Forsaken By the Others hi-5

by Jess Haines

  It was a bittersweet way to end the night, but in that too short span we did everything we could to say without words what we felt, fighting to fit in years of need and repressed desire before the break of dawn.

  Chapter 7

  The flight and our arrival were uneventful. Prior to the flight, Sara and I spent most of the day left to our own devices. The majority of the vampires were taking their day rest, or busy on watch, and the flight wasn’t scheduled until late afternoon. I had hoped I might get to talk to my family or update the two cops who had helped me stay a step ahead of whoever in the NYPD was after me, but we were advised to keep the rest of our calls to a minimum until we were safely out of town. Royce couldn’t spend much time with me since he was busy with his lawyers and some mess at his corporate office that he was trying to handle by phone. The last thing he managed to tell me before he sent me back down to Sara was not to put my trust in Clyde—which made me feel ever so much better about this trip we were about to take.

  For a little while, Analie kept us company, telling us stories about her best friend, Freddy, and her caretaker, Gavin. The Goliaths didn’t sound so bad when she was talking about them, but I was sure Sara and I wouldn’t be as welcome as someone who had been born and raised into the pack—especially if we showed up at Gavin’s place covered in the scent of vampires.

  After hours of going bonkers with a combination of boredom and nerves, we were taken to a private airport. Though I knew little about planes, the one we were escorted onto was sleek, pristine, and full of so many gadgets and amenities that I was afraid to touch anything inside in case it might break. Sara was more at home, staying in her seat and reading a book while I prowled around the cabin.

  A flight attendant came in at one point to see if we needed anything and tried to show me what a few of the doodads did, but it wasn’t as fun to poke around with someone following me around and sounding like she was parroting off a sales brochure. Eventually, exhaustion crept up on me, and I did my best to nap while we sped in our little flying tin can across the expanse of the United States.

  Once we drew close to our destination, the flight attendant explained we were about to arrive at the Santa Monica airport, and that Mr. Royce had made arrangements for our pick-up and transportation to our destination. I stared out the window as we approached, noting the nearby ocean and pier and all of the tiny buildings and cars looking like toy models from this height. As we drew closer, I grew more and more nervous. Eventually I pulled the shade over the window and clutched at the armrests of my seat, closing my eyes. Sara laughed at me, but I didn’t care. Much.

  The landing jarred us a little bit, but we arrived in one piece, so I couldn’t complain. Once we were on the ground, I opened the window again, peering out. The plane taxied off of the runway and into a huge, whitewashed hangar, the big door sliding shut once the plane stopped inside. A few minutes later, duffel slung over my shoulder, Sara and I stepped onto the gleaming white floor, glittering with polish that reflected the lamps high above our heads.

  A gentleman in a suit and reflective shades was waiting for us, gesturing that we should follow him. He didn’t bother to wait to see if we did as we were bid. When I checked over my shoulder, someone else had grabbed the rest of our bags. Sara and I exchanged a look, then shrugged and followed.

  He led us across the huge bay of the hangar, empty save for the plane we’d arrived in, and out through a people-sized door on the other side. An ocean-scented breeze whipped my hair around. Once I brushed it back, I was greeted by the sight of a sleek white limo. The man who had led us out was now holding the limo door and waiting for us, his expression clearly indicating he was bored and unimpressed with us. Though I knew he was impatient to get out of here, I took a moment to look around. This was my first time in Santa Monica, after all.

  The nearby mountains were oddly brown and dead—nothing like the vibrant greens of the Catskills. The sky was alive with a splash of strange oranges and reds, a sunset like nothing I’d ever seen back East. Palm trees were everywhere. Funny looking cacti mixed with some weird flowers that had long green stems, nearly as tall as I was, topped with spiky orange and dark purplish flowers, planted alongside the building, sprucing up the otherwise plain white structure. A touch of the wild in the otherwise carefully deliberate landscaping.

  Sara entered the limo, and I soon followed suit. The man shut the door behind us, and I heard the luggage being tossed in the trunk. Despite the more than generous size of the passenger area, which probably could have fit half a dozen people comfortably, it was claustrophobic in the plush interior of that limo, and neither of us wanted to speak.

