by Jess Haines
I couldn’t help but bark out a short laugh. “Are you crazy? I’m staying right here. Well, not right here.” I struggled up to my feet with as much grace as I could muster, backing up a bit more from the door for good measure. I trusted Arnold’s skills, but I wasn’t sure how much physical force the barrier could withstand. This would be the first time it had been put to the test against forced entry, so I wanted to have some distance between us in case the thing gave out. “Get out of here! Leave me alone!”
His face twisted in confusion, some of the anger dwindling out of his eyes. “I said come here. Why aren’t you obeying me?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because I think you’re a freaking lunatic?”
His shoulders slumped, his eyes turning a warm, chocolate brown, a slightly darker shade than his hair. His hair was short, but he ran his hands through it in a nervous gesture, like he was used to it being longer. “Well, that’s never happened before. Uhm. Look at me! That’s right, look right into my eyes. Now–come here!” he demanded again, this time with a touch of desperation.
It’d be sort of funny and corny if I hadn’t realized he was trying to use a very illegal black enchant to get me to do his bidding. All praise for the good luck charms given to me courtesy of The Circle, bless their magic little hearts.
“No,” I said flatly, regaining some of my confidence since both the shields and my charm looked to be holding up just fine. “Who are you? What do you want?”
He scratched the side of his head, looking puzzled. I started edging toward the table with my cell phone and the gun on it.
“Well, shoot. I really didn’t want to do this. Thought this was just gonna be some quick smash-and-grab.”
Exasperated, I repeated myself. “Hello? Who sent you? What do you want from me?”
“Max Carlyle wants you. I’m one of his assistants, Peter. He sent me to come get you.” He brightened up some, sounding hopeful. “Don’t suppose you’d come along willingly, would you?”
My God, this guy was dumber than a box of rocks.
“Not after that little show of temper,” I said.
“Damn!”
“So, get the fuck out. Go away. If Max Carlyle wants to talk to me, tell him to just call my fucking office to arrange an appointment like everybody else,” I said, grabbing my phone. “If you don’t leave in the next ten seconds, I’m calling the cops.”
“They can’t do anything to me. No human is strong enough to take me on.”
“Good for you,” I muttered, shaking my head at his naïveté. He must be newly turned. Like within the last few days newly turned to be this stupid. Guess he hadn’t heard that it was now standard issue for cops to carry crosses and holy water with the rest of their equipment.
I could practically picture a dim lightbulb buzzing to life above his head, his look suddenly going sly. His voice turned sickly sweet, cajoling. “You’ve got to come out of there sometime. Why don’t you come along now and make this easier on everyone?”
Yeah, like he could possibly sweet-talk me after flashing fangs. “Give me a break. Look, fang-boy, I’m not interested. If you hadn’t gone all vampire-y on me, maybe I would’ve listened to what you had to say. As it is, I’ll be calling the police now.” I started dialing, staring at him, free hand braced on my hip as I waited on hold for an operator to pick up. It didn’t take long.
“Hi, I’ve got a vampire who’s threatening me and trying to break into my apartment.” The angry epithets and pounding sounds followed by pained howls must have sounded awfully funny to the operator on the other end of the line. “Could you guys get here quick? I could really use some help. Here’s the address …”
I hung up while the operator was still sounding completely frazzled, telling me to “stay calm” and that “help was on its way.” I was more interested in what Peter was up to. Tilting my head to the side, I examined the vampire, who was alternately cursing the pain in his hands and still trying to find a crack in the defenses around my door.
“Not the brightest crayon in the box, are you?”
He glared at me, a glimmer of red returning to his eyes. “Shut up! Max said you were a troublemaker, not a bitch.”
“Guess he didn’t hear I’m a New Yorker.”
Peter was abruptly jerked backward off his feet, out of my line of sight. I shifted to peek into the hall and see what was going on.
