by Lori Devoti
There were many ways Rodrigue could try to stop Harry. He could order Harry’s death or try to kill him himself. But he could have done either of those a century before—Harry had been hunting Marie Jean that long—and the prince hadn’t.
Which made Harry guess Rodrigue wouldn’t try to kill him now either. But he also guessed that Marie Jean had escaped him in the past because Rodrigue was in some way helping her, warning her. That, despite whatever she had done to the prince before and threatened to do to him now, he still protected her.
So his request was simple. “Don’t help her. Don’t send your lieutenants to watch over her. Don’t hide that I’ve found what she wants most; don’t keep her from coming to get that thing.”
“And the lamb? The one you would sacrifice on the altar of your revenge? How does she feel about this?” The vampire’s voice was regal and judging.
Harry’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t here to be judged by a vampire, and he didn’t want to talk about Lindsey, not with Rodrigue, not with anyone. “She will be fine.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps she will die. And then, dhamphir, who will you blame? Who will you hunt to avenge that death? There will be only one place to look…the reflecting glass.” He motioned to a huge gold-framed mirror that hung over the couch.
Harry felt his own anger flare, knew the emotion showed on his face. “That will be my worry, won’t it?”
Rodrigue smiled. “Yes, dhamphir, it will—yours and the lamb’s.”
“Do you agree?” Harry asked. The words came out hard, harsh. The vampire had no right to question Harry’s choices. No right at all.
Rodrigue moved back to the table and picked up a fresh glass. After filling it, he took a sip. The muscles of his neck moved as he swallowed; his Adam’s apple bobbed, reminding Harry what else he drank. Making Harry question the unspoken treaty which had lain between them for so many years.
“I will not help her. I will not send my lieutenants to her side. I will not warn her of your plan. I will do nothing to stop her from coming to wherever you leave your little lamb—tied up ready for slaughter. I will let mon oiseau do as she will; let her kill this final relative too. Let her gain the power that would make her strong—stronger than me.” He turned, the glass still in his hand. “Is that what you want, dhamphir? Will that get you to leave my home—happy?”
Happy. It was a ridiculous word. Harry could never be happy, but he could be revenged. He lifted his gaze and met the vampire’s. “Yes, Rodrigue. That it will.”
With a sniff fitting of Rodrigue’s vampire title—prince—Rodrigue lifted his glass and took another drink.
Harry could feel his dismissal, but if the change in energy wasn’t enough, the appearance of two vampires dressed head to toe in black was. He walked toward the door.
Two steps past the parlor’s entrance, Rodrigue’s voice stopped him.
“You were wrong, dhamphir. It is not my mind that holds my memories. It is my heart. When this is over, if you succeed, you will have taken that too.”
The vampires beside Harry motioned ahead to the now wide-open door. As his foot cleared the entry, the door closed quietly but distinctly behind him.
He stood on the front porch, hands fisted, heart pounding, the vampire’s final words ringing in his ears.
Chapter Five
Emilie drove a cute two-seat, yellow convertible. When Emilie named the make and model, both sailed past Lindsey unrecognized.
“It’s a classic.” Emilie waved Lindsey toward the passenger seat with one of her gloves. “There are fewer than a dozen still operating.”
“Oh.”
As she climbed inside, Lindsey ran her fingers over the sun-warmed leather seat. Until that moment, Lindsey hadn’t considered what Emilie did for a living, but the other woman obviously had money.
“Do you live near here?” she asked, hoping the answer would tell her more about her impromptu tour guide.
“Me?” Emilie seemed surprised by the question. “I move a lot, but currently, yes, I live over there.” Another casual wave of a glove seemed to indicate a street of mansions a few blocks away.
Emilie peered at the sun. “Rodrigue’s minions will be up. Oh well, the more the merrier, right?” Her smile seemed to answer her own question, so Lindsey made due with a cautious curve of her lips.