  Soon, the driver got in, turning his head just enough to acknowledge our existence. “Mr. Seabreeze extends his welcome. He’s hosting a party in your honor tonight. You’ll be staying in the guesthouse. We can stop there first if you’d prefer to freshen up, but he was very insistent that he would like to meet you right away.”

  “I would rather meet him first.”

  Sara didn’t see any reason to delay meeting our host either. “So would I. If we’re going to be stuck here for a while, I want to know who and what I’ll be dealing with.”

  The driver adjusted his rearview mirror to look us over, probably not realizing we could see his features at that angle, too. I got the impression it was the first time he was really looking at us—and that he didn’t approve of what he saw. His lip curled slightly before he turned his attention ahead again, starting the limo. “As you wish.”

  Though it wasn’t my first time in a limo, this wasn’t something I did every day. For Sara, this was old hat. She lounged back and watched with some amusement as I fiddled with all of the buttons and panels, discovering the hidden TV (how the hell do you get cable access in a car?), satellite radio, selection of drinks, and even something that tinted and untinted the windows. Special sunproofing for the vampire, maybe?

  Soon, it wasn’t the car, but what was passing by outside that drew my attention. It didn’t take long for us to reach a ridiculously extravagant area, full of small but manicured-to-within-an-inch-of-the-property-line lawns with weird ornaments and excessive lighting, while the houses themselves, each one seemingly bigger than the next, looked like they belonged in TV shows or movies. Come to think of it, this was part of Los Angeles, so they probably were in TV shows and movies.

  For the first time in my life, I was intimidated by buildings.

  Sara did not appear concerned, but I was seriously reconsidering making that pit stop at the guesthouse to change into something more appropriate than jeans and T-shirts before visiting this Seabreeze guy. Though with a name like that, I had the feeling I was going to have a very hard time taking him seriously, even if he was a very rich and important vampire who lived in a mansion.

  I figured now was as good a time as any to let Royce know we’d arrived safely. Tugging the cell phone out of the pocket of my duffel I’d shoved it into, I scrolled through the few contacts already in the phone.

  Someone had been quite thoughtful. Not only had they added Royce’s cell, but they’d included Royce’s head of security, Angus, as well as Mouse, Wes, and a few other familiar names, too. If I needed to reach anyone in a hurry, there were multiple ways for me to do it.

  Royce picked up after a couple of rings, though he sounded a bit distracted until he realized it was me.

  “Hey, just wanted to let you know we made it here in one piece.”

  “Good. Have you met with Clyde yet?”

  “No,” I said, glancing at the driver again, “not yet. We’re on our way from the airport right now.”

  “All right. Call me immediately if he makes any effort to alter or renege on our agreement. And be careful, my little hunter. I want you to come home to me safely.”

  “I will,” I promised. “You owe me a hell of a romantic evening after this.”

  He laughed and whispered a promise to do something to me once I got back that had me blushing so hard, I thought I mig
ht ignite by the power of my mixed mortification and desire alone. Cripes, I hoped to hell Sara hadn’t overheard, though judging by the look she was giving me it wasn’t totally unlikely.

  She didn’t ask, and I didn’t say anything as I ended the call and shoved the phone back in the duffel, still hot with embarrassment. Rather than meet her gaze, I turned my attention to the world passing by. If we were going to be stuck here for weeks or months, I might as well get to know where we were going.

  Not that watching the route we took was helping much. We were soon lost in a maze of houses. I would have no hope of finding my way around here without the help of GPS or a map. Few of the streets seemed to run in straight lines. Some curved with the landscape. It was strange and not a little unsettling to a girl who was used to the straightforward streets that ran in simple north-south-east-west lines in New York.

  After a while, we were beyond the “mildly impressive and not a little intimidating” mansions and were now drifting past the “are people even allowed to live in these places” estates. The limo turned into a short driveway and pulled up to a manned security station. The driver said something to a guy in a uniform with a clipboard, and then we were beyond the huge, metal gates and prowling past a few fairytale homes that should have been—scratch that—probably were regularly featured on the covers of magazines like We Have Better Homes & Gardens Than You.

