by L Ann
“I know you weren’t,” Morgan’s tone was unreadable. She picked up the bathrobe lying across the bed and pulled it on.
Taz sucked in another breath; he wasn’t out of the woods yet. “Morgan… Anna… bonding was the last thing on my mind. We were… no, you were driving me crazy. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than getting inside you.”
Morgan nodded. “Good to know. I’m being bonded to a vampire who views me as nothing more than a body available for his sexual urges.” She tied the bathrobe shut with a sharp tug and stepped away, veering off toward the adjoining bathroom door and, on impulse alone, Taz moved to block her path.
“Hey. Hey!” he raised both hands in front of him, half-expecting to be laid out by one of her roundhouses. He took another quick breath and spoke. “I won’t lie to you. That might be how it started, especially after Vegas. But a lot has happened since then. I know you now. At least a lot better than I did. You must know. I want you to know that you mean a lot more than just a roll…” he trailed off, groaning silently as his words echoed a hundred lines he’d used more than a thousand times on more women than he could remember.
“Anna,” he started again. “I’ve never known a woman like you before. And that may sound like a cheesy line – the Gods know I’ve used it enough times – but I’ve never been more sincere. You have to believe that.”
“Sincere?” She gave him a long look. “You haven’t got the first clue what being blood-bonded to a Necuno means, do you?”
“Truthfully? No.” he admitted. “But you can bet your last dime, Hamish and the Old Man set this up. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes. But the question is did you know? Did you agree to it? I know your type.” Her self-control was cracking. “Blood and sex on tap – how could you resist that? You know that’s how this works, right?” She stepped forward until her body was pressed flush against his. “Do you know why Pureblood Nikaran males like to blood-bond with female Necuno?” she continued, her voice dropping as she tilted her head back, exposing her throat. “Not only do they get the ultimate blood fix. Being blood-bonded means, they get to enjoy the additional extras that only sex and desire can pump into the blood source. You tasted it last night, didn’t you? Admit it, I’Ane, you almost lost control. I saw your eyes change, you wanted to drain every drop from me.” She watched as his eyes darkened, the pupils expanding. “Right here, right now, with my scent in every breath you take, throwing me on that bed and taking what you want… what you can make me want… is the loudest thought in your head.”
Man, is my reputation that bad? Well, maybe it was, but he wasn’t, Taz decided. Morgan was right about one thing though. In her current emotional state, and their proximity to each other, her scent had him itching to do exactly what she was describing.
“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” His voice hoarse from the monumental effort it took to ignore his body’s demands, the I’Ane inherent stubbornness prevailed. “Blood bond or not, I might be a lot of things, but I’m no rapist. Mutual participation is way too much fun. And besides, we have a job to do. So, if you’re done casting me in the role of lecherous, backstabbing scumbag, it’s time we got our shit together and got back to it.”
The aggressive response he expected didn’t arrive. Instead, his words seemed to take the fight out of her and Morgan eased back a step, the tension in the air reducing a little. She gazed at him for a long second, then sighed. “You don’t understand. Not yet, anyway.” Reaching out a hand, she patted his shoulder then stepped around him. “I still need that shower.”
“And I need a stiff drink” Taz whispered as she vanished into the bathroom.
~*~
“Înăuntru linişte, înăuntru loialitate, pînă la moarte,” the voice-over on the DVD was Zuron.
“In silence, in loyalty, until death, in the Old Tongue, and is the credo of an ancient vampire sect known as the Cabal. A fraternity similar to, but centuries older, than the humans’ Freemasons. Similar in that, like the Masonic Order, their inner orchestrations are shrouded in secrecy. What little is known about them is this: although their general membership number in the hundreds, their ruling council never consists of over twelve – the number of Vampire Houses. They have no set or established home or base of operations. The location and frequency of their gatherings is one of their most guarded secrets. Their purpose, motivations, goals and values are unknown, but it is said that they have infiltrated every level of power, government and religion in both the human and vampire realms. Even the Vatican, by some accounts. When they venture out into the world, they always travel in threes: one Master, one Apprentice and one Novice. And wherever they go, chaos and death follows.