Ten minutes later, they pulled off 11th and onto a narrow, tree-lined street. The small car bumped up and down over the uneven road.
Emilie frowned. “Why they don’t replace these cobblestones with something more practical is beyond me. Of course, Rodrigue does tend to cling to the past.”
To Lindsey the cobblestones were charming, as were the mature trees and historic homes. Although the age of the houses seemed similar to those in the Central West End, Rodrigue’s neighborhood felt cozier.
In front of a brick mansion with a mansard roof, Emilie slowed the car. The street was lined with other vehicles, leaving nowhere for the women to park.
This fact didn’t seem to bother Emilie, however. She double-parked next to a black vintage Jaguar and opened her door to hop out.
Lindsey glanced around, unsure what to do. “Is this…should I…?”
Already standing on the sidewalk in front of the mansion, Emilie again waved her gloves. “Don’t worry. The Jag is Montclair’s. He owes me—more than he’ll be able to repay…ever.” She slapped her gloves against one palm and stared at Lindsey impatiently.
Unable to ignore the other woman’s obvious annoyance, Lindsey opened the door and stepped onto the street.
Life stilled.
It was a strange thought, but it was the only way Lindsey could think to describe the unsettling feeling that fell over her.
She had noticed no noise before leaving the car except Emilie’s movements and voice, but now, standing outside the vehicle, she could feel the silence.
And somehow, she knew she was the cause.
Emilie smiled. “He didn’t tell them—not all, at least.” A bell-like laugh escaped her throat, and suddenly Lindsey knew with zero-percent doubt that she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, that whatever awaited her behind the mansion’s plain wooden door was nothing good.
Her hand touched the convertible door’s cool metal handle. “We should go.” She glanced around, her unease increasing with each beat of her heart—which was moving faster than she knew was either healthy or normal. “I forgot, I should get to work early tonight. I…I need to talk to Bret about something.”
Emilie, who had turned to face the mansion, turned back. Her full skirt rose in the air as she did. The heel of one pink pump lifted too.
A wind seemed to blow over Lindsey as well. Her hair stirred.
“Really? I thought you wanted to find your cousin. You can’t run now. Not when you are so close.” There was still a smile on Emilie’s face, but it did nothing to lighten the feeling of dread that had settled over Lindsey. In fact, even Emilie and her ever-bright mood seemed ominous. Like a clown in a horror movie.
Tiny beads of sweat formed on Lindsey’s upper lip, and she couldn’t seem to meet the other woman’s gaze. Her fingers tightened on the car’s door handle until she thought she might rip it from its fastening.
“Close? What do you mean? Is Karin inside?” She glanced at the mansion. The building she realized now was dark and imposing.
Whispers drifted toward her, making the hair on the back of her neck rise.
The wind. It had to be.
She wrapped her free arm around her body and gave herself a hug.
“Inside?” The idea seemed to intrigue Emilie. She cocked her head.” That would certainly be entertaining.” Then she sighed. “But no, I doubt that. Still…” She looked back at Lindsey. “You are here, and Rodrigue certainly knows your cousin better than anyone…”
The whispers grew louder.
They weren’t the wind. Lindsey was sure of it now.
“Emilie? Do you hear that?” she asked. Her hand dropped from the handle. S
he took a step toward the house.
For a second, Emilie frowned. Then she smiled. “That cheat.” She tapped one finger against her cheek. “What do you hear?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but…” Lindsey couldn’t say more. She couldn’t form words or even thoughts. Her body was moving. She needed to get to the house, needed to see what was inside. Someone there needed her.
Behind Emilie, the door opened—only a crack, but it was enough. Lindsey knew she was welcome, knew she was wanted.
She walked past the other female and headed toward the front door.
Her feet fell silently against the brick walkway. Her gaze locked onto the door.
Inside. She needed to get inside.
She was still six feet from the mansion’s small porch when a large hand grabbed her by the arm. Her body spun, and she found herself staring into Harry’s dark gaze.
