by L Ann
Slowly, Morgan turned to face him. He stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the framework with his arms folded across his chest.
“If I had been sent to kill you, you’d be dead now,” he continued.
“The minute you moved, I would have known you were there,” Morgan replied, throwing a punch at the bag.
“Not the point though, is it?” He pushed himself upright and reached her in four strides. “You should have known I was watching you. You’re letting personal issues cloud your senses.”
“Did you come down here just to give me a lecture?” A second punch connected with the bag, making it swing.
“No, I came to tell you they’ve operated and removed the bullet.” He watched her next jab at the punchbag falter. “He’s still alive,” he said in response to her unasked question, paused and added, “Zuron has bled for him. If he survives the night, then he should be fine.”
“Zuron bled for him,” she repeated slowly. “You say that like I should be grateful.”
“You should,” Taz kept his expression bland, waiting for her to react to his antagonising words. “Zuron doesn’t bleed for anyone. It says a lot about their friendship.”
“Not really. Hamish took a bullet for him.” She hit the punchbag three times in rapid succession. “It pays to keep your pet Necuno loyal and in top health.”
“If that’s the case, should I purchase a bag of treats for you when you behave?”
Morgan spun and sent a right hook in his direction. Taz had been expecting it, but he still didn’t move fast enough to avoid her curled fist and the glancing blow to his jaw stung.
“I am not your pet,” she snapped.
“No.” He injected a thoughtful tone into his voice. “If I could have chosen, I would have gone with someone tall, blonde and accommodating, not short, brunette and vicious.” He mentally counted to three, watching as his words hit home, then tensed in preparation when she launched herself at him. He didn’t attempt to stop her attack, only shifting to avoid any permanent damage and raised a hand to block her when she went for his throat.
He’d felt the anger and frustration coming off her in waves the nearer he’d come to the gym and knew the workout had not helped. If she needed a more physical target, he discovered that he’d been willing to volunteer. When her attacks faltered and became less focused, he caught hold of one wrist and pulled her against his chest, then wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides.
“Feel better?” he asked once her struggling subsided, and she stood still, breathing heavily.
“I hate you.” She spat in response.
Taz chuckled and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah, I know.” He released her and stepped back toward the exit. “I’ll see you back upstairs.”
“I am impressed.” The voice -immediately recognisable – slowed Taz’s progress as he exited the gym. A glance over his right shoulder confirmed the presence of Shadowfall’s Chief of Security, Pantera Rydell, who moved to fall into step beside him. They walked several feet before she resumed talking.
“I’m also a little surprised. Actually, more like shocked, but definitely impressed.”
“I’d ask why, but something tells me I won’t have to,” Taz replied, moving on an unswerving course for the lobby and, ultimately, the elevators.
“How long have we known each other? Fifteen? Twenty years?” Pantera asked, before continuing without giving him a chance to respond. “Hell, I remember hearing about you long before you first showed up with your father. Remember that? A week after Shadowfall’s opening under Kane’s control? You arrived four hours after Zuron, with an entourage of three Euro-trash turnblood bimbos.” Her chuckle was more mocking than amused.
“Prince Taz I’Ane. Have gun…” Pantera paused and deliberately dropped her gaze to his crotch. “Have guns. Will travel. Left your mark on more bedsheets than an Amsterdam brothel and left a trail of broken hearts and pissed off lovers from Montreal to Kathmandu.”
“I take it there’s a point to all this?” Taz slowed and turned to face her as they hit the lobby’s midway point. “Only I have things to do.”
Pantera continued, undaunted. “I’ve seen how you operate first hand. And I saw what happened back there. The Taz - Mr Don Juan Macho Asshole – I know wouldn’t have stood still for anyone, man or woman, and allow them to lay a hand on him the way Morgan did…
“And save the excuses for somebody that knows no better,” she spoke over his attempted denial. “I’m not blind, Taz. I’ve seen you two together the last few days. And maybe it’s none of my business, but I know what I know. You’re on the right track with Morgan. Just take your time. Don’t rush it, okay? She’s worth it.”
