Seducing the Vampire

by Michele Hauf

  Rhys read the look exactly for what it was. Manipulation.

  “He’s never mentioned another home?” he asked. “A retreat in the country, perhaps?”

  She shook her head and clutched Orlando’s arm. The pup kissed the crown of her head. “Is he in trouble?”

  “I don’t know. He is missing,” Rhys stated plainly. He walked the small room decorated in red fabric and black scarves. It smelled strongly of incense, which he guessed must disguise the taint of sex he picked up, when normal mortals would not. “There’s nothing else you wish to tell us about William?”

  She tucked her head on Orlando’s shoulder. “Like what?”

  Like how dare she shill for money in such a manner? Yet how dare he judge? Rhys was perfectly aware the women in these establishments often had no choice but to seek this means, and were sometimes even forced to the task. She was so young.

  “Nothing, mademoiselle. Thank you for your time.”

  Rhys made to leave, but as suspected, Orlando did not follow.

  “I’ll just make sure she is well,” Orlando said.

  “Of course, I’m going to take a run out to the er…site.” Rhys bowed to both and closed the door behind him.

  Getting a ride on the back of a wagon headed for Versailles, he reached the kill site fairly soon. Rhys wouldn’t shift to wolf shape during the day and so close to mortals.

  For all the carriages rushing to and from Paris daily, surely any criminal evidence had been crushed and pummeled to dust. Yet there a distinctive blood scent clung to the earth, impossible to completely remove. It resembled something he knew well. He’d been surrounded by the scent, had lived within its home…

  “Oh, William.”

  He kicked a stone across the carriage ruts and stared back toward the city, which was crowned by jutting chimney tops.

  “How could you?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “THE CHOKER IS AS IF IT WERE made for you,” Constantine commented as he moved around to parallel Viviane and leaned in to kiss above her ear. “No bloodshed putting it on, I trust?”

  “Actually, we had an incident,” she offered.

  She did not see Portia amongst the ballroom crush, and suspected she would not until it came time to leave. The maid had been shyly respectful after the broom incident last evening.

  “Ah, but she is a blood slave, yes?”

  “Portia? No.” At the sight of Constantine’s raised eyebrows, she added, “And that is how I wish it to remain.”

  “I am surprised at you, Viviane. Mortals are mere vessels. That you’ve established a sort of relationship with your maid can be dangerous. The things Henri neglected to teach you.”

  “She is my friend. And friends are an impossibility to keep when you go after them with intent to bite. Besides, Henri has bitten her. She is marked.”

  “You require friends who are Dark Ones, mon amour. I could introduce you to a few ladies—”

  “From your harem? No, thank you, Constantine. I see they attend in numbers tonight. Even masks cannot hide their simpering devotion to you. You are not so eager to prove your interest in me, I see.”

  “Your words cut me. If you believe I would ask exclusivity from you, and not give it of myself, then you don’t know me as I wish you to. Tonette has gone.”

  “Yes? Sent to the country to starve?”

  “She refused a severance. I had to kill her. She is not missed. As the other kin will not be missed. But I must perform this exorcism, if you will, in measured steps so as not to raise a revolt amongst the ranks.”

  “I don’t care how you go about exorcising your flock, Constantine. I live my life as I’ve done until you come to me a free and kinless man.”

  He pressed a hand to the wall over her shoulder. The move caged her with his body. His voice, low and measured, stirred a note of tension. “If you think to tease me with promises to be mine and then to laugh in my face when I have come to you stripped of my blooded kin, I shall retaliate, Viviane.”

  She leaned forward, which placed her confined breasts but inches from the soft tease of his velvet frockcoat.

  “I have promised you nothing. And do not dare to threaten me.”

  A flick of her fan placed the blade tips under his chin.

  Constantine did not flinch. “You are too bold.”

  “You like me bold.”

