Chosen asc-6

by Jeanne C. Stein

  Frey’s lips tip up. Even Lance’s shoulders relax a bit.

  “And I’m not alone. Adele is here. It’s early. If you leave now, you’ll be back before dark. Nothing bad happens before dark. You’ve seen enough slasher flicks to know that.”

  There’s still too much hesitation in his eyes. “Look, I bet there’s not much to eat in the house. Whatever Adele has been feeding the hosts is probably gone. Frey is a meat eater. How long has it been since he’s had a good steak?”

  Frey’s mouth twitches at the word “steak.”

  “See?” I smile, big and bright. “Go. It’s the least you can do, Lance. If I wasn’t still a little shaky, I’d come, too.”

  “Well,” Lance says finally. “I can take Frey to a steak house I know in the neighborhood. It’s close. We’ll be back in less than an hour.”

  “Good.” I rise up on my toes and brush my lips against his. “See you in an hour.”

  I’m practically dancing with impatience, waiting while the two men go upstairs, change clothes, come back down, issue a hundred directives about door locks and alarm systems and finally, finally, head out.

  Repairs on the garage haven’t been made yet so the Jag, a rental car Lance arranged to have delivered to the house and Adele’s little Prius are all lined up in the driveway. The men head for the rental car.

  Adele joins me at the door as I’m waving them off. All the hosts have been safely sent home and she looks tired and relieved that the crisis has past. “I think I’m going to my room,” she says. “Unless you need something?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” I reply. “Julian Underwood’s address.”

  She throws me a puzzled frown. “Why?”

  “I lost an earring Friday night. At Julian’s. He called while we were on our way back here and said he’d found it. Since we’re leaving early tomorrow morning, this is my only chance to get it.”

  In spite of my incredible ability to lie on demand, she doesn’t look convinced. “Why not wait until Lance gets home? Let him take you?”

  “Did you see how tired he is? I’ll bet he hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours. When he gets back, I’m taking him straight to bed.”

  I throw a little wink in for good measure.

  She gives me a “too much information” look. Still, she hesitates. “Are you sure you’re up to driving yourself? I could take you.”

  I smile, pat her arm. “You are too kind. But I wouldn’t dream of imposing.”

  She gives in with a shrug. “I’ll write the address down.”

  She pulls a small notebook out of a credenza near the front door. She prints the address in neat, precise, block letters. “Do you need directions?”

  “No. Thanks. I have GPS in the car.”

  She starts to turn around and in spite of how anxious I am to get going, I find myself stopping her with a hand on her arm. “Thank you, Adele. For what you did for me.”

  She nods and pats my hand. “You are good for Lance. I can see that. I’m happy I could help.”

  We exchange the kind of smile that two people who share a common bond often do—warm, sincere, protective, touched with concern. She loves Lance, too.

  I watch as she strides away. If something happens to me tonight, I’m glad she’s here.

  Not that I expect anything to happen to me. In fact, just the opposite. I expect tonight to resolve the threat against Lance and me once and for all.

  With that thought, I run upstairs. Change into jeans and a T-shirt, slip on tennis shoes. Then I’m out the front door.

  * * *

  It takes me fifteen minutes to find Underwood’s address. I glance at my watch. Doesn’t leave too much time to beat Lance and Frey back home. I lose another five minutes because the address turns out to be a sprawling resort called Lake La Quinta. When I locate the lobby and ask for Julian Underwood at the front desk, I’m asked if I want his suite or the suite of one of his guests. Evidently, he has the whole spread.

  At my reply, I’m told he’s staying in the Lakeside suite and given directions. I hear the clerk telephoning Julian discreetly as I walk away. If not for vampire hearing, I’d never have caught it.

  Rolling lawns, lush gardens and views of the Santa Rosa Mountains as backdrop fade into insignificance at the sight of the “lake” that fronts the property. I don’t know if it’s man-made or natural, but the amount of water surrounding this desert oasis in drought-plagued Southern California is remarkable.

