Islay snickered and tried to hide it under a cough.
She eyed him, refraining from commenting on the fact he too was in a matching kilt, with biker books, but with a black rock band t-shirt on. He also had on a set of black leather bracelets. She lifted a brow.
He laughed hard. “What? You can take the man out of Scotland, but you cannae take Scotland out of the man.”
She shook her head. “You’re both terrible.”
“At least I do nae still see you as a child,” added Islay with a snort, drawing her father’s ire.
Her father narrowed his gaze on him. “Therein lies part of the problem.”
She glanced between the men. “Daddy.”
“Come to the club tonight,” he said.
“Most fathers don’t encourage their daughters to hang at one of the hottest nightclubs in the city,” she stressed. “Even if their father does own it.”
“Most fathers will nae snap a man’s neck for looking at their daughter. I feel calmer when yer near and I’ve business to attend to at the club on this night.”
Islay’s phone rang and he stepped to the side to answer it. His eyes widened and he looked to her father. While no words were spoken out loud, she knew they were talking to one another using their mental pathway. Something she’d never been able to do. It was just one of the many things she envied about her father and other vampires. Superhuman strength was another cool feature they all seemed to come equipped with. She often needed assistance getting lids off jars.
Her father and Islay continued with their silent back and forth a moment longer, making her envy grow.
With a sharp intake of breath, her father grabbed for her, yanking her close to him. His gaze was on Islay. “Call in all the men.”
“Aye,” said Islay.
“Daddy?”
He looked down at her. “You will remain close to me tonight, lass.”
“What’s happening?” she asked.
He sighed. “I was nae supposed to be back yet. I returned early.”
She nodded. He’d already told her that much.
“There was just an attack where I was still supposed to be tonight,” he said, his voice lacking anything that could give away his thoughts on it all. “My allies intervened and the men they were able to capture had loose lips.”
Islay appeared uncomfortable by that statement.
Her father looked toward the wall, but he didn’t bother to hide what he was doing from her this time. He was using his mind to connect with someone. “Searc, come at once! Do nae delay! Come now.”
She stiffened. “Daddy?”
Islay stepped forth. “I will watch over her while you see to this matter.”
Jessie cringed, pressing herself against her father’s side. She didn’t want Islay standing guard over her. She’d call Erik and Shane back in a heartbeat if it meant Islay wouldn’t be the one guarding her.
Her father sniffed the air, his brown gaze filling with flecks of black once more. “No!”
Islay stepped back, appearing confused.
“Searc, come now!” her father shouted, power buzzing around the words.
Chapter Four
Searc Macleod stood behind his fellow Crimson Sentinel Op team member, Auberi Bouchard, with his arms crossed over his chest and a brow raised. They’d been arguing back and forth for the greater part of ten minutes, with no real end in sight. The source of contention between them was currently passed out face first on the lawn of the town courthouse.
Searc glanced at his inebriated teammate on the ground and held firm in his stance.
The jackass was not riding in his SUV.
Period.
Not until he sobered up. And since no one was sure just how piss-faced Blaise was, there was no telling how long it would take. While he thought of the guy as a brother, he wasn’t about to let him anywhere near his newly detailed vehicle. Not with the track record Blaise had while being totally shit-faced—something he was often as of late. The guy was going through a bad phase, but wasn’t big on sharing, so instead of working to the root of the problem, he searched for answers at the bottom of a bottle.
It wasn’t going well for him.
Auberi didn’t seem to see the problem with loading their shit-faced teammate into the SUV. “You are making a bigger deal out of this than need be,” he said, his French accent thick, even though he’d lived in America for well over a century.
It wasn’t as if Searc could comment; he still sounded like he was fresh off the boat from Scotland. He fully embraced who he was and where he was from. America hadn’t exactly grown on him so much as he’d learned to accept it for what it was—his home for over a century.
