by L. A. Banks
All burgundy marble surrounded them, gold fixtures looming out from the oversized, kidney-shaped Jacuzzi canopied by sheers. The maid ran the tap, and dipped her fingers in the thick spray as it gurgled loudly to demonstrate that no holy water sabotage had been committed, smiling when the tension left Carlos’s body. Then she switched another lever so that pure blood ran into the tub, then pulled her hand back and licked her fingers. She then went to the double sink across the room and performed the same test, even testing the commode and bidet for him.
Upon his nod, the maid sauntered past Damali at the door and stood by the butler, her appraisal of Carlos nearly a challenge to the first lady.
“Thank you,” Carlos finally said. “Everything appears to be in order.”
“Do summon us, sir, should you or your lovely wife require anything before dawn.”
Damali watched the staff back out of the main vault door, and then hastily exit the suite. She moved like someone punch-drunk— a little wobbly on her feet, staring at first one thing then another, glancing back to Carlos, and then shaking her head.
“This is outrageous,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Care to take a stroll on the terrace?”
He came to her side and ushered her to the smooth, centuriesold stone lookout post of the fort, watching the night wind lift her locks and caress her hair. He brought her to the railing and chuckled to himself as his dog got up grumbling at having to move to accommodate Damali.
Somehow the insistent pound of the surf, the sting of the salt air in the most precious hours of the night, drew his arms to encircle her while she stared out, her back melding against his chest . . . the smell of her hair an intoxicant.
“You happy?” he asked into the crown of her head as he kissed it.
“This is gorgeous,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “At this height you almost feel like you’re wind, part of it, as though you can fly.”
“You can,” he said, chuckling deeper in his throat, but was slightly disappointed when she shook her head no.
“You sure?” he asked, baiting her.
“This place can make you lose focus,” she said wisely, but snuggled against him nonetheless.
“Ahhh . . . the mission,” he said, his tone amused. “Maybe I was too hasty when I said I didn’t want to be distracted by you while here, mi tentacion.”
She chuckled low and sexy. “It was the security check that made me remember.”
Carlos glanced back at the bed. “Yeah,” he said on a long sigh. “Oh, man . . .”
“This joint ain’t no joke, Carlos,” she said very quietly, her tone cautious, breaking the mood as her body tensed. “It’s built like a fortress.”
He laughed, letting her go. “It is a fortress, baby. That’s what I’d been telling you. All primary master lairs are. They’re set up for battle.” He turned her around, cradling the sides of her face so they could more easily transmit thoughts. Nuit’s lairs were nothing by comparison—because he’d lost favor, was rogue, and on the run.
When she nodded, he dropped his hands to her shoulders. The familiar embrace which always led to a kiss was definitely why he called her his temptation. There was so much more he’d wanted to say, but didn’t dare chance it—especially not when she straightened his tie, and brushed a piece of invisible lint off his lapel, then touched his cheek.
The warmth of her palm radiated through his skin, and her eyes were so deep, dark, intense as she opened her gaze and sent back a quiet message. I feel it, too . . . but I’m worried for you, baby. These bastards will try to kill you. I’m not trying to lose you on my watch.
He smiled and kissed the inside of her palm, electrified by her protective instinct regarding him. He nodded. Indeed they would try to assassinate him. But it would sure be worth it. No telepathy needed. She smiled, gently removed her hand, and began walking back into the room. When she looked over her shoulder, he wasn’t sure how to read the all-feminine message. Was that a yeah, okay? Or a yeah, I hear you, but no, not tonight? She shook her head then chuckled at the faint disappointment that threaded through him.
“You hungry?” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Pulling out all the stops, Mr. Councilman?”
He had to laugh at himself. “Aw’ight. I’ll stop.” He went up to her and traced her cheek. You like this, don’t you?
She smiled, which was enough of an answer. He watched her sit down on the side of the bed, sinking into the soft feathered oasis, then run her hand over the plush linens, luxuriating in the feel of the textures. He wanted to touch her like that. To pleasure her the way only one of his kind could. Surely she didn’t want to give all that up . . . and not tonight?
