Her art history class knowledge was quickly running out. “So, you bought all these?” she asked lamely.
“A little money. A little creativity.”
“You mean you stole them?” It was a stupid thing to say, but her foot was lodged firmly in place.
He didn’t seem offended at all, in fact, he looked amused. “I paid people to steal them. It’s entirely different. Would you like a tour?”
She didn’t. She wanted to wolf down whatever passed for dinner and run like hell. And where had that bodyguard gone? They were alone now, and she swallowed nervously.
“There’s something I’d like to show you,” he added.
That sounded ominous. “You do know this is only dinner, right?”
“You wound me,” he said with a mocking grin, placing a hand over his heart.
“I just want us to lay our cards on the table. I’m here because, well, because you coerced me. And because I do owe you for saving my life. But that’s it,” she said and lifted her chin defiantly. “Nothing more.”
His eyes flashed briefly and a smile crept to his lips. “Of course.”
With that vague assurance, he led her down the main hall. The tour was blessedly brief, and he completely ignored one wing of the penthouse. She figured it must have been his private chambers and felt a surge of relief that he hadn’t asked her if she wanted to see his etchings. King was a cad, but so far at least, he was behaving like a gentleman.
The dining hall was formal. A long, mahogany table filled the floor space. Wingback chairs, enough for a dozen guests, rimmed the edge.
“You must entertain a lot,” she said.
“Hardly,” he said and held out her chair. She wished she’d been seated at the far end of the table, but the place settings were tucked together at the end furthest from the door. “Only on very special occasions.”
That was the rub. “And what’s so special about this occasion?”
He opened his linen napkin with the flair of a magician. “You.”
She wriggled nervously in her chair and studied the silver salt and pepper shakers. He was actually being charming. Under different circumstances, if she weren’t already in love, if he weren’t a murdering gangster and possible vampire. But then if wishes were horses, she’d saddle one up and ride it the hell out of here.
He leaned back in his chair confidently. “Is it really so wrong that I want to get to know you better?”
“I guess not,” she said. Keeping the conversation neutral was probably the best idea, but there was nothing neutral about King. Besides, he seemed to appreciate her honesty. “If you’re looking to make friends, threatening them...not a good first step.”
“Would you have come if I hadn’t?”
She rubbed her sweaty palms on her dress and managed to meet his eyes. “No.”
He inclined his head and reached for a crystal carafe. “Precisely. Wine?”
She eyed the wine suspiciously. Why did it have to be red wine? Dark, red, the color of blood. “No, thank you.”
He set the carafe down with a thud. His face tightened, and his voice was low and harsh. “If I’d meant you any harm, I wouldn’t have bothered saving your life. Don’t make me regret that decision. I suggest you drink the wine.”
Elizabeth pressed herself back in her chair. Aside from the obvious threat, there was a cruelty in his voice that scared her even more. God, how she wished Simon were there. And what a bad idea. Simon’s temper would surely get them both killed, and the object of the game was staying alive.
She twisted the napkin in her lap, fumbling for a way to diffuse King’s anger. If she was going to get out of here in one piece, she’d be wise to play the well-mannered guest. She forced herself to sit up straight and not fidget.
“I suppose one glass wouldn’t do any harm.”
As quickly as it had come, the storm cloud passed from his face and he smiled. “It’s an excellent vintage, I assure you.”
Great. Dinner with Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde—an intimate portrait.
She managed a small sip and an even smaller smile. “Good.”
“I’m pleased you approve.”
King, once again the genial host, leaned back in his chair. As if on cue, two servants appeared with silver trays. “I’m sure you’ll find the meal satisfactory. Far better then that diner you frequent, I assure you.”
The fork slipped from her hand. “How did you know about that?”
“I’m not a man without means.”
“You’ve been spying on me?”
“Spying has such a negative ring to it. I’m merely... keeping an eye on you. It’s a dangerous city and the Manchester Arms isn’t in the best neighborhood, but then I don’t need to tell you that, do I?” he said and lifted one of the silver coverings from a tray. “I think you’ll particularly enjoy the duck.”
She felt sick. He knew where she lived, where she ate. Who knows how long he’d been having them followed. “I’m not feeling very hungry anymore.”
King smirked and set the covering down. “Very well. I’m a patient man. We’ll simply enjoy each other’s company until your appetite returns.”
There was no getting out of it. No getting out of any of it. Maybe the sooner she ate, the sooner she could leave. She picked up her fork and managed to get a mouthful down.
The dinner, what she ate of it, was excellent, or would have been if her stomach hadn’t been on strike. The chef at the Ritz owed King a favor, for what she didn’t ask, and had prepared an elegant meal. King rearranged the food on his plate, taking small bites. The strange thing was he never took off his gloves. She hadn’t seen him without them. Odd enough in the middle of a heat wave, but at dinner, in his own home?
He must have noticed her staring, because he set down his fork and rubbed his gloved palms together. “An affectation,” he said, with a mild grin. “My hands are always cold. But as they say, cold hands, warm heart. As it were.”
