Weaken the Knees (The Immortal World Book 6)

by Shannon A. Hiner

  Halfway down the alley, she disappeared. The world came back into focus with her in a new part of the country.

  By law, the locations of the immortal cities were secret. New vampires were taken by their makers the first time via shimmering. It was the only way in or out. No roads led to the immortal cities. No airplanes or boats. Shapeshifters could arrive with their vampire friends, or come across great distances with their own two feet. But the locations were never spoken of or advertised. It was a safety measure that had kept them from the werewolves for over two hundred years.

  Rene might not have known precisely where the immortal city of Genocide lay on a map, but she had seen a lot of the continent in her second life and could make a few well-informed guesses if ever pressed. Not that she would. Giving up the location of Hadrian’s city was sure to be a death sentence. So she kept her guess to herself, but didn’t ignore the familiar quality of the mountains to the west, or the air that was so like her home, just without the layer of salt.

  Striding down the narrow walkway from the vehicle-less Genocide street to the main door of the Venaygo Headquarter building, Rene looked back longingly at the bar across the way. It had been far too long since she had stopped in at Fletcher’s, not since before the clan split. Staying out of sight had been Tanner’s idea of safety, for as much good as it had done him. Maybe after her meeting with the big man she’d stop in and see the pirate.

  The front door of the Venaygo building was strangely plain for such a prestigious building. It was almost always propped open from sunset to sunrise. The front room was round, with a clear, glittering dome above that let in the starlight. Sconces were placed on the surrounding walls which brought out the prevailing colors of taupe and old gold. The overall effect was a room that looked like it was made of diamonds and precious metals.

  At a forty-five degree angle from the front door stood a large desk. It was the only piece of furniture in the room. Directly across from the desk an enormous set of stairs rose, leading to the open gallery above and the old vampire’s office.

  A clearing throat brought Rene’s attention back to the desk.

  “Rene Kaplan, I presume?” A small blonde harpy surveyed her from beneath a sharp A-line haircut and eyes like shards of ice. “You’re five minutes early.”

  “Shit, my bad,” Rene said. “I’ll leave and come back in a couple of hours.”

  The harpy’s eyes narrowed on her, but she didn’t respond to the bait. Leaning to her left she pressed a button. “Hadrian, Rene Kaplan is here.” She took her finger off the button and straightened. “You may need to wait a couple of minutes.”

  A deep, masculine voice responded through the intercom. “Send her up. Thank you, Sarai.”

  Rene smiled sweetly at the woman behind the desk. “Shall I wait?”

  A single sharp brow rose on the blonde’s face.

  “Is that a no?” Rene tilted her head, fluttering her lashes with vapid enthusiasm.

  The vampire at the desk was much younger, Rene could smell it in the flare of her temper—but she was impressed by the woman’s control. Admittedly, it was likely better than her own.

  “No, Ms. Kaplan. Hadrian is quite ready for your appointment.” A slow, promising smile filled the woman’s sweet pink lips. Promising something dire, that was.

  For a moment, Rene worried once more about what she had done to gain Hadrian Catane’s attention. A very brief moment.

  “Thanks, doll.” She winked at the blonde and sauntered past the desk and up the staircase.

  It was considered bad form to shimmer inside the Venaygo building. Hadrian’s office itself was totally off limits. Not that she really knew what the consequences for such an action would be. She assumed the tenant therein would kill anyone who presumed. But considering Hadrian’s reputation, that seemed a little extreme. Still, the assumption was dire enough to keep most vampires from trying.

  Once in the gallery, she skirted the benches there and crossed to the other end where a pair of massive double oak doors stood. They were the only doors on the upper floor. She knocked and straightened her jacket.

  “Come.”

  The wood of the doors was warm under her fingertips as she pushed them open before her and strode in. The office was a comfortable, masculine place. The furniture was all in dark woods and the upholstery was taupe with shots of dark blue. Her eyes were immediately drawn away from a deeper examination of the room by the very old—very powerful—presence taking up one half of the room.