“The ring shown in the recording made by Malcolm Salman is only worn by a Master, old and powerful vampires, and very ruthless. This tells us that, in this situation, we’re only dealing with one – a Master. If there was an apprentice or novice present, the Master would not have shown himself.”
“On your own – as individuals, I should say,” Hamish’s voice chimed in, “there is a better than eighty-five percent chance you would not only fail in your assignment should you come up against this Master, but you would also die. Together, as a team, it increases your chances of, at least, success in disrupting his plans – whatever they may be. But, even then, the two of you cannot defeat him in a face-to-face skirmish. I would advise you not to try. Defend yourselves, yes, but know when to withdraw.”
The DVD ended, still frozen on the so-called Cabal Master’s ring finger.
“Well, that was about as useful as a eunuch in a brothel,” Morgan drawled from where she sat on the opposite end of the couch to Taz.
“Maybe not,” Taz replied. “Think about it. From the things Zuron told us or, at least, me earlier, how this Master orchestrated the death of the woman in the park goes back to the days of Bianca Manx’s Shadow’s Fall. There’s a connection there in more than one sense. He’s more than likely the same one responsible for all those deaths back then. Here, again, in Seattle. Why here? What’s brought him back to this city?”
Morgan turned her head to look at Taz. “We can almost guarantee we’re dealing with the same person again. Why here? Because this was the starting point of it all those years ago. What’s brought him back? Things like this go full circle. I was here for the first round. The woman was just the start.”
“Okay, maybe that was the first time for you,” said Taz, rising to go to the bar. “But, according to the Old Man there was a rash of serial killings like this going back as far as the Gold Rush in the eighteen hundreds. Why didn’t my father mention it? There’s a personal element here, I’d bet money on it.
“And this is just a hunch,” he added. “But it might have something to do with why we’ve got Rromas on our asses. Even if I’m wrong, we need to pay a little visit to Queen Kizzy and get them to stay out of our way.”
Morgan shrugged and rose to her feet. “We have nothing else to go on, so we might as well start there. But if this plays out the same way as last time, there should be another hit tonight.”
“Sounds like another busy night,” Taz poured himself a bourbon shot and downed it in one gulp.
“When isn’t it?” She slipped her feet into the boots she’d left by the suite’s main door, tugged on her coat, checked her pistol and looked at Taz. “You coming?”
Chapter 8
The journey to Belfair, where Queen Qetsiyah Camlo (or Kizzy for short) made her home, took over an hour. They opted to drive in a nondescript sedan car with Taz at the wheel. While he drove Morgan checked, double-checked then triple-checked a variety of pistols and extra cartridges and stashed them in various places around her body, pausing only when they boarded the ferry. At which point she told him she wanted to stretch her legs and took off alone, reappearing when the Ferry was preparing to dock.
Tension mounted on the final leg of the journey, neither knowing what they were headed into. Would Kizzy listen to what they had to
say or try to execute them without waiting to hear why they had taken out some of her people? And so, a mile away from their destination, Taz brought the car to a stop and turned to face Morgan.
“How do you want to do this?”
Morgan pursed her lips. “It’s not a situation we can plan in advance, is it?” she commented. “Until we know how she will react to what happened, I would suggest we go in under the assumption it’s enemy territory.”
“Agreed. We’ll leave the car and walk the rest of the way.”
Both exited the car and Morgan reached into the back seat to pull out their coats, handing Taz’s across to him. “Ready?”
Taz nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Kizzy’s home – and the Seattle headquarters for the Rroma House – was set against the backdrop of the waterfront. They walked cautiously up the long winding drive, watching for guards. Taz’s fingers twitched as he fought not to pull a gun, while his senses screamed at him that something was not right. Approaching the house, they slowed and exchanged a glance. They should have been challenged by now, a sentry should have stepped forward and asked them to announce their intention, and yet nothing and no one stirred.