She smiled and went back to her meal. Cold hands, ice cold heart was more like it. Or was it even more than that? She remembered the feeling of his ice cold lips the night he’d kissed her hand. Vampires lacked normal blood circulation and were rumored to be cold to the touch. And, she thought, looking at his untouched food, they didn’t eat.
Maybe her imagination was running away with her. There were other explanations, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the man sitting across from her wasn’t a man at all.
The conversation was sporadic and more often than not ended with a dangling question or an ambiguous answer. Once the final course had been served, King leaned back in his chair and regarded her with calm appraisal. “You are a charming guest. When you set your mind to it.”
“Thank you, I think. And it was a lovely dinner, but I really should be getting back. Simon will be—”
“Ah, yes. Professor Cross,” King said, lingering over the name with mild amusement. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”
He hates your guts didn’t seem like a profitable thing to say, and so Elizabeth merely shrugged.
“But I see why he likes you. You’re different, Elizabeth. Very different from the women I’ve met. A man could spend several lifetimes looking for a woman like you. There’s a uniqueness, I can’t put my finger on it, an unusual quality about you.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“Touché. So, tell me,” he said casually. “How did you meet your husband?”
The way he caressed the last word made her tense. “Simon?”
“Unless you have more than one.”
“No, just the one.” She crammed a spoonful of crème brûlée into her mouth to buy time. She could make up a story, but there was no guarantee she’d remember it. Best to stick with the truth. “We met at college. I was a student there, and he was a professor.”
King’s smirk reached all the way to his eyebrows. “Dating the professor? I’m shocked.”
“We didn’t actually date until after I graduated.”<
br />
“A college graduate working as a waitress. That’s odd, isn’t it?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Good jobs are hard to find.”
King grunted noncommittally and sipped his wine. “Where did you go to school?”
“Out of state.” This was getting worse and worse. Time to go on the offensive. “But enough about me and my boring life. Tell me about you. How does somebody become a...”
“A gangster?” he said with that damn smirk. “Family business. Tell me more about yourself. I do find your...story fascinating.”
Elizabeth grew nervous at the word “story”. Best to stop this conversation now. “Didn’t you say there was something you wanted to show me?” she asked.
King smiled. “Yes, there is.”
Out of the frying pan into the fire, she thought. Smooth.
King set down his napkin and pushed back his chair. “Shall we?”
Knowing she had little choice, Elizabeth agreed and followed King out of the dining room and down the main hall. They veered into the wing King had avoided earlier. He stopped at a dark paneled door and took a small key from his pocket. He opened the door and waited for Elizabeth to enter first. The room was dark and there was a thick odor of strange spices. King stepped in behind her and turned on the overhead light.
She blinked to let her eyes adjust to the sudden light. It was like stepping into the Egyptian section of the British Museum, at least according to the brochures she’d seen. Artifacts ranging from small statues to a complete sarcophagus filled the room. Large, limestone blocks were piled in one corner. The paint had faded, but the images were still clear.
Despite her fears, her curiosity couldn’t be contained and she walked further into the room. “This is amazing.”
King closed the door. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Yeah,” she said and moved to keep her distance as he crossed to the small table in the center of the room.
He picked up a small statue and held it reverently in his hand. “A shabti,” he said and held the brightly painted figure for her to see. “They’re said to come to life once their master is awakened in the afterlife. Do you know much about Egyptology?”
“A little.” In her research with Simon, she’d studied some of the ancient beliefs about eternal life. They’d managed to acquire a few artifacts for his collection, but the market for them was ridiculously overpriced. Even their few visits to the local museums couldn’t compare with the collection in this room.
“I’m something of an enthusiast,” he said in gross understatement. “They believed that a person never truly dies. Eternal life. Quite an intriguing concept.”
“I suppose.”
“You wouldn’t want to live forever?”
“I guess there might be perks, but no.”
King smiled enigmatically and set down the small statue. “They believed that the soul, even after death, remained in the body. Remained there awaiting judgment, until granted entrance to the underworld by Osiris.” He waved his hand at the table. “All of this, elaborate ointments and rituals, would secure the soul even in the face of human mortality.”
“That’s interesting,” Elizabeth said and eased her way toward the door. “Really quite a collection, and thank you for sharing it with me, but it’s late.”
“Time is irrelevant,” he said, “if you want it to be.”
She definitely didn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” he asked and walked slowly toward her. “Surely, you’ve sensed it.”
She backed up against the door and tried the handle, but it was locked. “I’d like to go now.”
“I haven’t shown you everything.”
“I’ve seen enough. Please, unlock the door.”
He stopped in the middle of the room. “Don’t be frightened.”
He closed his eyes and Elizabeth couldn’t stifle her gasp.
His face changed. Thick, corded veins bulged out on his forehead, slicing over his temples and popping out along his neck. Swollen and pulsing, the deformities stripped away any illusion of humanity. His mouth gaped open and his incisors grew before her eyes, grotesque fangs like a serpent’s, curved and wicked. Finally, he opened his eyes and they glowed like amber lit from within. It wasn’t the face of a man anymore.