  Hadrian Catane might have looked like a young man in his late twenties, but he felt like a being that had outlived empires, monarchies, and saints. His light hair was almost golden in tone, sweeping over his broad forehead and brushing thick, sardonic brows. His eyes were some sharp, light color, eagle-like in their glint and intensity. Like the last time she’d seen him, he wore a suit of pure white, the only color evident on his person the peridot paisley tie.

  “Ms. Kaplan, welcome. Please, sit.”

  Rene found herself uncharacteristically without commentary. Her fingers felt stiff and liquid at the same time. She crossed the office woodenly, sitting down on the edge of the chair he motioned to.

  Hadrian surveyed her over the desk as he sat back in his chair. “How are you feeling?”

  Her tongue was stuck in her throat and the sensation of being in the schoolmaster’s office was starting to grate on her nerves. Rene shrugged inelegantly.

  “You look pale.”

  It was a leading statement, but a statement all the same. She raised her brows but didn’t respond. He didn’t need to know that she froze in the act of feeding herself. It wasn’t like it would happen again. She had it under control.

  His eyes were gold. God, how unfair was that? She’d been told more than once her own eyes were off-putting with their intense indigo, but here was a man with golden-eagle eyes and they could split a person in two with just one glance.

  He nodded as he stared at her. That disconcerting gaze unblinking, no emotion present. He looked as if he knew. Knew what she wouldn’t say, knew what she thought, knew everything.

  “I would like to hear, in your own words, what happened.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  Rene shrugged again. “I was hunting. I chose a human. He didn’t taste right. So I stopped, and felt ill. Then I tried to shimmer home. I don’t remember much after that.”

  “What did the blood taste like?”

  “For lack of a better term, soured milk. As best as I remember it, anyway.” The taste of milk was little more than a memory now, but she recalled the impression of it. Thick, sweet, wholesome. In some ways it was very like blood. Except . . . less. Less in every way.

  “I understand Serena had to bleed you nearly dry.”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “And she handed over a sample of the blood to Errin Kaye.”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Is there anything else pertinent you should be sharing with me?”

  She made the mistake of looking him in the eyes again. They speared her through, and though Hadrian still didn’t reveal what he was thinking, he seemed to take her apart piece by piece until the truth shone like cut diamonds before him. He couldn’t know though, and she wasn’t about to admit to anything. She doubted her “job” meshed with his idea of the first law.

  “No, I think that’s about it.”

  “Would you like to tell me how you came to choose this particular human?”

  “Just hunting. Bad luck.”

  “I see.” He paused. She could swear his eyes got brighter, like a spotlight focused directly on her soul.

  “Would you like to tell me the truth?”

  “Hadrian, I—”

  “I have been reading the most interesting reports,” he interrupted, “of a contract killer who has been dubbed ‘The Vampire.’ Do you know why?”

  Her throat closed up tighter than a boa constrictor. She didn’t move a muscle, but his gaze on her never f
altered.

  “It seems The Vampire’s victims are completely drained of blood.”

  Silence.

  He continued, “Police across the country can’t make heads or tails of it. There’s no sign on their bodies to indicate a cause of death. No forensic evidence. By all appearances, it’s the perfect crime.”

  She would not preen. She would not. That’s what he wanted. But dang, she was good.

  His gaze sharpened even more.

  Dammit, she must have preened.

  Hadrian didn’t speak, he just waited. The silence grew wide and long until a canyon seemed to swallow his desk, the office, and splinter the entire building in two. She had overestimated herself, it seemed.

  Rolling her eyes, Rene gave up and crossed her arms. “Fine. Yes. I accepted a contract to kill the human.”

  Still, he waited.

  “And a few before him.”

  Not a twitch.

  “About a hundred before him.”

  Seriously, had he turned to stone?