“For the sake of sounding clichéd,” Taz murmured. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“As you should.” The mocking voice came from behind them, causing them both to draw their pistols and spin, training their weapons on the man now standing between them and the driveway.
Tall – taller than Taz – dark hair tied back into a ponytail, fur-lined coat wrapped around his long gaunt figure and collar turned up, the anger in his stance radiated outward. His face was covered by a half-mask, the type of which were used in eighteenth century masquerade balls; black, beaked with feathers at the outer edges hiding his face. His hands curled into the material of his sleeves, were tipped with silver points and Taz made a mental note to avoid contact with them at all costs.
“You’re the one responsible for the child killers,” Morgan broke the silence.
He chuckled, a dry dusty sound. “My children are a part of the natural order of things. They are born to darkness, to be top of the food chain, to kill. You are the abomination, a genetically engineered hybrid, the guilty secret of the Nikaran clan. If anything should be put down, it’s not my younglings.”
Taz felt Morgan stiffen beside him and reached out a hand to touch her arm. “Easy,” he murmured. Morgan shrugged off his hand.
“You’re the Cabal Master, aren’t you?” she asked. “Do the rest of your kind know what you’re doing?”
The Master tapped the side of his nose with one long finger. “You’d like to know our plans, wouldn’t you? The Nikaran House thinks itself so important, but you are nothing more than a small cog. You can be replaced.”
His move toward Morgan was fast, faster than Taz expected or could track and he’d reached Morgan, heaved her up and threw her against the house’s main door before Taz could blink. She landed with a pained grunt, her head slamming back into the door-frame.
Taz opened fire, every shot missing the Master as he sped toward him, silver-tipped fingers outstretched. Taz narrowly avoided being cut into two by the Master, feeling the sharp points drag through his shirt and across his chest.
Morgan’s scream of ‘stay down’ went unheeded as he launched himself into attack, throwing his fist forward and landing a hit on the Master’s jaw.
The stronger older vampire shook his head. “You should have listened to the girl,” he admonished before catching Taz’s throat in a vice-tight grip and squeezing. Taz struggled in vain, lights dancing before his eyes as the Master choked him.
“Lucky for you, we don’t want you dead yet,” was the last thing he heard before falling into unconsciousness.
By the time Morgan had staggered to her feet and regained clear vision the entire drive was empty of anything but her and Taz. Her eyes scanned the area until they fell on his unmoving form and she was across the path and on her knees before she realised she had moved.
Blood was seeping through his shirt and, swearing beneath her breath, Morgan lifted the material.
“Shit, shit, shit!” she exclaimed sickly and reached up to cup his face between her palms. “Taz? Taz, can you hear me?” she tapped his face. “Taz, please. Come on. You need to open your eyes.” There was no response, and she sucked in a shaky breath. “Taz, you’re not dying on me. You’re NOT! Open your damn eyes!” She struck his shoulder with one fist. “Damn it, wake up!”
A groan whispered from Taz’s lips and Morgan sagged in relief. “That’s it, come on. Open your eyes now.”
“Anna?” he queried, then hissed in pain. “What the fuck…?”
“We need to get out of here. Can you stand?” As she spoke, she eased him up into a sitting position and inched her way under his arms to take his weight as she tried to lift him upright.
A torrent of curses spilled from Taz’s lips as he struggled to his feet, his free hand clutching his ribs while the other dug into her shoulder.
“There’s a medic kit in the car. If we can make it there…” she left the sentence unfinished and only Taz’s laboured breathing filled the air as they struggled their way back to the vehicle, both flinching at every unexpected noise they heard, aware of how vulnerable they were.
They reached the car without incident and Morgan opened the passenger door to help Taz inside before taking the driver’s seat herself. “We’ll hole up at a motel for the rest of the night, and head back to Shadowfall tomorrow,” she told him, receiving a grunt in reply.