  Underwood must be watching for me because he opens the door before I ring. He looks surprised to see me. Surprised and suspicious. But he cloaks those emotions quickly behind a façade of cordiality.

  “Anna. What an unexpected pleasure.”

  All the way over, I’ve braced myself for the onslaught of emotion I would likely experience when I once again face this monster. For he is a monster. If I hadn’t been convinced of it before, what he did to Lance proves it beyond any doubt. First the beating, then risking Lance’s life with the fire. His disregard for life churns the fury in my stomach like acid.

  But it’s different this time. I was unprepared at the bar, ignorant of the pain he was capable of inflicting. Now I know. Now I’m filled with powerful emotions of my own—rage and the need for revenge.

  I have to smother those feelings. Underwood can’t know what’s really behind this visit. There isn’t time.

  Not now.

  Underwood stands aside and motions me into his suite. His hair is loose today, falling to his shoulders in burnished waves of gold. He’s dressed in slacks and an open-neck shirt, Gucci loafers on his feet. In the confined space of a room, his cologne assaults my nose. It’s cloying with strong undertones of something flowery and bitter. Makes me want to stand as far away from him as possible.

  “I heard there was some trouble at Lance’s.” He says it like one might comment on gossip heard about a stranger.

  I nod. “A gas explosion. The water heater blew up.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “Not seriously.”

  “Good.” His smile is gratuitous, rehearsed. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

  I ignore the platitude, look around. We’re standing in a living room with two sets of double doors leading out to a deck that fronts the lake. In front of the lake is a pool. More water. Around that pool lounge the five women who accompanied Underwood and his entourage to Melvyn’s. Bikinied, waxed, gorgeous. I wonder which one Lance had that night. My gut clenches at the image the thought triggers. The animal writhes with jealousy.

  Swallow it down.

  No time for this. Focus. I shift my concentration to the surroundings, the room, to clear my head. Simple furniture. A sofa covered in striped silk damask, a matching chair, an oak credenza. All in muted tones of cream and white. From where I stand, I can see two bedrooms flanking the living room.

  “Nice digs.”

  “Thank you. It’s my home away from home.”

  “You have the whole resort to yourself?”

  “I know the owner. We have an understanding.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” I’ll bet Underwood gets anything he wants. One way or the other.

  Like Williams.

  He motions to the coffee table, set with two glasses and an open bottle of wine. “Would you join me in a glass of wine?”

  Two glasses? I suspect the second wasn’t meant for me.

  Is he in one of the bedrooms? I probe, discreetly, to see if I detect another vampire presence. But Williams is adept at shielding himself. I pull my thoughts back.

  Focus.

  I shake my head. “I can’t stay. I’m here to make you a deal.”

  He steeples his fingers and tilts his head, a gesture of polite curiosity. But his expression is tinged with humor, too, as if he finds the thought that I’d come to offer him a deal absurd.

  But it’s why I’m here. To protect Lance and Frey until I find out what they want. Knowledge . . . then revenge.

  “Yes. Here it is. From this moment on,
you will leave Lance alone. You will never bother him again. Nor will you go after anyone else I care about. Not my family. Not my partner David. Not the attendant at my car wash or the clerk who takes my dry cleaning or the cashier at my corner liquor store. If any one of them so much as breaks a nail, I will make you sorry. I will make you pay. Do we understand each other?”

  Underwood’s smile is dark and dangerous. “And what do I get in return for agreeing to this deal?”

  I get in his face.

  “What you wanted from the beginning. You get me.”

  There’s a moment of silence. Underwood and I stare at each other, waiting for the other to blink first. Neither of us does. What breaks the stalemate is the sound of clapping.

  We both turn.

  And there in a bedroom door, like the wizard stepping out from behind the curtain, is Warren Williams.

  CHAPTER 20

  Williams continues to clap as he joins us in the center of the room. “Well played, Anna,” he says. “Well played.”