  “I’m the one they call The Vampire. You got me. Okay? What are you going to do to me?”

  She waited to hear the sound of rocks grating across each other as he finally leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to offer you a new job.”

  “Listen, Hadrian, there’s nothing that explicitly states we can’t—” she stopped as his words sunk in. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  Reaching down to pull open a drawer, Hadrian withdrew a tan file and placed it in front of him. The desk was strangely lacking a computer or monitor of any kind. Just an antique lamp, large calendar, and a single fountain pen. “The human you accepted a contract to kill is a member of a society of humans we’ve been keeping an eye on for the past few years. They started out as a small, radical club who believed vampires were real. Two years ago, their numbers began to grow, and they decided to call themselves La Venor. The Hunt. They started training. Physical, mental stress tests, self defense, and as they progressed, offense.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Vampire hunters.”

  “Like . . . Buffy?”

  She might have imagined it, but she thought his right eye twitched. “More or less.”

  “Pathetic.”

  He opened the file and glanced up at her. “Except one nearly managed to kill you two nights ago.”

  “Yeah, but—that was the blood. I mean, he didn’t attack me, or even take me by surprise.”

  “You weren’t surprised?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “These aren’t your run of the mill vampire hunters, Ms. Kaplan. They aren’t coming after us with stakes and silver crucifixes. This is biological warfare.”

  “Do you mean—”

  “The blood was poisoned.”

  “But then—”

  “He knew you were coming after him.”

  “So I was—”

  “The target. Yes.”

  Rene gulped and wished she was standing so she could sit down all over again.

  Hadrian gave her a minute to recover, thumbing through the file slowly before pulling out a stack of photographs. “Would you look through these and see if you recognize any of them?”

  A moment passed before she could stop her fingers from drumming on the armrest and process his request. She leaned forward and spread the stack out. They all looked so normal, so pathetic, so . . . human. “That one.”

  “Stephen Smart. He’s one of their founding members.” Hadrian pulled out two more photos and placed them next to the non-descript thirty-something male she’d pointed out. One was a woman around the same age, the other was a man who looked closer to forty. They all looked so drab. So mortal. “Along with Marissa Noble and Shawn Mizenhast. The group has now grown to about sixty members by our most recent count. We don’t think they have inoculated everyone yet, but they’re certainly working toward it.”

  “Inoculated them with what?”

  “That’s what Errin Kaye is working on.”

  “What’s this job you’re trying to offer me then?”

  “I mentioned that the group suddenly got serious, started to really grow and take shape two years ago. Before that it was just these three and a handful of others who would meet at each other’s houses. Tell stories about the times they were convinced they’d seen an immortal. That changed rather abruptly. They went from their parent’s basements to an office space in town. Flyers started showing up all over the city. Speakers from across the country. Membership grew.”

  Rene nodded her head for him to continue.

  “What does all of this take, Ms. Kaplan?”

  “Having absolutely no life? Or girlfriend?”

  The crease between his eyebrows deepened but otherwise he didn’t move.

  She sighed. “Money. It all takes money.”

  “Very good.” He nodded approvingly. Rene tried not to wince. She still felt like she was in the headmaster’s office, only now she was a “good girl.” Her stomach churned with the need to misbehave. Hadrian asked, “Where is the money coming from?”

  “Somebody won the lottery?”

  “No.” His tone implied he’d checked. “Someone or something is funding them. We need to know who, and we need it to stop.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  He frowned at her and Rene could swear she felt IQ points just drop right from her transcript. “I want you to find out who, and I want you to make it stop.”

  “Make it stop?” It sounded like he meant . . . make it stop.

  Those golden eyes pierced her and didn’t backtrack.

  It seemed like a good point to be perfectly clear on, however. “You want me to find the bank roll and kill it. Correct?”

  He smiled, but there was no humor in it. It was terrifying. “Yes.”

  “And you have no idea who or what it is?”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, where have you been getting all of your information from?”