Instinctively, she tried to pull away.
His grip tightened. “There’s nothing here for you,” he murmured.
She blinked and looked back over her shoulder at the mansion. The door was closed, and the place looked deserted. Why had she been walking toward it?
“Rodrigue… Last night, you said he knows Karin,” she mumbled, struggling to sort the pieces of why she was here on this street, and why she needed to go inside the home, into a solid picture.
“He does, but she isn’t here, and he knows nothing of where she has gone.”
“Really?” Lindsey’s brows pulled together. That didn’t seem right. She had been so sure that she was meant to go inside—and if not to find Karin, then why? “How do you know?”
Harry stepped closer. His body blocked her view of everything else. But it was more than that. Harry’s broad shoulders loomed over her, but it was his presence that dominated. He was all she could see, feel, or hear.
His energy engulfed her, and she couldn’t remember why she was here on the historical residential street or how she had come.
She stared at him, waiting.
He sucked air between his partially closed teeth and raised his hand to her chin. His thumb traced the line of her jaw.
Still confused, she didn’t respond.
“You don’t belong here, Lindsey. Don’t come back, ever.”
The words made sense. He was right. She had no reason to be on this street. No reason to stand on this walkway. She should never have come.
She nodded.
“I’ll take you home now.” He reached for her arm.
“Home?” Home was a foreign concept to Lindsey. She had no home. She had no family.
“How did you get here?” Annoyance added an edge to Harry’s voice, and his fingers tightened on her arm. But Lindsey couldn’t seem to focus on that. Her mind was reaching out, trying to remember something, but whatever it was slipped away like sand through her fingers. Then suddenly the fog was gone, and everything snapped back into place.
Emilie. Emilie had brought her. Somehow Lindsey had forgotten her companion.
She spun, searching the front walk, yard and street for the other woman, but she was nowhere to be seen and neither was her car.
“Who are you looking for?” Harry’s voice was low and demanding.
“Emilie. She drove me.”
“Did she?” A muscle in Harry’s jaw jumped. “She’s gone now. Up to no good, I’m sure.”
“No good?” The mood had shifted. The whispers were gone, and the mansion seemed…normal. Expensive, and from a world Lindsey could never visit, but normal.
She shook her head to clear the last bit of doubt. She was tired. She had been through too much in too short of a period of time. Obviously, it was all catching up with her.
Harry’s arm, strong and warm, slipped behind her back. She let her shoulder press against his chest, let his strength flow into her.
It felt good to lean on someone, right.
“Emilie has much to answer for. She shouldn’t have brought you here, and she shouldn’t have left you alone.”
He was angry with Emilie—because of Lindsey.
“But she—” Aside from the fact that the woman had apparently deserted Lindsey on this unfamiliar street, she’d done nothing but offer help and advice. Help and advice Lindsey knew she needed if she hoped to locate her cousin. She couldn’t let Harry be angry with Emilie, not over Lindsey.
“I don’t mean that she meant you harm. I’m sure she didn’t—at least not from her. But she also knew very well what my expectations were.” Harry’s fingers pressed into Lindsey’s side as he steered her past the Jaguar that Emilie had parked beside.
“Expectations?” He made it sound as if Emilie worked for him, but Lindsey hadn’t gotten that feeling at the bar.
“I shouldn’t have trusted her, not with you.” The words came out low and tense.
A band around Lindsey’s chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. She hated it when people were angry.
Harry wrapped his fingers around Lindsey’s arm. She took a step back until her butt pressed against his Mercedes’s door.
“We’ll go back to the apartment. Don’t leave it again unless you tell me first.”
Lindsey frowned. She shook her head. “Why would I tell you?”
Something flickered in Harry’s eyes. Lindsey couldn’t peg the emotion, and for a moment, she didn’t think he would answer.