“What is the meaning of this?” came Royce’s smooth voice, warm with anger as he held the much-beefier-looking Peter by the back of the neck. He picked him up like he weighed as much as a housecat and flung him down the hallway. My brows rose to my hairline at that little display. I knew Royce was strong, but I’d never seen him use that strength so blatantly. Except when we were fighting to the death that one time–but I digress.
“You presume to touch my property without permission?” My eyes narrowed at that. Property, was I? “Go back to Max and tell him I want recompense for this grievance. Immediately!”
Peter growled out something I couldn’t quite hear, then audibly lumbered off toward the stairs. Weird. Never heard a vampire that tromped around so loudly. Usually they were light on their feet, quiet and swift like cats. Like predators.
Royce, for example, could move with a speed and fluidity that defied physics and not make a single whisper of sound in the process. The one time I’d seen him do it, it scared the living hell out of me. That, coupled with the stupidity of Peter’s actions, only reinforced my assumptions about him being newly turned.
Royce’s gaze shifted to meet mine, and for just a second I thought I felt the same type of pull and compulsion to come to him that Peter had vainly and oh-so-obviously tried to use on me. I turned my gaze away with more effort than such a simple act should have taken.
“Thanks for getting rid of him.”
He nodded and then turned his attention to my doorway. His thin lips quirked upward in a smirk as he ran a fingertip along the frame, sending luminous ripples through the otherwise invisible shield that kept out all things Other aside from those I personally keyed to it. A tendril of whitish smoke curled from his fingertip as it reddened, much like Peter’s hands had. “This is new.”
“Yeah, well, some creatures of the night can’t take a hint,” I said, moving to take his wrist below the cuff of his elegantly tailored suit jacket and pull him past the barrier.
Though he looked surprised at the touch, he didn’t resist. The barrier clung to him like Saran Wrap, more grudging than it had been for Chaz the first time I tried this, not wanting to let the vampire pass. Guess it was smarter than I was, trying to keep the dangerous stuff out instead of inviting it in for a little chat.
Once he was past it and the tug of resistance faded, I immediately let him go, shut the door, and backed away to put some much-needed space between us. “You’ve got good timing. Want to tell me what that was all about?”
“That vampire you just met is the progeny of Max Carlyle. I assume he told you why he was here.”
“Yes, but that’s not what I meant. What’s the big idea, calling me property?”
His smile could have melted the coldest of hearts. “Simply that. You and I are contractually bound rather than by blood or bond, but the old ways still apply. Long before these courts and contracts came about, any vampire binding a human was considered to have staked a claim that other vampires had to respect. It’s simply not done to harm or feed upon a human claimed by another vampire without his permission. You would not take your neighbor’s dog or housecat and do harm to it. You might play with it, but you certainly wouldn’t kill it or take it from its owner without permission. Do you see?”
I’m pretty sure my face must have registered some incredulity. He was comparing human servants to the family dog? He sighed at my speechless reaction and continued.
“I’m not saying that it is right or fair for humans to be considered this way. It is simply how it has always been done. To be bound to one of us is also considered an honor. It means that pe
rson has the benefit of the protection of the one who chose them and that they are being considered as a candidate for being turned. Since we are bound by the contract, you are ‘taken territory,’ so to speak. It puts you off limits as food or sport by anyone else since you are, by our laws, my property.” He paused thoughtfully before giving voice to a little laugh, amused by his own thoughts. “Though in this case I suppose ownership goes both ways, considering those little changes you made to the contract. An interesting and novel concept, though I don’t see how you might take any advantage of it.”
Great. Just great. Shaking my head, I stalked to the couch and sat down, folding my arms over my knees as I leaned forward to watch him. “Okay, you know, I’m not going to debate the morality of the subject with you, but I want to make one thing crystal clear. We have a working relationship. I will never be bound to you or anyone else by anything more than paper. Understand?”
He regarded me thoughtfully for a time, head tilted slightly to one side. That look from those black eyes was intense enough that I wondered if he now saw me for who I really was; not just another threat or conquest. He nodded and approached, settling himself with that enviable, centuries-practiced grace on the other side of the couch. “I understand.”