“I—“ he responded and found himself staring at her retreating back. “Thanks,” he whispered after her.
“Oh, and by the way,” Pantera stopped a few feet away, turning to face him again. “That information you asked for is ready.”
“I asked for?” Taz shot her a head-tilting look of clueless confusion.
“You, Morgan, somebody upstairs.” She paused a beat to catch his reaction, some sign of recognition or remembrance and then continued. “Two days ago? A memo on my desk, supposedly from your father’s secretary? No? Nothing?”
Jean-Paul. Taz’s eyebrow and the corner of his mouth gave an involuntary twitch in both suspicion and amusement at the mention of his father’s chief of cloak and daggers. The Old Man and his games – typical!
Throwing a cautious look around her, Pantera closed the distance between them, her voice lowered as she spoke. “And all information available on a Raoul Mendoza? Ring any bells yet?”
“Like Big Ben,” he muttered.
“Whatever! I had one of my people from Cyber Intelligence drop it off at the front desk,” she told him. Then, with a contented nod, she turned and moved off toward the lobby’s galleria.
~*~
The desk clerk on duty, an anorexic thirty-something year old human female with blonde highlights in her shoulder-length auburn hair, presented Taz with a Sony Discman CD player and attached ear buds and, not wanting to return to the suite alone, he took a moment to scout out his surroundings, in search of a suitable location in which to settle while he checked out the CD’s contents. The lobby was a definite and immediate no. Way too busy. The same for one of, for any of, the lounges and open-front cafes and coffee shops along the galleria. Which left him with only one choice – back to the basement; only not the gym this time.
The Shadows of Night Lounge. One of the few venues left over from the ‘Bad Ol’ Days’ and the club operated by Bianca Manx, sire of Shadowfall’s current owner. On any given night, it was the most patronised spot in the entire club, in terms of clientele, that is. With a body of dedicated regulars to whom the lounge was almost their home away from home. Tonight, however, only a small handful remained. As Pantera had told him earlier, following the shooting incident, she had ordered the club closed and cleared of the night’s patrons; except for a few die-hard regulars whose character she deemed beyond question. In the case of The Lounge three groups, not counting its bartender and a cocktail waitress.
The brush-cut baby-faced bartender glanced up from his cell phone and nearly nosedived into the bar in his haste to leave his stool as the older vampire approached. Taz knew what was coming. Experience notwithstanding, the young turnblood’s actions and the fuck-me-sideways expression on his eternally twenty-something face was a dead giveaway.
“Your Highness! Having you visit the lounge on my shift is an unexpected –“
“What have you got on tap?” Taz cut the youngster’s babble short. “And I’m talking drained from the vein, relatively recent, not the blood bank bagged crap.”
“Ah, yessir, right, Your Highness!” The bartender stammered, glanced this way and that, and then down at his feet as if the floor might open at any moment. A self-satisfied smile spread across his features when he met Taz’s eyes again.
&n
bsp; “We got some A-Negative and O-Positive on ice. It was taken from functionaries about an hour before the club was shut down, if that’s okay?”
“Fine. Give me a half glass of A-Positive,” Taz said. “Warmed up. And a bourbon, no ice. Make it a double. I’ll be in that booth,” he jerked a thumb over his left shoulder. “And I’d love it if nobody disturbed me.”
He turned then, without waiting for the bartender’s reply, moving through the loose cluster of tables in the lounge’s centre; doing his best to ignore the flurry of curious stares and, as always, the narrowed looks of contempt from those with everlasting issues against anyone from his station.
Assholes, Taz growled inwardly. He could almost hear them. Their thoughts, anyway, as they never had the guts to dare mouthing the words even as a whisper, for fear of being overheard.
The pampered Prince himself. Born with a silver spoon up his ass. Never had to want or work for anything. Everything given to him on a solid gold platter.