  “I do, indeed. It is what makes me love you.” He inhaled her perfume. The heat of his breath prickled at her neck. A swallow set the choker tight against her throat. “I should fall to my knees before you if we were not standing amongst so many others.”

  As Rhys Hawkes had done upon her threshold? The memory quickened her.

  Constantine took her hand and stepped aside to scan the ballroom, and in that moment Viviane’s sight fell upon the man standing top of the stairs, scanning the crowd himself.

  “Rhys,” she said, cautioning her voice to a mere whisper.

  “What was that?”

  “Just a tickle in my throat.”

  Her eyes strayed over the blue waistcoat, hugged by brown satin. He cut a fine figure.

  “What distracts you? Ah. Monsieur Hawkes. That bastard. He is an eyesore amongst the finery. Does his presence trouble you? But of course, it must, knowing he is so wild, an animal who could strike at any moment.”

  “An animal? I don’t understand.”

  “Hmm? Oh, of course not. Stay here. I’ll see that he is removed.”

  He made way through the crowd, and it was easy enough to follow his departure for the vampire lord towered over most. He skipped up the stairs, and when Rhys saw him, Viviane thought surely he sneered.

  Constantine said something to Rhys. Rhys chuckled. Then they were off, down the entrance hallway.

  A wild animal that could strike at any moment? A shiver traced her heart.

  Clutching her skirts, Viviane tracked the ballroom perimeter. This was a conversation she did not want to miss.

  LORD CONSTANTINE DE SALIGNAC was exactly as Rhys remembered him from the previous decade. Tall, arrogant and possessed of dull black eyes that offered no glint of soul or humanity. The man had a cold heart. Nothing could permeate it. Not even the bonds of family.

  “I believe you,” Rhys muttered to himself.

  All vampires were similar. So mired in the ancient means of their ancestors, entitled and expectant all should part as they walked through. Cold and soulless—though vampires did possess souls. Rhys shivered to be near such a creature.

  Yet he did fear a vampire little. While a match to their species in his human-shaped vampire form, in strength and guile, should he shift to werewolf, the vampire had better run—unless he preferred his head rolling on the ground.

  Many times he’d almost shifted while in Constantine’s presence. The enchantment that kept back his werewolf was only so effective.

  The vampire clad in steel-colored velvet and dripping in silver-threaded lace stalked the hall to the first open door and marched inside, assuming Rhys would follow.

  Rhys paused in the hallway, peering into the room. The diminutive salon was done in emerald damask and dark woods. Smaller versions of the grand iron chandeliers from the ballroom hung from sturdy ropes sheathed in emerald velvet. A billiard table fashioned entirely of white marble was topped with red felt.

  He scented no others beyond the remnants of whisky, and the hint of sweet wine lingered. Hmm…

  Rhys smiled with knowing.

  The tribe leader beat a fist on the billiard table. “What in damnation are you doing here, in my home?”

  Vampires. Always so melodramatic.

  Thank his werewolf’s calm mind for lacking dramatics.

  Rhys pressed the heels of his palms to the table opposite Constantine. “Enjoying the festivities, drinking champagne and manhandling the wenches.”

  “There’s not a woman in the room who would endure your mangy touch.”

  “That’s an opinion not shared by most women.”

  “If the
y knew your nature they would run screaming from you.”

  “Why so angry, brother?”

  Constantine’s jaw tightened. He never used that familial word. Probably thought it poison to his tongue.

  “Are you not thrilled to see me after so long?” Rhys continued. “Where was it last time? Ah yes, the Conciergerie dungeon. Testing convicts with that devious execution device, the Scottish Maiden. You do back the strangest ventures.”

  “Lately Monsieur Guillotine has been studying it. I feel certain his modifications will produce a useful method to execution should France ever need it for large volumes.”

  Rhys clenched his fingers into fists.

  “The machine is a marvel,” Constantine added. “Slices through flesh and bone so precisely.” As did the man’s steely gaze. “Now if you will leave.”

  “I believe the Salon Noir offers an open invitation.”