Vaguely he remembered that the Aussie would be waiting for him down in the study. If he weren’t a head of state, he would have made the bastard wait. But Damali needed to stop playing with him, because he wasn’t about to go downstairs with an oral erection. The fact that she’d chuckled let him know she knew exactly what she was doing.
“You ain’t right, woman,” he said, smiling and running his tongue over his teeth.
“It’s the castle,” she murmured. “The energy here is so dark, so all-consuming,” she murmured. “Makes it hard to concentrate . . .”
Her comment snapped him back to awareness. “Yeah,” he said, on guard. He closed his eyes and held out his arms, sensing their environment with total concentration. Just as he’d expected, every stone in the place was charmed down to the mortar, designed to protect the residing master at all times. Some stairs weren’t real stairs, no rooms were impenetrable to the castle’s owner, no seal was solid, unless McGuire wanted it that way.
It was having a drugging affect on Damali. Getting her high, sedating her survival instincts, making her so looped that she’d draw him into a sure seduction—that’s what he’d felt coming from her in the halls! Normally Damali wouldn’t care a damn about a gilded cage—wasn’t her style. It would definitely make her open to another master’s pull, just like it had fucked with his confidence as he walked the long corridors.
“Get up off the bed. Now,” Carlos said, becoming further enraged as Damali looked up, dazed, unzipped the back of her dress and stared up at him.
“I’m impressed,” he said to the nothingness. “But you’re pissing me off.” Dark energy concentrated within him, making the tips of his fingers and center of his palms burn as he spun slowly, sealing the lair with his own power against power, will against will, his council-level strength discharged with a crackling streak of fury that scorched the walls, the ceiling, the doors and terrace. The dogs bayed and howled while he released his protective seal around his temporary lair and all of those within it.
Every wall and surface instantly blackened, then normalized. Immediately he felt the sensual pull lift and the energy in the room calibrate to his command. He began walking the perimeter of the room as Damali stood on wobbly legs and zipped up her dress.
“What the hell just happened?” she whispered, her voice tense and her eyes cleared of the seductive haze.
“I’m gonna address it later,” he said. “But the room was charged, every carnal act ever performed in here left a residue.” Carlos smiled. “That’s cool. I’m gonna assume that our host did this to make our stay more comfortable,” he said, going to her and holding her face. But you and I know that sonofabitch did it to set me up, to totally distract me while I’m here. “I’ll have to let McGuire know that although I’m council-level, unlike the old boys, I don’t need Viagra.”
“Damn,” she said, taking a short sip of breath.
He held her face tighter. This is why I told you to stay by my side at all times. That if you have anything important to tell me, you do it like this. Understand?
Satisfied when she nodded, he released his hold on her. But he watched her cock her head to the side and walk past him. What could she hear that he and his dogs couldn’t? Then a light mewling sound made him almost run to catch her. He knew what it was b
efore he saw it.
Pacing quickly to her, he rushed over to the large in-room dining table by the blood fountain. Damali’s gasp was so visceral that it made him snatch her arm, spin her around hard, and physically cover her mouth with his hand. With his eyes he told her not to panic, but panic reflected back at him regardless. Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth, his eyes steady on hers, as he lifted the large gold-domed serving tray cover and looked down. Not now, D. Not now. Don’t scream.
“It’s a baby,” she said, her eyes darting to the door and toward the infant. “They delivered it on a gold platter.”
“Listen to me carefully,” he said low, controlled and slow. “Of course they did. You are the wife of a head of state, and they said they’d leave dinner in the room, sí?” He nodded to get her to follow his lead. “If you aren’t hungry, you still have to sample it—” He stopped her gasp, snatching it in his fist on the wind. “Or it will be taken as a serious affront, to—”
She broke his hold, whirred toward the tiny bundle on the table, swept it up, although saying nothing. But her eyes said it all as she pressed the struggling thing to her chest, and then scanned the room. He could tell she was looking for an escape route, somewhere to flee, and he watched her back away from him, moving with the agility of a lioness as she stalked toward her luggage. No, do not draw the Isis on me in here! Are you nuts? Come to me!