As she pulled away, she fished out her cell phone and searched for a local motel, called and checked they had a free room for the night. Arriving less than twenty minutes later at the Belfair Motel, she left Taz in the car while she booked in, collected the key for their room and went back for him.
Covering the wounds in his chest by keeping his coat closed, he gritted his teeth and walked under his own steam to their room, sinking onto the bed the minute the door was closed.
“Fucking silver tips,” Taz muttered as he pulled his shirt off.
“You’re lucky he just grazed you,” Morgan told him as she returned from locking the door. “You should heal quickly.”
“Not without blood,” he replied and the sudden tension in the air was palpable.
Morgan tensed, then sighed. “Okay,” she said and peeled her own t-shirt off. She turned to fold the shirt and place it on the chair. “But you try anything else and I’ll shoot you.” The expected wisecrack didn’t come and Morgan glanced back to find Taz focused on her, his face serious.
“I’m going to need more than just a sip,” he told her, his tone careful.
“I know, but we don’t have much in the way of options, do you? You either take from me and heal enough for us to get out of here tomorrow or we call for an extraction now and you heal at a much slower rate, leaving us dangerously weak and open to attack before anyone can get here. Extraction would take at least three hours, minimum, and if the Master has followed us…”
“You’re right, I know,” Taz conceded. “But I’m starting to know you, and you will make me pay for this.” As he spoke, he reached out and tugged her forward to stand between his legs. With her standing and him sitting on the mattress, they were almost eye level. “But when you take your pound of flesh,” he continued, bringing up his hand to curve around her neck and draw her throat within reach of his mouth, “just remember that I didn’t plan this and I’m sorry for what it might cause.”
~*~
The smell of fresh orange juice assailed Morgan’s nostrils as she woke or, more accurately, returned to consciousness. Taz hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d needed more than a sip and had drank almost to the limit of what kept a mortal alive. She’d fallen into unconsciousness long before he’d finished, and afterwards he’d lay back with her in his arms and held her close through the rest of the night and long into the day.
“Where did you find orange juice?”
Her voice sounded groggy to her own ears. She heard movement to one side and peeled her eyes open, blinking to focus.
“Orange juice, scrambled eggs and toast,” Taz told her. “There was a store close by and I knew you'd need food and Vitamin C.”
“You cooked?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
“It took a few attempts, but yeah.” She didn’t need to look at him to know he was grinning. “Sit up.” She felt the bed give as he sat beside her and helped her untangle herself from the bedsheets and prop herself up against the pillows. She reached up to push her sleep-tangled hair from her face while Taz placed a tray across her legs. “It’s no gourmet meal, but it should do.”
Morgan nodded, sipping the juice and taking a mouthful of food from the plate. “And your wounds?”
“Completely healed.” He pulled up his t-shirt to show her the unmarked skin. “I spoke to Zuron while you were sleeping. He wants us to get straight back to Shadowfall as soon as we can move.”
His tone of voice brought Morgan’s head up to look at him. “You have another idea in mind?”
Taz flashed her a grin. “I do. I want to go back to Kizzy’s. The Master being there made no sense. Why were none of Kizzy’s guards alerted by the noise.
“I wondered about that too.” She returned his grin with one of her own. “It would be stupid not to check the situation out.”
“Finish your breakfast. And you might want to peruse this.” He dropped a copy of the Seattle Times onto the bed beside her. “You were right. The bastard and his kid wolf pack struck again last night. Twice.”
~*~
This time they took things slower, smarter, if not altogether cautious. They parked the car less than a kilometre from the house, several feet down a narrow fire road and well out of sight behind a stand of towering conifers. Equipment-wise, both were – to coin a phrase – “loaded for a bear”. From Morgan’s impressive collection, Taz took a Smith & Wesson MP40 VTAC with laser sight and a Heckler & Koch Fabarm FP6 pump-action combat shotgun.
