“Guess the party is way over,” Kiana grumbles as they escort us up the narrow, rickety set of stairs to the entrance off of the porch. Kiana uses her key to unlock the deadbolt. The door opens and we step inside. I turn, expecting them to follow us in. I’m surprised that they’re still standing stone-still out on our slanted porch.
His smooth voice cuts through the silence, and it’s clear he’s annoyed. “I need to speak with you. We can’t come in unless you invite us.”
My eyes flick between both of theirs, waiting for the punch line. I mean, he can’t be serious, can he?
Several seconds pass and the stern set of their features remains the same, completely unwavering. Oh man.
Kiana laughs, oblivious to what they really are. “You guys are messing with us, right?”
I step to the side and swiftly offer, “Please come inside.”
They have to duck under the small doorframe as they enter. Kiana and I both back up and stare in wonder at the massive males who are now making our already teeny apartment appear positively miniscule.
Kiana picks up her iPod and the sounds of Tinie Tempah’s “Written in the Stars” start to flow through the coffee-colored living room. The South Londoner’s sexy rap tune is the perfect distraction from the nearly volcanic tension. I can tell that he wants to talk in private so without saying a word I head down the narrow hallway toward my room.
He follows behind me and closes the door as he steps inside. I turn on a small lamp next to my bed. He takes a quick assessment of my simplistic white and teal Pier One inspired bedroom before leveling me with his magnetic eyes.
“Tell me how you know the vampire from Mixture.”
No messing around there.
“I don’t.” I answer his question as evenly as possible. I sense that he’s been on edge since we left the club and I don’t want to add gasoline to the already smoldering fire that is his dark mood tonight.
“You’ve never crossed paths with him before tonight?”
“Never.”
He plants his hands on his hips and stares down at the weathered floor before looking back up at me through impossibly long, jet-black lashes.
In a low, measured, very scary voice he says, “Calla, there is something you’re not telling me and your welfare is at stake. Five-hundred-year-old vampires never show interest in a human like he did with you. I was on the street level, leaving the SUV with the valet when I sensed your mounting fear. I traced up to the stairwell and risked being spotted doing so. Now I’m going to ask you one last time. How do you know each other?”
“Fine,” I snap, more than a tad uncomfortable to tell him what I’ve never told anyone aside from my brother. “Sometimes I have these … visions.” His eyes flare slightly but he remains silent as I continue. “That’s what I call them. Anyhow, when I saw him, he looked directly at me and then I had a vision of him ….” I trail off, frightened to recount the horrific memory aloud.
“Continue.”
He’s tense but giving nothing away as I go on, “I saw him holding me high in the air … by the throat.” I swallow hard as the rest spills from my lips. “Once I had the vision he stared at me, looking surprised, like he saw it too, but that’s not possible … is it?”
“With him it is. What happens after you have these visions, Calla?”
Trying to calm the shaking in my legs that is quickly working its way up my body, I whisper to him, “It happens in real life.”
His dark brows snap together. He looks like he’s trying to solve an impossible algorithm when he asks me slowly, “Always?”
“Yes, always.” I can only manage a strangled whisper.
I can tell that he is trying hard to wipe any trace of emotion from his features, but I can see from his silence and tense demeanor that he’s despondent about what I just told him, and he’s hiding something from me. His normal intensity is dialed down and smoothly controlled. Why?
Slowly he asks, “How did you know they were vampires, Calla? For humans, we blend right in. In fact, humans are enthralled by us, finding us terribly attractive. We are only feared when we choose to be, when we take action. How did you see him as he is?”
I shake my head slowly and tell him the truth. “I-I’m not sure. At first I thought they were dealers or just scary guys dressed in designer clothing. But right before the vision began, I stared into his eyes and just … knew.”
He crosses the few feet over to me and lightly takes hold of my shoulders. His large hands feel so nice against my bare skin. I tilt my chin up to meet his eyes as he says solemnly, “I need to look into this tonight. In the meanwhile, I need you to promise me two things, Calla.”