A wave of panic rocked his system as he pried open her quickly closing mind. That crazy woman would actually attempt to rappel off the balcony—a two-hundred-foot drop over the Great Barrier Reef, baby in arm, Hell-dogs in an attack flight pattern after her? He put his hands on his hips and stared at her hard. What you gonna do, hold the Isis between your teeth?
You cannot have it! Game over, man! You all are fucking crazy—a baby? Oh, hell no!
Her mind was so strong and her words so fierce that he sat on the edge of the table, hoping his deliberate distance would calm her down.
Bring it to me, he told her after a moment. I won’t hurt it. Trust me.
She flipped him the bird, and began cooing to the now bleating bundle. The sight of her transformation was disorienting, and the timing was profoundly bad. He could smell it, Neteru in full force, no vamp trace in her.
You have to nick its finger with the blade and press a dab of blood to your lips—then let me kiss you.
Her eyes widened in horror, but he was thankful that she didn’t speak.
Listen, I don’t do kids. He waited until she began to relax before probing her thoughts again. But when I go downstairs, McGuire has to catch the scent off me . . . has to know we’ve fed. Again, he waited until she glanced down at the infant and then back up to him, this time less unnerved. That’s the only way I can safely transport this baby out of here without starting an international incident tonight.
It bothered him that she took her time retrieving the small Isis dagger from the Louis Vuitton trunk, as though she didn’t completely trust him. But as he watched her kiss the tiny cheek, nuzzle it, and cradle the child in her arms, it did something to him. So strange a juxtaposition . . . her protectively holding the baby to her body while brandishing a weapon, her arm cocked, biceps drawn taut with the other arm. Her eyes were soft as she tenderly looked down at the baby. Then she shot him a lethal glance that told him she’d cut out his heart if he as much as blinked wrong. Damn, that was some powerful shit.
She walked closer to him, tucking the blade under her armpit so she could hold the infant more firmly. She gave her finger to the baby and a tiny fist gripped her index finger. When the baby brought her finger to its mouth to suckle, hot tears rose in Damali’s eyes.
“Look at him, Carlos.” Her words came out in a rush. “So innocent, and hungry, and scared. Oh my G—”
His fingers touched her lips. Don’t say it. Not here, ever.
“How could they?” she whispered.
He glanced tensely at the walls. This is what I was telling you would happen. Tomorrow there will be a banquet, and you are going to have to be cool—no matter what. “It’s the purest blood source, a delicacy. Hard to acquire, even for a vampire. Our host went to great lengths to provide this, honey. So, after we dine on some light hors d’oeuvres, I’ll tuck you in bed. Then I’ll be back later.”
For a moment, she just stared at him, then nodded.
Cut the finger, she heard him say in her mind. Just a small nick.
Damali squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head no.
You have to do it. You’re human. If I draw blood, I’ll mark the child as a vamp helper for life. Just the aura of my energy could pollute the wound on a human this young. Feel me?
“Shit,” she said in a tense whisper, then extracted the blade from under her arm.
Make a small cross on the pinky with your Isis, Neteru. This way its system will have a little more immunity to any sort of possession till I get it home. Then seal it with a kiss, from the Neteru, hand me the child so its smell will be on me, and kiss me so its blood will be in my mouth as well.
She didn’t answer, just did what needed to be done. Her hands almost shook as the baby’s wails escalated with the small cuts she made. But she followed his instructions to the letter, and pushed the child into his arms, wiping at hot tears, streaking her once-flawless makeup and breathing hard to keep herself from vomiting.