  I ignore his entrance, glance at my watch. I’ve been gone too long. I can’t waste time pretending to be shocked or surprised by his appearance. I expected the melodramatic bastard. I look from Underwood to Williams and back again. “Do we have a deal?”

  Williams wants to drag this out. He’s enjoying the moment. I’m giving him what he’s always said he wanted, but he needs to keep me dangling. He looks tanned and relaxed and well fed, much better than the last time I saw him—skewered like a piece of meat on an iron bar. He sees the image in my head and a flash of white-hot anger blazes forth from his eyes.

  You have to answer for Ortiz.

  His words spark understanding. Lance. His death was to be your revenge for Ortiz, wasn’t it?

  Underwood steps between us. Knock it off. There will be time for recrimination later. When we’ve accomplished what we must.

  Williams takes a mental and physical step back. You’re right. He lets the tension drain from his shoulders, soften the lines around his mouth. He’s smiling again when he looks at me.

  “Yes. We have a deal. If you are willing to accept your destiny. Let me guide you. Are you?”

  It’s as painful as a gut wound, but I nod.

  “When are you going back to San Diego?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. I’ll be in touch tomorrow afternoon. Expect my call.”

  Underwood has been silent, his thoughts cloaked, his expression grim. He’s the one I’m most worried about. He’s the one who has the hold on Lance. Now he turns a frown on Williams. “I don’t trust her. We have her here now. How can you let her go?”

  Williams lets the corners of his mouth tip up, more leer than smile. “She loses everything if she reneges. She knows that.”

  Now it’s my turn. I jerk a thumb toward Underwood. “Can you control this asshole?” I feel Underwood tense at the slur. He sends a message to Williams that I’m not privy to, but Williams is still focusing on me. As long as you keep your part of the bargain, Underwood will not bother you or Lance again. You have my word.

  I wish his oath inspired more confidence. But for now, it’s all I have.

  * * *

  The rental car is in the driveway.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Lance and Frey beat me back.

  The front door flies opens as soon as I pull up. They pounce the moment my feet touch pavement.

  Lance gets his shot in first. “Where the fuck did you go? Are you crazy? I told you to stay inside. Do you have any idea how worried we were when we got back and you weren’t here?”

  He finally runs out of words but not anger. He grabs my shoulders and I brace myself; he looks like he wants to shake me until my teeth rattle. Instead, he crushes me to his chest and hugs me until I squeak in protest.

  “Lance,” I’m finally able to gasp. “I’m all right.” I keep my thoughts carefully neutral. “Nothing happened.”

  Frey has been standing quietly to the side. “Where did you go?”

  “I needed some air, that’s all. I took a drive.”

  Lance has my face in his hands. “Why didn’t you wait for us to get back? We would have taken you for a drive. God. I was so worried.”

  I let the warmth of his sweet concern wash over me. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long. I’m sorry I worried you.” I glance over to Frey. “Both of you.”

  Lance is smiling down at me, my reassuring words sending relief flooding through his mind and body. I hug him, burying my face in his shoulder, thoughts concealed.

  When I look over at Frey, however, he’s frowning. His expression says he knows bullshit when he hears it. For once I’m glad he no longer has access to my head.

  * * *

  Lance and I have retired to his bedroom, Frey to a guest room down the hall. For whatever reason, Frey didn’t challenge me in front of Lance or grill me about that missing hour. Maybe he wanted to wait until we were alone but the opportunity never presented itself. Lucky for me.

  Lucky, too, that Adele hadn’t joined us to ask about my earring. Since we plan to leave at first light in the morning, I’m hoping she won’t get the chance.

  Lance is waiting for me in bed. I slide next to him and he leans over me. His fingers trace the contours of my face, brush my lips.

  “Are you too tired?”

  I pull him closer, pressing my body against his. “Have you ever known me to be too tired?”