“And they would be?”
“I need you to only go out when it’s daylight, and I need you to not let anyone, with the exception of your roommate, into this apartment. I’m not flexible on this. You’re in danger. Am I clear?”
“Tell me what he wants.”
His head shakes slowly back and forth. “I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out. Whatever it is, it’s not good.”
“Who is he?’
“His name is Valdon, and we have been enemies for a very long time, Calla. That’s all you need to know tonight. Say that you’ll do as I instructed.”
Like I have a choice? That creepy-ass vampire scared the shit out of me!
“Yes, I’ll follow your advice.”
“If you want to stay alive, you should, Calla.” His stare is unwavering, expressing exactly how serious he is about the topic at hand.
What the hell?
He releases my shoulders and turns to reopen the door. Just before he does, he turns back to me, “One last thing, Calla. Don’t ever wear that dress again unless we’re together.”
My jaw drops, and before I can even begin to question his ridiculously possessive statement, he strides back out the way we came. I glance down at my slinky, midnight-blue backless halter dress and huff out a sigh. I follow behind him and once we reach the top of the hallway I stare in disbelief because the lights are dimmed and Kiana is straddling the sexy guy who’s seated in the center of our sofa with his legs spread wide. They’re making out with such fierce hunger that an earthquake could rock the building and they’d take zero notice.
Severin clears his throat several times before Mr. Serious peers around a still-writhing Kiana.
“Let’s move, Case.”
His eyes tighten in annoyance, but without hesitation he lifts Kiana up and sets her aside as he stands up to leave.
“Later ….” Kiana whispers seductively to him. He simply lifts his chin to acknowledge that he heard her. Severin follows him out the door without so much as a backward glance or a goodbye.
Arrogant!
Before I can dwell on what’s gone down tonight, Kiana falls onto her back against the cushions and says in a dramatic voice, kicking her legs high in the air, “Now that was the ultimate kiss! Damn Calla, he’s got some brother in him! I knew it. Shit girl, he is so fine! God, I need a cold shower, ’cause in five minutes flat he set my body on fire … for real. I’ve got to see him again. Now that was definitely worth ending tonight early.”
She pushes up onto her elbows and brushes a long strand of hair away from her flushed face. “Hey, how did you meet those guys anyhow?”
I shake my head slowly, “Trust me Kiana, you really don’t want to know.”
Chapter Seven
Just Before Sunrise. April 4, 1756
Beauvais Plantation
The pre-dawn mist is a dense mass hovering low against the damp grass. It surrounds us, making anything from our knees down difficult to make out. Several men hold lanterns around us so we can see to fight. The yellow lights cast an eerie glow, but I hardly notice—I’m so intently focused on my mission. I have been since I demanded the challenge from him just over nine hours ago.
My father wanted to discuss strategy with me. I flatly refused. As a gentleman, I’ve been skilled with the use of a rapier since I was
a boy of around seven years of age. I curl and uncurl my fingers around the hilt of my weapon, which is covered with a sweeping steel guard. My eyes never leave my opponent’s in the thick moments before our duel is set to begin.
I’ve mentally reviewed my plan several times, absolutely certain of the strikes I will take against the man. And now, a peaceful calm washes over me as I await the word from the impartial announcer that we are to begin. Many of the duels that occur in the South are fought until one man is too wounded to be able to continue. As the one who called the offense against my enemy, I vehemently insisted that this duel be fought à loutrance, or to the death, to be absolutely certain that only one of us walks away this morning.
The person chosen to start the duel is unknown to either of us. I surmise that he was brought here especially for the grim task of giving us leave to attack. I glance down at my white sleeves one last time to ascertain that they are cuffed properly so as not to cause obstruction. I flick my right wrist and my sleek Spanish rapier cuts through the dense air with the crisp sound of a whip. I plant my booted feet into position and wait.