Wouldn’t have irked him as much if, to a considerable extent, it wasn’t true. Especially considering what had come out recently. His father padding his assignments, giving him the milk runs while Morgan handled the – quote-unquote – risky stuff.
He’d been in the booth less than two minutes when the waitress arrived with his drinks.
“Hold on,” he caught her before she could zip away, dipping into his inside pocket for his money clip. Then, for the benefit of his audience, he peeled off a $20 bill and slid it across the table. “Have the bartender put the drinks on my account. “That,” he nodded at the twenty, “is yours.”
“Thanks, Your Highness,” she executed a little curtsy, smiled and moved away. And Taz’s grin shifted into the realm of menacing as he positioned the glass of A-Positive in his hand so that one finger – the middle one – could be seen by all present when he downed it. He then settled himself into the booth so he had a clear and unobstructed view of all his fellow patrons and the lounge’s bar entrance and emergency exit, pushed the ear buds into his ears and keyed the Discman’s PLAY button.
“To whomever it concerns,” a scratchy male voice kicked in a moment later. “I’m afraid this will be a disappointment regarding the exact identity of the person known as Raoul Mendoza. Which is the point. Whereas the name Raoul Mendoza appears in numerous places, on numerous documents, in several countries, going back as far as the early nineteen hundreds, there is no tangible proof that any of these appearances relates to the same person. Photographs? There are none. I have also added photocopies on this CD of the documents, checks, hotel registrars, purchase receipts for various and sundry items over the course of some seventy years. You will notice that no two signatures are the same.
“I have a theory, if you don’t mind. If, as has been suggested, that Mendoza is a member of the order known as The Cabal, Raoul Mendoza is most likely a shared alias used by certain high-ranking members while doing business outside of The Order. Some of the evidence I have gathered gives weight to that theory, as in March of Nineteen Forty-Seven, Mendoza was present in London, England, in Athens, Greece and in Barcelona, Spain on the same day – as verified in writing and by reputable members of our own Parliament.
“Sorry, we couldn’t be of more help.”
“Fuckin’ great. The bastard’s a nameless spook. Just what we fuckin’ need,” Taz muttered, tugged out the earbuds and downed the double bourbon in one gulp.
Chapter 10
Taz eased the door to his suite shut, still mulling over the details of the information (or lack of) he’d listened to on the Discman. Shrugging out of his jacket, he dropped it over the back of the couch and stopped at the bar to pour himself a drink. Taking a sip, he glanced around and realised the room was empty, but there was a light showing beneath the door to the guest room, so Taz headed toward it then changed direction when he heard the shower running.
The bathroom door swung open at a slight touch and he stepped through and then stopped. Although the glass was steamed up, he could see the outline of Morgan’s body inside the shower cubicle. She stood with her hands braced on the tiled walls, head bowed beneath the water. Her posture drew a sigh from Taz and, with no real thought behind his actions, he pulled off his own clothes, slid the door to the shower open and stepped inside.
He knew she was aware of his presence; he hadn’t been quiet; yet she made no move to acknowledge him until he settled his hands onto her shoulders.
“Why are you in here?” she asked, not turning around. “I’m trying to shower.”
Taz let his hands smooth across her shoulders, massaging the tension he could feel there. “I thought I’d join you.”
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening before turning her gaze forward again. “You’re naked.”
His lips quirked up into a smile at her accusatory tone. “Clothes can be an inconvenience when you’re taking a shower – don’t you agree?” He continued kneading her shoulders, his hands sliding up to the nape of her neck. “Anna, look at me.”
“I don’t want to fight with you tonight,” she sighed.
“Then look at me.” When she kept her eyes stubbornly staring ahead of her, he nodded.
“Okay, fine.” He leaned forward until his mouth was against her ears and whispered. “But you’re going to regret it.”
When she tensed and started to turn Taz chuckled and caught her shoulders, keeping her facing away from him.