Somewhat mollified, I eased back into the couch cushions. He was a lot of things, but not a liar. Since he seemed to respect my stance on the matter, I trusted him to play nice for the time being. “Good. So what can you tell me about Max Carlyle? Any idea why he sent a flunky out to play fetch?”
“He considers you responsible for the death of one of his latest creations. Through your actions, he also holds me accountable.”
I stared blankly. Royce gestured at the gun I’d almost forgotten lying on the table. “Surely you remember Anastasia Alderov?”
“What?” Confusion assailed me. “You mean he made her a vampire? How could he hold me responsible for that when you were the one who threw her to the Weres? Completely aside from being batshit crazy, she betrayed him when she hooked up with David Borowsky. That’s not my fault!”
He smiled thinly, though there was no humor there. “Yes, he made her a vampire. He may not know about her treachery. His information about what happened that night was probably limited to what was in the papers or on the Internet. Perhaps the police report. You should know that we are not allies by any stretch of the imagination. Since I was the only other vampire present and I can almost guarantee that no Were who was there that night would have divulged what happened, he couldn’t possibly get a firsthand report. He probably assumed from the data at hand that you were the one who killed her. Particularly as it is public knowledge now that you are bound to me, and some of the pictures in the news showed you garbed as a hunter. He would have recognized the belt you were wearing at the time for what it was and thought you were fighting her under my orders. Also, as I said, I’m not entirely sure that he understands that Anastasia betrayed him. Even if he did know, I can tell you that he’d take any excuse to undermine my authority and reputation.”
“Peachy keen. So why did he send rocks-for-brains to drag me off? I thought you said when a vampire claims a person, they’re under their protection and others have to lay off?”
“Precisely so. The exception to this rule is when violence is committed between one vampire and another, whether or not it was justified. Since he thinks that you or I killed Anastasia, he wants recompense for the grievance and sees doing harm to you as that recompense. However, he went far out of line by trying to take you. You see, he has no solid proof that either of us were responsible for the loss of his progeny. All he can be sure of is that we were involved somehow. Due to that, he probably thought to take you so that he could use you as leverage in negotiations to get me to give him something he wants.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure, that makes all kinds of sense. Vampire politics are ridiculous, you know that?”
He laughed and leaned back in the couch. One hand brushed those shoulder-length raven tendrils out of his eyes so he could regard me fully, resting his other elbow against the back of the couch and knuckles under his jaw as humor sparkled in his eyes. He looked like he was posing for a photo shoot. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was being flirtatious. “I can see where others might think so. We tend to stick to our ways since that’s what has worked to keep the majority of us alive for so long.”
I pursed my lips in thought, wondering why he was being so accommodating and what was in it for him. He was being far too casual and nice to me tonight. What did he expect to get from me?
“Are you the exception to the rule then?” I asked, hoping this was a safe topic. “You’re the one who decided it was such a great idea to follow in Rohrik Donovan’s footsteps and get people to see the warm, fuzzy-bunny side of vampires after all.”
I’d always been curious why Royce had been the one to reveal the existence of vampires to the world. Rohrik Donovan, the leader of New York City’s largest pack of werewolves, had been the first Other to openly declare himself as such. He and his pack, the Moonwalker tribe, helped search for survivors in the rubble of the Twin Towers after September 11, 2001. Shortly after, Royce pulled a similar stunt at a press conference and demonstrated that he was no pretender with caps from a dentist and too many role-playing games under his belt. He’d managed to prevent widespread panic by the charitable contributions of his coven and offers of aid to the families of those affected by the terrorist attacks.
Royce was one of a very few elder vampires who was open to being interviewed or approached. He was often found at charity auctions, theater and restaurant openings, political rallies, and other events that might attract media attention. It didn’t make him any less dangerous, of course, but his actions seemed to help the overall public image of vampires. Yet considering what I knew of him, it was odd that he would put himself at such risk; being out in the open meant hunters like the White Hats could find him that much easier.