It was the face of a vampire.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Holy crap!”
Elizabeth shrank back and tried to push herself through the door. King’s yellow eyes glowed brighter. His nostrils flared as he tilted his head up and stole her scent from the air, a predator finding its prey. He took a step forward, and she flattened herself against the door as tightly as she could. Her blood pounded in her veins and she knew he could sense it too. Slowly, the rhythm of her beating heart was pulling him closer.
“King,” she whispered, barely able to get the word past her dry throat.
He took another step, closing the distance between them. His bulk blocked out the light, and his face fell into shadows. Only the surreal glow from his eyes filled the void between them. He raised one hand, the gloved fingers stretching out and nearing her face.
She was going to die. She pressed her palms against the door, as she raised her chin, one final act of defiance. Then, King’s hand halted its approach and hovered inches from her face, trembling.
“King,” she said again, more strongly than before. If the man was in control of the demon, she had to reach him.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head. The demon visage faded. When he opened his eyes, he was a man again, but the cool restraint she’d seen before was gone. He pushed out a quick breath and took a step back. He looked nearly as shocked as she was by his lack of control, but he recovered quickly.
Elizabeth licked her dry lips and tried to speak, but her voice came out in a croak. “You’re a vampire.”
“Not just that,” he said, fully in control again. Whatever battle had waged inside him was over. “If that’s all I were, you’d be dead right now.”
Her head was spinning. How could this be happening? It was one thing to read texts, to read two hundred year old accounts, but to be standing face to face with... She could barely bring herself to think it. Even having considered the possibility, facing the truth was shocking. Vampires were real. Real and staring at her.
“How?” she asked. That was too simple a question, but the best she could do.
King seemed pleased at the question. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” he said and then shook his head, ever the gracious host. “Would you like to sit? Your legs look about to give way. It is quite a shock.”
He was right about that. Her knees hadn’t stopped wobbling. “Standing’s fine, thanks.”
“As you wish,” he said and then walked to the center table. He ran his finger over one of the small figures. “Eight years ago, when Carter discovered Tutankhamen’s tomb, I knew I had to have a part of the treasure. From one King to another. It began merely as avarice, to have something so unique. To own it. But once the artifacts began arriving, it grew into something much more.” He looked around the room proudly. “Much more.”
“I’d recently inherited my father’s business,” he said without an ounce of sarcasm. “He was killed by rivals, and I assumed the mantle of command but had no desire to die an early death. They’re quite common in my line of business. I’d read of the ancient Egyptian’s beliefs in eternal life, and set out to discover their secrets. How to cheat death.”
Elizabeth’s knees had stopped wobbling, but she didn’t dare move. King walked smoothly around the room as he told her his story. It was so shockingly antithetical to the demon she’d seen, the pleasant timbre of his voice, the graceful movements.
“My brother, it seems, had different ideas. He’d always been jealous of me. Jealous of the favor our father showed me,” he said and shrugged indifferently. “His jealousy devoured him, until he tried to kill me. Technically he succeeded, but
his plans, like everything else in his life, didn’t quite work out. He aligned himself with a group of vampires.”
“You mean there are lots of you?”
He smiled indulgently. “Not anymore. But I digress. My brother’s first mistake was to trust them. They’re stupid creatures, guided only by lust and hunger. They exist only to feed. No better than drug addicts.” As if sensing her unspoken question, he continued. “I am, as I said, not just a vampire. The demon doesn’t control me, I control it.”
She knew that was only partially true. When he’d let the demon out, his control had faltered. For those brief, infinitely long moments, he’d been nothing more than a beast, wanting only the kill.
“But these creatures were like animals, no discipline, no thought. Pathetic,” he said and gave a mirthless laugh. “This group, although rather inept, had managed to function as a small gang. Buoyed by meager successes, a series of artless murders and minor robberies, they’d garnered a bit of a reputation in the underworld. My brother offered them a chance for a bigger score, to climb the food chain, as it were.”
Even in her fright, Elizabeth found herself listening with rapt attention. A gang of vampires loose on the streets of New York City. The underworld run by, well, the underworld.
“The ambush was ill-conceived and poorly executed,” King continued. “My brother wanted to strike me down here, in this very room. His version of irony, I suppose. But I’d gotten wind of his plan and was prepared. Prepared in ways they couldn’t imagine. Of course, they were supposed to kill me, but they betrayed my brother, to no one’s surprise but his own. Why take the runt of the litter when you can have the best? They wanted to make me one of them, add to their cadre. Fools.”
He stopped pacing and turned to face her. “The Egyptians were right. Death isn’t the end, it’s merely a bridge. That very day, I performed the ritual for preserving the soul. When they tried to turn me, I retained my soul. The typical victim is no more than a shell, a husk that provides the demon with access to this world. But my soul was bonded to my body, and it made me more powerful than they could imagine. A demon and a soul yoked together.”
Out of Time Series Omnibus (Out of Time: A Paranormal Romance & When the Walls Fell) Page 22