“Oh no,” he chided. “You made your choice. No changing it now.”
“Taz,” Morgan growled. “I said I don’t want to fight, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”
He ignored her, reaching around to pick up the wash cloth and cover it with soap. Lathering it up, he slid it down Morgan’s spine.
“Taz –“ she cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”
“Washing your back,” came the reply and, for the next few minutes, that’s exactly what he did until he felt her relax under his touch. As the tension eased away from her neck and shoulders, he moved the soapy cloth over the rest of her body, taking care to avoid any areas that could be termed intimate. The thought brought a rueful smile to his face – because being naked in the shower together wasn’t intimate at all, not to mention hell on his libido and willpower.
“I spoke to Hannah while you were in the gym,” he broke the silence in an attempt to distract himself. “She explained more about this whole bonding business.” He felt her tense again and his hands stilled, coming to rest on her hips. “If you want to walk away, I won’t stop you.”
Her reaction was unexpected. She whirled to face him, eyes flashing. “You don’t want me,” she said flatly.
Taz blinked. “I never said that,” he denied. “No,” he continued when she drew in a breath to speak again. “let me talk. This whole situation is messed up. I know that. I know it isn’t what you wanted. So, if you want to leave, I won’t stand in your way.” He brought up a hand to drag it through his hair. “I won’t like it,” he admitted roughly, “but I’ll let you go.”
“It’s too late for that.”
Taz shook his head. “Actually, it’s not. I’ve taken your blood, but you haven’t taken mine. The bond isn’t complete yet. And, even if you take my blood –“ he took in a breath. “If we stay away from each other, over time… eventually… the bond will break.”
Morgan didn’t reply straight away, instead she took a step back under the water to wash away the soap. It was only once the water ran clear she spoke.
“If that’s what you want, then we should end this… whatever this is… now.” She pushed past him and out of the shower.
“Damn it, Anna!” Taz roared at her retreating form, startling himself, and stalked out after her. “I didn’t say that’s what I want.”
Didn’t you? The thought sprang up in his head. Do you want that bond between you? Aren’t you wishing it had never happened? That, in fact, you had never met. Or is it just her wishing that?
That he could answer with certainty.
Morganna Satori was, by far, the most unique, the most desirable, the most capable woman – intimately, sexually, occupationally – he had ever known. She had, without a doubt, made an impression on him; had impacted his life in ways he could neither have imagined or anticipated. But was he truly ready for the permanency of a blood bonding?
She’s in your life now. The statement – the fact – slammed into the forefront of his mind. So, the better question is – can you deal with what it will be like without her?
You know what the problem is, don’t you? You’re both too independent, too stubborn, and too afraid to allow yourself to care, to give up that part of yourself you have always been in control of. You’re too scared to be the first one to say you want this.
“I… I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want,” he said. “Unless,” he continued, letting his uncertainty show in his eyes. “Unless, it’s not just the bonding you’re not sure of? It’s me? Or, more to the point, someone else you’d rather be bonded with?” He paused. “That’s it, isn’t it? You had your sights set on somebody else. Some other Nikaran lad with a few dozen notches on his gun butt and I stumbled in and screwed everything up.”
“I don’t want to be bonded to anyone, I’ve told you that.” Morgan replied.
“You’re a Necuno born to the Satori bloodline. There’s no way you thought you’d get away without being bonded to someone.” The more Taz thought about it, the more he convinced himself he’d got it right. “It’s Kane, isn’t it? I knew it!”
“Technically, Kane isn’t Nikaran – at least, not completely,” Morgan shook her head. “What is your problem with him? And no, I don’t want to be bonded to Kane.”
“I don’t have a problem with Kane,” Taz denied. “I have a problem with you wanting to be with him when you’re with me.”
“And you got to this assumption from what? Two minutes in his company a few nights ago? When he purposely tried to goad you?” Morgan dragged on her robe.