It was the hardest thing he had to do, silencing the piteous wails while the innocent twisted and writhed, trying to break free of the presence of evil. All babies had survival instinct, could feel the presence of harm, and were most closely connected to the Divine Source. Up to this point, he’d never seen himself as that—truly evil—until the child’s screams rose to hiccupping cries. Every one of his nieces and nephews came into his mind as he put the child into a sleep trance. This was someone’s future, someone’s fragile heart he held, and its paper-thin throat was two inches from real fangs.
He shook his head in disgust as he ran his palm over the soft downy hair. A treasure . . . how could they sacrifice a baby when there was plenty of grown meat on the hoof, adults, that had lived and wanted to be vamps?
Carlos tilted his head; Damali’s gasp passed through his skeleton as she pulled the blade to protect the baby and the child vanished; he hastily returned it to its parents.
He glared at her. I turned my head to listen to its rhythm, smell its smell, and get a contact to where it was supposed to go! You oughta know me better than that.
“I’m sorry,” she yelled across the room, then checked herself. “I should have saved you some.”
He turned and looked at her, and relaxed. Okay. Baby was catching on to how this game was played. Everything said aloud was part truth, part lie, the language of the masters of deception. Then she needed to play this to the bone. Let the host think they’d been caught off guard. That his snit over the bedroom thing was because it assumed he needed the extra boost in there—challenged his virility, thus offended him highly. Carlos smiled, placed his finger to his lips. Wanna really bug them out?
Damali smiled, and he loved that it was that wicked one from the old neighborhood when they’d game and bait other street racers into losing bets when they were kids.
He waved his arm and banged a chair against the suite’s hallway door. He winked at her and crooked his finger, and she quickly walked over to him. Then he kissed her hard. “That thing had adrenaline all through it—pure adrenaline!” he bellowed. “You toyed with it long enough before you drained it dry, then didn’t save me any?”
“Aw, baby,” she said calmly, “I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”
“Make it up to me now.”
She covered her mouth and ran from him when he reached for her, and squealed when he sent the sofa crashing into the bar as he came after her. The sound of her heels clacking against the polished sandstone and her giddy laughter was music to his ears. He wanted her to loosen up, play, shake the nerves, because some seriously tense shit was about to go down soon—and baby had to be a
ble to work the environment to her advantage. Then, again, truth be told, he needed the tension release just as much as she did.
“Now you’re running from me?” he said, laughing hard, and trying to shake the image of the child in Damali’s arms out of his head. Yeah, he had to keep moving. The way she’d held it so naturally, her eyes so tender, so intense, so ready to give her life to protect it. Just as he’d always imagined she’d hold his child . . .
He exploded several blood bottles at the bar, making her shriek, loving the sound of her voice.
“You know I don’t play that!” he hollered across the room. “You’re putting me in a bad mood for my meeting, woman.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice escalating in false alarm.
“I don’t want any other vamp in here while I’m gone, or I’ll take a limb! Go to bed. Wait for me. Don’t even call the maid to clean up this mess!”
“Yes, baby,” she said, winking at him and slinking into her bedroom, blowing kiss over her shoulder. “I know I’ve been a very bad girl.”
“Councilman,” the Aussie said, standing as Carlos swept into the study. “Can I offer you a skein?”
Carlos nodded and sat heavily in the leather wingback chair before the man’s huge, polished mahogany desk. “Absolutely, and thank you for the lovely surprise in my room,” he said. “My wife thoroughly enjoyed it.”
Carlos leaned forward and smiled, watching the nervous tension ease away from his host’s face. His line of vision scanned the room, quickly sensing for any danger among the large stuffed animal heads, heavy walnut bookcases that held an extensive library, and across to the crackling fireplace that had an opening the height of a man. The room looked like it had been modeled after a combination of old European libraries and smoking rooms.
“She sounds like a handful,” McGuire replied as he slowly assessed Carlos. He walked over to the long bar behind his desk to pour Carlos a drink. He peered over his shoulder, seeming unsure if it was safe to turn his back on his guest, then quickly uncapped a crystal decanter.