  “I’ve had someone watching them for the past few years, but I need him on another assignment now. Something more important.”

  So what? She was just picking up the dregs? “This isn’t important?”

  “It’s not the most important thing I have to deal with, no.”

  “And I’m just supposed to start with nothing?”

  “You have names, you have a city, and you have their objective. I would hardly call that nothing, Ms. Kaplan.”

  “In two years your Mr. More Important hasn’t been able to find the money. Why do you think I can?”

  “Ms. Kaplan, I don’t want you to think this is some second-rate project. Believe me, I’ve had my doubts about giving this to you, considering your history.”

  As a Fraccas, he probably meant. Even the Venaygo were prone to prejudice against Ignatius’ clan.

  He smiled. “And not because of your former clan, as you are clearly thinking. You’re something of a loose cannon, I believe. I have less trouble from Estrada than I do you.”

  Rene sneered. The Risqueen Leader wished she had Rene’s reputation.

  “But Tanner was an excellent vampire, and I know he saw something in you worth preserving. I’m relying on you to be your relentless self. Sink your teeth in, and don’t let go until you are satisfied you’ve got the answer.”

  Invoking Tanner’s name was a cheap shot. Never mind that it worked, it was cheap. She glared at Hadrian, forgetting her initial terror of him.

  “That being said, I don’t expect you to accomplish this on your own. One vampire against sixty or more vampire hunters isn’t great odds. I want you to put together a team, a task force, if you will. I expect you to select members from each clan to help. Not too many, but a trusted few you believe will watch your back.”

  There were precisely two vampires she trusted to watch her back. One was dead.

  “This is an opportunity for you, Rene.” It was the first time he said her first name, she realized. His eyes seemed more green than gold at that moment. He didn’t need to say
more; the “don’t blow it” was implicit. “You’ll report back to me in two weeks with an update.”

  And that was a dismissal. She found her legs obeying before her mind could even question whether or not they should. Rene was halfway to the door when she turned back. Hadrian looked up from the folder and waited.

  “Why did you choose me?”

  “Because it’s personal for you.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That human nearly killed you. Are you going to let him get away with that?”

  No, she realized. Already her mind had turned to finding him and, if not drinking his blood, finding some other creative way to put him out of her misery.

  “Happy hunting, Ms. Kaplan.”

  William owed Serena big time. Rene never would have told him, and Estrada was just contrary enough to forget about him. No one was a better fit for the job. He hoped if he was convenient enough, if Estrada knew it would irk Rene, she would choose him.

  Why he felt the need to press his suit when Rene had never—would never—welcome his help, he didn’t know. That was a certain pigheaded aspect of his nature he’d never had a care to examine closely. In this case, what Rene wanted didn’t matter. She was so reckless, so ready to throw herself into any unnecessarily dangerous situation, she needed someone with a cool head watching her back.

  That’s why Serena called him.

  That’s why he was knocking on Estrada’s door.

  With Tanner gone, Rene seemed even more unhinged than when he’d met her a few decades before. Back then he’d been impressed by her bearing, her devil-may-care attitude. Since Tanner was gone, it was like watching a fatherless child running along a cliff’s edge with a pair of scissors . . . in the rain.

  Did she want to join her sire? Wherever he’d ended up?

  Will shook his head as he pulled his hand away from the door. He couldn’t watch her fall and do nothing. Never in his life had he met someone so full of life yet overflowing with darkness. She’d intrigued him from the start. And she’d hated him about as long.

  A voice from within the office beckoned. Swinging the door softly open, Will stepped around it to find himself in the office of Angela Estrada, leader of his clan, the Risqueen. A seven-hundred-year-old Spaniard of short stature and even shorter temper. Estrada was seated at a large oak pedestal desk with her back to a wall made entirely of windows. The room was decorated in dark woods and deep sapphire accents. It was a relatively large room to house so little furniture. The focal point was clearly meant to be the dark-eyed woman at its center.