He opened his mouth to answer me, but there was a heavy pounding on the door that cut him off. “Police! Open up!”
I sighed. “Here we go.”
Chapter 5
“It’s okay, the bad guy is gone!” I shouted as I hopped to my feet and went to the door.
Two of New York’s finest were waiting on the other side with hands on the butts of their guns, looking alert but relieved. They were probably thanking their lucky stars they wouldn’t have to deal with a vamp attack.
“Everything okay here, ma’am?” one asked.
“Yeah. Thanks for coming, but you missed the action,” I said. I noted that his eyes widened in surprise and looked back over my shoulder, starting slightly when I saw how close Royce was behind me. Jeez, he moved like a ghost. A fast ghost. Gave me the willies. Both officers instantly had their weapons out and pointed at him.
“Hands up! Get away from her now!”
“Move it!”
Not having anticipated that reaction, I quickly spread my arms out and tried to shout loudly enough over their shouting so they could hear me. “Wait, wait, wait! This isn’t the vampire who attacked me! Hold on!”
Royce did what they ordered and lifted his hands, slowly backing away from me. He looked more amused than upset or frightened, which ticked me off. If he hadn’t been acting all creepy behind me, the police wouldn’t be on the verge of shooting him. His amusement with their reactions was more irritating than anything. Did he ever take anything seriously?
One of the two officers, D. BOWMAN by his name tag, slid around me into the apartment and kept his gun trained on Royce. He was a big guy, but he moved pretty well and knew what he was doing. I stepped aside to give the other officer more room, praying they weren’t so jumpy that they had itchy trigger fingers. “This isn’t the same vampire, you said? Wait a sec. You look familiar.”
“No, it’s not the same vampire,” I said, some exasperation trickling out despite my better intentions. “This is Alec Royce.”
The other cop blinked and turn
ed to look at me, his weapon slowly lowering. “Did you say Alec Royce?”
“Yes,” Royce put in, that same bemused smile curving his lips. “That’s me.”
“Jesus, Derek, put down your gun,” the first cop exclaimed as he quickly holstered his piece. “So sorry for the mix-up, Mr. Royce. Is everything okay here?”
The other cop looked confused–and then recognition dawned. His jaw dropped, and he had to try twice to get his gun in the holster as he backed up. He was gaping at the vampire while his partner was thinking fast and trying to do a PR salvage of the situation.
Royce lowered his hands, patting the nearer officer on the shoulder. Judging by how he flinched, the vamp might as well have touched him with a hot iron. “Not to worry, you’re just doing your jobs. I’d be happy to give you a statement and cooperate in any way you deem necessary.”
I watched this unfold, nonplussed. Royce had the NYPD in his pocket, too? I knew he was influential and well known, but this was crazy. You’d think they’d pulled a gun on the mayor by the way the two were reacting, going from bristling protectors of the damsel who wasn’t exactly in distress anymore to suave politicians trying to smooth any of the big bad vampire’s potentially ruffled feathers.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but would you come this way so I can take your statement?” Officer Bowman asked with just a little too much strained politeness, stirring me out of my thoughts. When I nodded assent, he led me across the room. He pulled a pad of paper and a pen from his shirt pocket to take notes, speaking quietly. “Sorry about all this, we didn’t realize that Mr. Royce would be here. Can I get your name, and what happened exactly?”
I glanced at the other officer, who was chatting with Royce like they were old buddies from high school or something. Rolling my eyes, I proceeded to tell Officer Bowman what happened. “My name is Shiarra Waynest. Another vampire showed up shortly before Royce did. When I opened the door, the other vamp tried to grab me, but I managed to keep away.” Easier to explain it that way than to enlighten him about the intricacies of the metaphysical shields on my door. “He said his name was Peter and he was trying to take me to see someone named Max Carlyle.”