“He’s nae riding in my car. You take him,” replied Searc, holding firm, his kilt blowing ever so slightly up as a breeze went by. He wasn’t wearing anything under it, so if the breeze got any stronger, people would be getting a show. Not that he gave a shit.
He didn’t care that he was the only one in the area in a kilt, or that he often got quite a few second glances because of it. He didn’t care how out of place he looked in the college town. He was comfortable and that was all that mattered. He’d paired it with a black t-shirt that said Clip n’ Snips with a picture of a dog on it, and then a pair of black biker boots. The shirt had been something Auberi had printed up in large quantities and sent to the shifters they worked with as a joke. Searc got a kick out of it, so he’d grabbed one for himself. It was one of many mocking shirts he owned.
Normally, he’d have stuck out like a sore thumb in his kilt, but already tonight he’d seen several young men running through the streets wearing togas, so, in actuality, Searc was overdressed. One young man had been missing all of his clothing as he ran through the streets.
Ah, to be young and dumb again.
A red double-decker bus drove by them, making Searc do a double take as they were not in Europe where the bus was from, but rather a small town in southern America. There were middle-aged humans on the top level, all snapping pictures with their phones around the square. Several cast questioning looks in the direction of their passed-out teammate.
Searc waved to the tourists, wondering if his photo would be all over the internet by morning. The damn internet was already full of conspiracy theories about super soldiers who were more than human. It was just a matter of time before technology advanced too much for his kind to be able to easily hide.
He laughed softly. He hoped he lived to see the coming out party.
Most of his kind did their best to avoid pictures. He didn’t much care one way or the other. It was more effort than he was willing to put out to keep himself from being photographed, so he gave in. Every fifteen or so years he set about reinventing himself on paper. He knew some supernaturals feared technological advances, but he didn’t mind them. It meant records could be forged with ease, compared to days of old.
He glanced down again and grunted as Blaise passed gas loudly.
He sighed. “I give that fart an eight.”
“No, it was only worth a seven,” said Auberi. “If he gets to ten, does that mean he actually soiled himself?”
“Och, no. He loses points for that.”
The man looked like he’d been dunked in black leather. Blaise had embraced the Goth look sometime in the early eighties, though he’d always dressed in black way before it became fashionable. He’d been doing it for centuries. For a while he’d reminded Searc of a pirate. Thankfully, that phase had passed. Blaise hadn’t taken all the metal out of his head though. He liked the silver piercings he had. They were all over his ears, his nose, his lip, and his eyebrows. He had to be running out of places to pierce.
He farted again and Searc shook his head, pointing at Auberi. “You take him in yer car.”
“If you’ll recall, you drove,” reminded Auberi.
“I do nae care, Frenchie. He’s nae riding in my car. Call a taxi service or something. But I say we leave him. It will teach the asshole nae to dr
ink from piss-faced frat boys.”
Blaise was hardheaded and Searc doubted the man would take anything from the experience. He’d once drank from a roomful of sloshed aristocrats in London, years ago, and they’d found him naked, wearing a powdered wig as he slept on the staircase to the manor the party had been in. The sun had been close to rising, but Blaise was too shit-faced to wake or notice.
Some things never changed.
At least he was dressed this time.
That was saying something.
“He will learn nothing from this and you well know it,” said Auberi, Blaise’s brother by way of a blood bond because they shared a maker.
It had come to light recently that another of the men’s blood brothers was up to no good and in league with an enemy of the organization they all worked for—Paranormal Security and Intelligence. Auberi and Blaise tended to go quiet whenever their brother, Pierre Molyneux, was brought up in conversation or meetings. They weren’t proud of what he’d become—a sick bastard who was bent on world domination. The flip side of it all was that they were family of sorts to him.
Searc knew what that was like. His maker had struggled with darkness and for a long time served it, not light. Though Cormag had never been as evil as Pierre. He’d never participated in human trafficking and sanctioned killing sprees for sport and game.
Pierre did that and so much more.