The stranger’s voice is strong but laced with nervous energy as he calls out, “Gentleman, are you both ready to engage?”
After we both respond, the man’s voice again rings out clearly across the vast, shadowed lawn, “Very well. Begin the duel!”
Body language interpretation is just as crucial as skill. I allow my opponent to close the distance toward me. I’ve already perceived that my adversary is an experienced swordsman, not only from the way he holds his fine weapon but also from his slow, measured movements. We are both measuring each other up for potential weaknesses.
Suddenly his pace quickens and he lunges for me. I shift to my right, missing his blade by at least two feet as he turns to stalk me once again. Because I’m right-handed and quite tall, I already know where I want to land my blow. I’m aiming for his superior vena cava, just to the side of his heart. If I sever that artery then it will be a quick finish.
My eyes track him with the intensity of a starving panther’s as we circle each other. Again, he lunges and just narrowly misses my left shoulder. Before he can reposition, I make my move. Thrusting with precision I go in for the killing blow, but he manages to jump back slightly as I enter his space. My blade misses and sinks swiftly into his lower left side, about ten inches south of my intended target. He shouts out in anger-laced pain.
I grit my teeth, furious with myself. From what I’ve learned in my studies of anatomy, my opponent might suffer some internal bleeding, but could well survive the wound. No, the fight is far from over.
I reposition and watch his free hand come across his body to tightly clutch against the large red bloodstain that is welling up on his light dress shirt. He’s furious. Even through the lamp-lit mist, I can make it out in his features. Excellent. Strong emotions lead to mistakes, possibly fatal ones.
Without warning I race straight in for the kill. I’m determined to land that blow, regardless of the outcome to my person. He raises his sword to deflect mine, but I knock it aside and thrust quick and hard. My blade sinks into the man, just south of his collarbone. Screams ring out around us in the morning air as he goes to his knees before me. His rapier is still clutched in his hand but the tip is lowered toward the foggy ground. I clutch his right shoulder and shove my blade in deeper as I tell him quietly, “Now you know that no one disrespects those I love.”
As I begin to step back, pulling my sword out of the dying man, a strange burning sensation opens up on my left leg. Before I can even cast my eyes downward, I know what has happened. With his last reserves of energy, he lifted his blade to slice my left femoral artery. I know this even though the mist prevents me from seeing my leg clearly. My leg is drenched and it has only been several seconds since I first felt the sting. I stare down in disbelief and his sinister eyes connect with mine one last time before he keels over onto his left side.
I blink twice, trying to formulate a plan of action in my frantic mind. My energy is rapidly depleting. I glance over at my family in the distance and see my sister and parents racing toward me. My knees hit the wet grass. I’m desperate to retain feeling, any feeling, so I clutch my weapon as tightly as possible, sighing deeply at the sensation of cool steel against my trembling palm. I fall onto my back in the white mist and hope that they will reach me soon so I can see their faces one last time before I die.
Without warning I’m dragged in a blur of motion into the darkness of the surrounding forest. I can hear Sabine frantically crying out for me, agony lacing her sweet voice. She’s petrified and bewildered that she can’t locate me. I stare up into the dark green canopy of trees, confused as to why I’m now far from the house. I see the numerous lanterns glowing brightly, but they are now far off in the distance.
I try to sit up, but hands press against my shoulders. A hypnotic female voice surrounds me in the thick shadows, “Shh … fine warrior. Rest now. Be at ease.”
I look up and struggle to make out what seems to be a radiant woman with flowing, scarlet red hair, leaning over me. She’s upside down in my line of vision but when she gets within a foot of my face I can tell that she is exquisite. Flashing eyes the color of amber watch me closely as she smiles serenely. Her sensual voice floats down to me once again. “Here, take from me. Drink to ease your pain.”
She turns her face out of my line of sight, and when she leans in closely, her full pink lips are glazed red with what looks like blood. I’m repulsed but too weak to move away. Using two pale fingers, she gently works my lips open before swiftly applying her damp wrist.