  “That is so. Yet it is presumptuous of you to attend. Perhaps I should sic our wolf slayer after you?”

  “So the slayer is a vampire?”

  “But of course.”

  “I suspected as much from tribe Nava. What is it you call the alleged wolf who slayed two of your own? Longtooth hunter?”

  “The bastard will be dealt with justly.”

  “But you have not yet found him?”

  “I have a suspect.”

  “In hand?” Rhys eyed his brother, seeking signs of lacking confidence, or concealing a secret. If he knew it was William…

  “I am not at liberty to say. What is your concern?”

  “I’ve an interest in the mystery. There is a missing werewolf.”

  “You run with a pack now?”

  “The wolves have always been my friends.” Rhys rolled a ball and it clacked the eight ball, landing it in the side pocket. “Unlike the snobbish vampires.”

  “You label yourself snobbish?”

  Affecting nonchalance, Rhys forced a calm tone. “And here I thought you only saw my dark side, brother.”

  “It is difficult to see beyond your unpolished veneer. You don’t belong in Paris and you know it.”

  “True, this city tries any sane man’s countenance. It is a land of falsities and mistruths, all hidden behind the glitter of a porcelain mask and Alençon lace. I hope to leave soon, but not until I learn the truth of the murders.”

  “And what if one of your werewolf friends murdered the vampires?”

  Rhys winced. It was possible William had done the deed. But as a representative for the Council he was to remain impartial. “I want to see justice done. The Council—”

  “You’re working for the Council now?”

  “I’ve been assigned this mission to prove myself, yes.”

  “Interesting.”

  He wagered Constantine thought the idea of Rhys aligning himself with a governing body ludicrous. It was. But time changes a man. He no longer sought to distance himself, but rather gather any who would accept him into his open arms.

  “Yes, well, you saw to ensuring I could not form a tribe.”

  “Was it a tribe or a pack? I’m fuzzy on your original goal.” A gesture flashed diamonds on Constantine’s fingers. “Must have been a pack for that mangy female you were tupping—”

  In an instant, Rhys clamped a vice grip about his brother’s throat. He growled, betraying the vampire he was right now.

  A master at inciting Rhys’s penchant to violence, Constantine’s victorious grin widened.

  Rhys released him. Flexing his fingers, he fought the werewolf’s wish to strike out, to maim and punish. He was not wolf now, he was vampire, a cool, calm creature who could stand against his enemy with utter stillness. Or so coached his werewolf brain.

  “I will not tolerate you in this city for one moment longer.” Constantine swung an admonishing finger through the air. “Leave.”

  There were so many reasons Rhys would like to rip out his brother’s throat. But he was no murderer. And though Constantine put little worth in family, Rhys would never lose hope. Besides, retreating now would spoil the thrill of seeing Constantine on his knees over the grief of losing his one true love.

  If indeed he did love her. His interest must be to win a bloodborn vampiress. On the other hand, Rhys could entirely understand the ease with which a man could fall in love with Viviane LaMourette.

  “She is a gorgeous find,” Rhys commented. “The one in the red dress you were fawning over. Not very becoming for a man of your stolen rank.”

  The vampire hissed, revealing fangs. Rhys did not react. Constantine would not bite him. If they’d learned anything about one another over the decades it was their family blood did hold some currency.

  Constantine noted Rhys’s calm assessment. “The last thing I desire is your blood curdling at the back of my throat.”

  “If that it does, literally, curdle,” Rhys conjectured.

  “She is mine,” Constantine said through a fanged warning.

  “Apparent from the clutch marks you’ve bruised onto her wrists.”

  “I did not— The woman does not realize how desperate she is. She needs a patron.”

  “Is that the reason? I thought it was love? Rumors say it is so.”

  “It is. I am.”

  “Or is it her blood is pure?”

  Constantine smirked. “Something you can never obtain, eh, brother?”