Blaise moved slightly, pulling one long, pale arm close to his side. Searc rolled his eyes at the sight of black nail polish on Blaise’s fingernails. He was just missing a cape to complete the Dracula look. “He’s a total dumbass.”
“Agreed,” said Auberi.
Blaise Regnier was nothing more than a man-child, despite his nearly six hundred years roaming the earth. He was almost twice Searc’s age but acted a lot like he was barely twenty. Currently, he appeared very dead. More so than normal since he, like the rest of the team, was already a card-carrying member of the undead club—a vampire.
Malik Nasser and Miles “Boomer” Walsh, both fellow operatives, but not members of Searc’s team, joined them on the lawn. They’d been assisting on the current mission and had joined them for the after-party celebrations as well. The men had all been tasked with investigating a possible supernatural trafficking ring. They’d broken up a number of them in a short period of time recently. The biggest to date had been in the Middle East and resulted in around seventy bad guys going to prison and countless more dead, unable to hurt anyone again. Sadly, it opened PSI’s eyes to just how bad the problem had become.
It was everywhere.
It had been getting to all the men and they’d needed to blow off some steam and let loose. Hence their stop-off in a small college town prior to returning home.
“Are we leaving him here?” asked Boomer as he pointed to Blaise. He was dressed a great deal like Blaise—as if they both shopped at Goths R’ Us or a leather surplus store. Searc wasn’t sure which one of the two men had more piercings, and he didn’t care to count. Malik was running a nice race of his own with tattoos.
Malik took one look at Blaise and snorted. “Vampires cannot hold their liquor.”
“Word,” said Boomer, putting his thumbs through the belt loops of his leather pants. His belt buckle was a giant bat and if Searc was right, the man’s bracelet had silver bats on it as well.
Weird.
“I seem to recall several occasions we had to artfully sneak Malik out of the bedrooms of women before their husbands got home, all while he was drunk enough to barely be able to stand,” reminded Auberi, seeming somewhat proud of Malik’s antics. The two had been close for centuries, and if Searc had to guess, he’d say Malik was one of Auberi’s best friends though both would deny as much. He pointed to Malik. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it you Seth spoke of having too much to drink and wandering into the bedroom of a princess back in your Ancient Egyptian heyday, Tut?”
Tut was the nickname they often used for Malik because of his ties to Egypt of yesteryear.
Malik waggled his brows. “Those were the days.”
“Yer room for judgment here is slimming quickly, lion-boy,” mocked Searc. He glanced at Boomer. “And you’ve a lot of room to talk. How does yer mate feel about yer girlfriend from the zoo?”
Malik burst into laughter at the mention of Boomer and the zoo. His teammates had waited until Boomer was passed out drunk and in shifted form before taking him to a local zoo, placing him in a panther habitat and then leaving him. When first light came, Boomer awoke to a rather frisky she-panther. Searc had seen the video and the photos. The story had fast become a classic and told at PSI divisions around the world.
Boomer groaned. “I’m never living that down, am I?”
“No,” returned Auberi. “I’m told Striker is having a video montage put together to remember the incident by. I do hope he mass sends it out digitally.”
Auberi, Blaise, and Boomer had become a family of sorts when Boomer mated with a woman who was from Auberi and Blaise’s line of vampires. In the eyes of the supernatural world, it meant Auberi and Blaise were now in-laws to the panther shifter, despite his longstanding issues with vampires. He’d been mated a short time and already he seemed at ease around them all—unlike he used to be.
Malik smiled. “We could see about swinging past the zoo when we get home. I bet she misses you. I wonder how she’ll take the news that you’re mated now?”
Boomer shoved him. “Asshole.”
“Aww, and here I thought no one noticed my award-winning personality.” Malik’s eyes flashed from dark brown to golden yellow instantly and he snarled, bringing a round of laughs from Auberi and Searc.
They’d known the man a long time and trusted him fully. When they’d heard of his giant meltdown in a very public place, they’d reached out, wanting to know he was all right. He’d only just returned to active duty with PSI after being on a forced sabbatical. No one had really commented much on the ordeal. There were some subjects they didn’t dare poke fun of. Malik’s meltdown was one of those.