I gag as the warm fluid drips down into my throat. I try to turn away, but she is holding me fast. The metallic tang is foreign and unpleasant, that is, until it hits my system with the power of a lightning strike. Everything in my body comes surging back from the brink in a violent rush of energy.
The incomparable pleasure washes through me as I groan against her skin in total rapture. My hands fly up to latch onto her delicate wrist, desperate for more. I press it tightly against my mouth and draw deeply from the mysterious beauty.
Her free hand gently strokes my hair, and I marvel at the amplified sensation. I never knew a touch could be so profound.
Her unusual voice reminds me of tiny bells swaying in the wind as she says thoughtfully, “Now, brave warrior, now you will know the unfathomable strength that you have so valiantly earned.”
Chapter Eight
Present Day, 3:50 a.m.
White Point Garden, Tip of the Charleston Peninsula
“Remember to clear your thoughts around him. Think of nothing specific. From my understanding, he can only zone in on one of us at a time anyhow.”
Alina looks over at me and asks, “What if things head South tonight? Do you want us on him as well, or is he all yours, Severin?”
“We’re only here tonight for a discussion. I told him that on the call. In the rare event that they attack, then he’s all mine.”
“Got it.” She glances around the shadowed waterfront park and tries to ease the tension by asking, “Hey, didn’t they used to hang pirates from these oak trees?”
I jut my chin forward, “Ask Ambrose. He saw it done.”
She spins around, places her hands on his chest and looks up, “You did?”
In an almost bored tone he says, “Yep. Those unlucky fuckers served as a warning for thieves to stay away from Charleston’s harbor. When they strung them up in the summer … now that was downright nasty. The smell would carry all the way up to Broad Street, and I won’t even get into the seagulls.”
She wrinkles her nose in disgust and murmurs, “Ew, glad I wasn’t even born yet. That’s just wrong.”
Ambrose shrugs casually, “Served its purpose. Made them think twice about trying to steal shit from Charleston.”
The massive Brit has seen so much carnage in both lives that he’s seemingly unaffected by it. I wonder sometimes how he can be so detached, but most lik
ely it’s his primary coping mechanism for the continuous butchery he was exposed to even as a young man.
“Everything good, Case?”
“Yup.”
He cracks his neck twice, squares his shoulders and waits. Aside from the brief encounter at Mixture, he’s never crossed paths with Valdon and his crew. I know that he won’t make impulsive decisions, though. Case is solid. We’ve all agreed on this.
In the blink of an eye they arrive, standing silently before us. Time to get down to business.
Valdon smiles placidly and strides across the grass toward me, wisely stopping ten feet away. “There is something you need, Severin?”
“There is nothing I need from you.”
He grins coldly. “I see. Not yet, anyway.”
I cut to the chase, not interested in being drawn into his mind games. “Stay away from the human woman. The one from the club.”
He laughs heartily and looks back over each shoulder toward his men in open amusement. “Are you attempting to give me an order?”
In a flat tone I say, “You heard what I said.”
He tilts his head, smiling arrogantly at me before he says in a stern voice, “No. She knows what we are and on top of that she is a seer. Because of that fact alone, she is extremely valuable to me. I will have her, Severin, and be warned: I will stop at nothing to do so.”
The air leaves my lungs as if I have received a quick jab to my gut. My worst fear has just been verbalized. I knew the instant she told me about her visions that she was in extreme danger, and to hear the one vampire on the planet that is a threat to me acknowledge it makes my blood boil like lava in my veins.
“She’s mine.” I glare at him as I grind the words out. My fangs have already dropped from the vibrating threat of violence.
“Ah, Severin, nothing ever changes between us, does it? Yet again we find ourselves in direct conflict over a female.”
“No, we don’t, Valdon. Katerina was different and you know it.”
I’ve pushed him too far. I can see it as his eyes flash and then narrow. He growls low, “Katerina was mine!”
Charleston Past Midnight Page 5
