as this one! But she’d been winsome enough. Lithe. Graceful. She’d gained his brother’s heart and his ear, but she’d wanted more. She’d wanted Daron. That’s why she spread lies, pretended ravishment, made accusations of rape. And that’s why his brother had set his soldiers upon Daron’s camp. Killing without one word of warning. Akron had whisked Daron from the carnage and given him vengeance. He had never looked back.

  Until now.

  Daron set his jaw and backed from the bed, calling on every reserve of strength. Women were nothing but trouble. He’d learned his lesson. But this one...ah!

  Daron had been mistaken. It wasn’t the great god, Ahura Mazda, controlling his fate. It had to be Angra Manyu, the god of darkness and destruction. That god was capable of sending such a woman into Daron’s sphere. Why else would his mate be so perfect? She stimulated and enthralled. He was having trouble just stand
ing here. Everything about her called to every bit of him. This mating thing was powerful. Threatening with its strength. Almost frightening in scope. Proximity to her turned his thoughts to dust, his belly to a nest of writhing snakes, and his loins were a massive problem that was beginning to resemble a brazier, filled with white-hot coals.

  He backed from her. Reached the door. Turned the handle down without looking and slid out into the main cabin. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Evie eased into wakefulness this time. She inhaled deeply, waiting for any sign of ache. Nope. She felt fine. Clear-headed. A little sore. And then she felt heart-sore. It wasn’t fair. How could she be dead? She’d never have the chance to talk to her parents again. Never hug them. As for her little sister, Katie? Wow. She hadn’t even thought of her family. Her first regret had been losing her sponsor. Was she really that superficial? Being dead sure put things in perspective. It also gave you a lot of time to think things over. Tears stung her eyes for a moment even as she blinked them away. The movement sent a flutter about her cheek, while a dark blur passed over that eye.

  Oh. Yeah. She remembered. She’d been wearing false eyelashes. Looks like one had dislodged. Evie tried to move her arm to pull it completely off but was stopped by the constriction of material about her.

  What in the...?

  She sat up clumsily. Looked about. She was in a different place this time. It was really quiet. And very cavernous. The same dim lighting effect was in place. She couldn’t tell for certain. Everything was covered with a filmy material. No. Wait. That was her. She pulled an arm free, reached her face, and started pinching and lifting at fabric. She got hair more than once. Masses of hair that felt like straw that had been glued into position. Oh. Yeah. She remembered that, too. She’d stepped into her shower in order to spray insta-freeze hairspray until her hair didn’t have a prayer of going anywhere. This hairstyle wasn’t moving. It would’ve survived a trip on a windy day in a convertible. Of course that was before she’d been jettisoned into the Atlantic Ocean, and then flown at hyper-speed through the night air. No wonder she’d looked like a banshee in the mirror earlier.