  Pound the nail in further. So he could never win a vampiress who believed in pure blood and the system of patronage. Nor could he simply attract her through the merit of his mixed breed.

  Fool. Abandon this ruse.

  No. This was not a wager for love, but for revenge.

  Perhaps.

  He no longer knew, for sure, what his goal was.

  “If you do not see to finding your way from the premises,” Constantine said, “I’ll have the bravos brought in to throw you out.”

  “No need,” Rhys replied softly.

  His brother thrust an angry finger at Rhys. “I am a man of my word.”

  “Certainly you are. We’ve engaged in this dance of wills and personal annihilation for decades. If you finally achieve your desire to kill me, who then would you torment?”

  “Your death will not come at my hands, brother. I made a promise to our mother. Beyond that, it is high time our dance did come to a finish.”

  “I agree.” Rhys folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the billiard table. “Let’s end it here in this city. For once and for all.”

  The dark lord’s eyes twinkled with malice. “May the better man emerge the victor.”

  Constantine exited with all the fury of the queen’s poodle. Rhys chuckled. He crossed his ankles, and pressed his palms against the table behind him.

  Was it right he received so much pleasure taunting his brother?

  Surely not.

  A sniff confirmed what he’d been aware of since entering the room. He had scented her distinct aroma of sweet wine. “You can come out now.”

  A few seconds passed before the paneling on the far wall cracked in a perfect rectangle, and the secret door opened to reveal Viviane looking like a smuggled princess in red. Her lips matched the deep shade of her dress.

  “That color should not be legal on you,” he commented as she approached. “Bloodred, eh?”

  “You are brothers?”

  She had heard it all. Not exactly the way Rhys would have cared to reveal such information, but now it was out, more’s the better. But if Viviane had overheard Constantine was his brother, she must have also picked up the other detail about his life.

  Hell.

  She flipped open her fan and fluttered it curtly. She did not meet his eyes, instead trailing a finger along the slick marble billiard table. “But you don’t use the name Salignac.”

  Rhys slapped his palms to his opposite arms. He wasn’t prepared for this conversation.

  Her fan stopped fluttering. “Why did you not tell me this immediately?”

  “I—”

  �
�No. I cannot speak with you, let alone be in your presence. You have lied to me.”

  “It was not a lie.”

  “It was truth hidden.” She slapped her fan shut smartly. “Move aside.”

  He stepped between her and the door, not wanting her to leave without explaining… What? How? Right here in his brother’s home? Gods, help him.

  Rhys moved to the left, offering her an open path to the door, which she took without uttering another word. The breeze of her scent curled about him in her wake, and he muttered, “Sorry,” but she was already too far to hear.

  “Damn it!”

  Had Constantine won this round? The fact they were brothers should not offend Viviane, unless she truly did have her heart set on being patroned by the tribe leader.

  “Have you been completely truthful with me, Viviane?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE CANDLE GLOW FROM A six-prong silver candelabra flickered madly in Viviane’s periphery. She blinked and turned her head slowly. Portia pinned her hair into one of her usual elaborate concoctions, a vision of twists, curls and springy coils.

  “One of these days I shall succeed in convincing you to don a wig,” Portia said. “Then we’ve not hours to spend preparing your hair when you deem to so quickly let it down.”

  Viviane smiled and closed her eyes. “I value your friendship, Portia.”

  “You deem me a friend?”

  “Yes.”

  The maid’s mouth dropped open, then clapped shut. “I just never… Thank you. It means a lot you would say it.”

  The gentle tug of Portia’s fingers through her hair relaxed. Already the hunger pangs tweaked below her rib cage. Or possibly it was the whalebone corset. She wondered sometimes if she might expire from lack of breath, but being immortal wouldn’t allow such a dramatic death.

  The watered silk gown was the color of rust and shimmered with glints from gold threading shot throughout. It had arrived this morning from the dressmaker, Rose Bertin, an order Blanche must have placed weeks earlier. Viviane had been dreaming about wearing it all day.