He loosened his hold on her arm, and his voice softened. “I’m sorry. I’m protective. I told you there was a reason I gave you the cross. I guess you are bringing up old feelings.” He moved his arms so she stood between them, his hands touching the car behind her. He looked down at her, into her in a way no one ever had before.
She pulled in a breath, and her heart thumped.
“Old feelings?” She whispered the question, afraid to speak louder, afraid the mood would shift, and he’d walk away.
His gaze blazed with such intensity she could feel it, like a blast of heat warming her head to toe.
“Very old,” he murmured. He lowered his face until his breath tickled her skin, and his lips brushed hers.
She held very still, not even breathing now. Then, just as she thought she couldn’t stand waiting a moment longer, he moved closer still—until his mouth was on hers, and his lips were coaxing hers to open.
The kiss was firm but gentle. His hands stayed pressed against the car behind her, and no part of his body besides his mouth touched her. Something about this made what was happening between them seem dangerous, illicit even.
Lindsey’s heart skipped. She closed her eyes and soaked in the moment. The air around them was warm, and she could smell wildflowers that grew a few yards away. Her hands rose; she placed them lightly on his chest. The last hour had been so surreal she needed to touch Harry, to know this kiss was real.
His lips moved, and his tongue danced across hers, luring, coaxing. She stepped forward, away from the car, and fisted her hands in his shirt. She felt tiny, clinging to him, holding him as if he anchored her in place, as if without him she would be swept away by some unseen wind or wave.
And, she realized, that was how she felt. The events since arriving in St. Louis had left her feeling like a leaf, blown along by a wind she couldn’t harness.
She needed a mooring, something or someone to trust. She’d thought earlier perhaps that person was Emilie, but now she realized she was wrong.
But Harry… Harry she could trust.
o0o
The woman in his arms was warm and soft, beautiful and strong—whether she knew it or not—everything a woman was supposed to be.
Harry wanted to pull her close, devour her, forget who she was and why he had lured her to this city.
But he couldn’t. He’d waited too long.
Anger flashed through him. His mouth hardened, and he stepped closer to Lindsey, causing her to back into the car.
A gasp escaped her lips, and realizing what he had done or was about to do, Harry pulled back. Her eyes wide, she stared up at him. Her lips were par
ted and soft, but for a moment, he couldn’t see her, couldn’t see anything except the woman he was sworn to kill.
“Harry?”
The voice was wrong. No husky French accent. No sultry, taunting laugh.
But the face… That damned face. It was just too right.
He lifted his hand and slammed it into the roof of the car behind her.
Lindsey jumped. And he saw her, really saw her—Lindsey, not her damned, cursed twin.
He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted his own blood. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “We need to get back. The bar will open soon.”
Her eyes still wide, Lindsey nodded and turned to face the car. Harry reached around her to open the door.
A whisper skittered past him. His hand on the door’s handle, he paused. Lindsey did too.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
“The wind,” he replied.
“But…” She glanced to the side, to the plants that hadn’t moved.
There was no wind. They both knew it.
“It dies quickly here.” He lifted the handle and pulled open the door. She stepped to the side but hesitated again. This time her gaze drifted to Rodrigue’s front door.
Harry’s brows lowered. The vampire was toying with her and testing Harry.
“Rodrigue’s dangerous. Remember that.” He jerked his head toward the open door, telling her to get in.
“But he—”
“Isn’t going to help you. Don’t come here again, no matter what Emilie tells you.”
Lindsey stiffened, and he knew his words had been harsh. Demanding. Too demanding for a man Lindsey had known for only a day.
“I don’t want you to waste your time or to get hurt. You trust me, don’t you?” He held her gaze, willing her to say yes while also desperate for her to say no.
She shouldn’t trust him. If he truly cared about her, he would tell her that, but he couldn’t.
He needed her. To end his promise, to be free of its gnawing demands, she had to trust him—whether he deserved that trust or not.
Her gaze wandered to the mansion door one last time; then she turned, her face filled with resolve.