“No. We’ve always known yer an asshole,” added Searc. “Nothing new there.”
“I haven’t snacked on anything tonight,” said Malik. “I’m willing to munch on the living dead, despite the fact your kind give me indigestion.”
“Shifter, do not make us gang up on you and kill you,” said Auberi, earning him a hard snort from Malik.
“As if all of you together could take me.” Malik lifted his arms wide, showing off his tattoos, as if daring them to try.
Searc licked his lower lip. “Anyone bring a ball of string? The two cat-shifters here would be so wrapped up in trying to get it they’d lose focus and get their asses handed to them.”
Auberi grinned. “A laser pointer would keep them occupied for hours.”
“Bite me,” snapped Malik with a playful grin.
“Okay,” said Auberi as he blew the man a kiss. “I like my men tall, dark, and handsome.”
Malik paled and that was something considering he was Ancient Egyptian and had a certain year-round tanned quality to him. “I forgot he swings both ways.”
Searc laughed. “Run. He thinks yer pretty. You do nae want to be waking up to find him in bed next to you. Trust me, the zoo would be better.”
“Speaking from experience?” asked Malik.
Searc flipped him off.
Malik shook his head. “You guys are worse than my team and I have to deal with Boomer and Striker all the damn time.”
“Hey, standing right here,” said Boomer, yanking on his t-shirt that said Got Sparkle?”
Searc knew it was a jab at vampires and humans thinking they sparkled in the sunlight. That was so far from the truth of it that it was almost laughable. Still, it was amusing and he even found himself getting in on the joke. “Auberi, is that glitter I see in yer hair still?”
With a gasp, Auberi reached up, running his hand through his long hair, desperately looking for silver glitter. He was vain enough t
o worry about his appearance. Their last mission had only been a few days, but to blow off steam they’d decided to have a little fun at Auberi’s expense. It had involved a metric shit-ton of glitter from a craft shop and an unsuspecting Auberi.
His gaze narrowed and a line of French curses fell free from his lips.
Malik tossed his head back and laughed. “Even when you’re pissed you’re propositioning people.”
Searc snorted. “Hard pass. Yer nae my type.”
Malik grinned. “Rejected at every turn.”
“Where is catnip when you need it?” Auberi asked, looking at Malik. The lion-shifter would make a worthy opponent should they ever go to blows.
Auberi bent near their fallen teammate and lifted a handful of Blaise’s long black hair. “He looks like hell.”
“He’ll feel worse when he wakes,” said Searc.
“He do this often?” asked Boomer.
Both men nodded.
Auberi withdrew his cell phone and kept holding Blaise’s hair as he snapped a picture of the passed-out vampire. “Asshole of the Week worthy?”
The men took turns awarding one another the not-so-coveted title of Asshole of the Week at work whenever one of them did something exceptionally stupid. As operatives with PSI their jobs were stressful and things like the fake award tended to help alleviate stress. Plus, they made great keepsakes of the dumbass things the men did. The shifters had their own wall of shame at their division headquarters, and the Fang Gang had theirs.
Because the Crimson Ops were made up nearly fully of vampires, they were nicknamed the Fang Gang by many within PSI. The term wasn’t something that offended Searc. He had not lost his sense of humor as some had. Being immortal was hard. It tended to beat down one’s personality, leaving something emerging that could be very dark if left unchecked.
Searc’s favorite personal Asshole of the Week moment had come when he’d waited for Auberi to fall asleep and then carefully moved him to a funeral home. When Auberi came to the next night, it was to a mortician stripping him and getting ready to embalm him, as he’d had no heartbeat and appeared dead while asleep. Searc wasn’t sure who had been more traumatized by the incident—the mortician, who had run from the facility screaming, or Auberi, who came out holding an instrument tray of sorts over his private area and nothing else. It was a memorable event. However the current glitter incident was a winner as well.
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