  He lets his hands roam my body. He’s willing to go slow, coax and tease, do all the work. Find that sweet spot with fingers and lips and bring me to the brink. But my blood is already on fire, my body humming with the need to feel him inside. I guide him into me, urge him with hips and thighs, whisper encouragement until neither of us can hold out any longer. We come together in an explosive flood of release.

  Later, lying still and quiet next to him, I know.

  No matter what happens, what I did tonight to protect him—to protect everyone—was the right thing to do.

  * * *

  We’re on the move by first light. Adele appears from her room just when we’re heading out the door, but she’s still too groggy with sleep to manage more than a quick hug and wave before closing the door behind us.

  One disaster avoided.

  I throw Lance the keys. Frey takes shotgun.

  That leaves me alone in the backseat. Good. The guys can talk about whatever manly things guys talk about and I can rest my head against the back of the seat and be alone with my thoughts. Cloaked thoughts, just in case Frey urges Lance to drop in unannounced for a visit. I know he still has questions about last night. It would be like him to send Lance on a spy mission into my head.

  Lance. He is so good. So trusting. He hasn’t known me as long as Frey. Do I feel bad about misleading him? No. I suspect I should be more concerned about this pact I made with Williams and Underwood than hiding it from Lance. I try to dredge up anxiety but honestly, I keep coming back to the old adage: the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. Or in this case, the two devils. It won’t be easy working with Williams, but the sooner I let him make his pitch, the sooner I can turn him down. And take him down. Along with Underwood.

  First, though, I get the answers I need. The answers Williams has been dancing around for the last year.

  I can’t pretend to be unaffected by Frey’s reaction about this “chosen” thing. A Chosen One is usually the destroyer of . . . something. One of the first things I learned after becoming vampire was that a person’s character doesn’t change. If he is good as a human, he will remain good as a vamp. There is no amount of money or power that could tempt me to ignore what I’ve held dear my entire life—family, friends and now, Lance. Frey knows all this. How can he think I could be influenced any other way?

  I watch Lance and Frey bantering back and forth in the front seat. Yesterday, Frey was being melodramatic and overly protective. Lance bought into it because he cares for me. As I do for him.

  But there is another p
iece to the puzzle that has yet to be solved.

  How was it that Underwood affected me so powerfully at our first meeting? It couldn’t be simply the magic—I had the same reaction with that biker, Black. No magic there. He was purely human. No, it couldn’t be who they were; it was what they were. Malevolent. Malicious. Mean.

  Jesus. Is this going to happen to me every time I come across a nasty piece of work? I’m going to have to learn to either handle the effects or suppress them, or I won’t have much choice except to spend the rest of my vampire existence hidden away in a cave.

  The effort to keep my thoughts private is taxing. Frey and Lance are blathering on about baseball—a subject I can’t believe either of them really finds interesting. Acronyms like ERAs and RBIs punctuate the conversation. It makes me smile.

  I tune in for a while, the sound of their voices relaxing me. It would be easy to drift off. I shouldn’t try to fight it. Truth is, I’m not feeling up to full strength yet. I’m going to need all my energy to face the coming battle.

  It will be a battle. Of that I’m certain. Just not the one Frey envisions. This will be a very personal battle with Williams and Underwood on one side, me on the other.

  But a battle for what purpose?

  I’ve never thought of Williams as evil. Just misguided and as focused on his own objectives as I am. He’s working with Underwood, though, so I can’t trust those objectives. Underwood is the older, more powerful vampire, and he is without scruples. His influence on Williams can’t be good. I wish I’d known about their alliance earlier.

  I close my eyes. I wish Lance had trusted me enough to tell me the truth about the way we met.

  Well, too late to obsess about that now. I’m tired. I’m cocooned in soft, warm leather. Two of my favorite men are close. I feel safe, protected.

  I let go, let the soft monotone of voices from the front seat lull me into a gentle sleep.

  CHAPTER 21

  I awaken to the sound of a slamming car door. Frey’s smiling face peers down at me as he opens the rear passenger door.

  “About time you woke up.”