  Thus, it was not a little disconcerting when we reached one that had a slew of expensive import and sports cars jamming the streets around it and sat somewhat above the others on a rise.

  It was enormous. It looked more like it should be housing a slew of families, not a coven of vampires. Though there were curtains drawn behind all of the many windows, there were occasional flashes of what I thought might be a strobe light filtering around the edges on the first floor. Even from within the limo and half a block away, a heavy bass thump rhythmically vibrated under my feet.

  Still, something about the place made it seem as if it were standing in silent judgment over the other homes, and finding them wanting.

  The driver spoke up, drawing my attention off the small but carefully sculpted water gardens on either side of the long, winding driveway. Funny, I thought I’d heard somewhere that this part of California was in a drought.

  “Your bags will be delivered to the guest house.”

  Guess that meant I had to leave the duffel in the limo. Not a bad idea. It would probably look pretty tacky lugging it around, and I didn’t like the idea of wandering the halls of this particular master vampire’s house with a cheap department store knock-off instead of a designer travel bag. I already felt out of place. No need to add to the raging insecurities I was already dealing with.

  “Oh, and a word of advice, ladies.”

  Sara and I both gave the driver our full attention. I had the feeling we were going to need all the help we could get to fit in here. Clearly Clyde was not above flaunting his money.

  Our chauffeur wasn’t looking at us as he brought the limo to a smooth stop in front of the path leading to the brightly lit French double doors. One of the trio of armed security guards at the door came down the steps and opened the car door for us as the driver left us with some parting words of wisdom.

  “Don’t mention the hair.”

  With that cryptic statement, the two of us were left to face the security guard, who was doing a decent impression of a brick wall while he held the door and waited for us to decide if we were going to come out. Sara edged her way out first, accepting the guy’s hand as he helped her to the curb. If he thought her “Yes, I Run Like A Girl—Try To Keep Up” T-shirt was a bit much, he didn’t give any sign.

  Once I was on my feet, I followed Sara up the steps and tried not to wince when the doors opened and blasted us in the face with electronica music. Yet another security guard roughly the size and dimensions of Mount Everest met us just inside. It was too loud for us to hear much of anything, but he gestured for us to follow him.

  The place was just as grand and imposing on the inside as it was outside, though the furniture and artwork had more of that tacky-but-expensive look of red velvet and black satin rather than the carefully maintained Barbie’s Dreamhouse architecture and landscaping outside. Like some exclusive S&M club, except with a bunch of famous people hanging out in the latest Hollywood chic instead of leather and chains.

  Somehow, I managed not to stare. It helped that the strobe lights made it too disorienting to keep track of the security guard if I didn’t keep my eyes locked on him, for the most part. Though I did take a peek when Sara tapped my shoulder and jerked her chin to the right. I squinted into the shadows, and nearly fainted at the sight of one of my favorite actors lounging on the couch, talking with a girl who was probably also famous, but it didn’t matter because oh, my God, that was really him.

  The security guard was more than a little annoyed that he had to backtrack and find us. Even more so when he had to resort to a firm hand on our shoulders to get us moving again. This was probably a good thing, because it reminded me to close my mouth and not look like the ragingly obvious tourist I was.

  Some of Hollywood’s finest were looking beautiful and carefree and having a great time dancing and drinking and rubbing elbows with vampires. It was difficult to tell which were the monsters and which were the real people, but if you looked hard enough, you could always spot the Others. It seemed that everyone here had a touch of that predatory mien, but only the vampires had that special glitter to their eyes.

  Then again, that glitter could have been drugs. Not that it mattered. Everyone here was dangerous in his or her own way.

  Sara and I were led deep into the house. We eventually reached a door where the guard had to punch some numbers into a security pad before he could open it. He motioned us into the stairwell, not following us down the rabbit hole.

  Though the stairwell was well lit, and the walls here were a much more appropriate off-white, hung with the occasional framed photograph, being starstruck was replaced by that sense of dread and intimidation all over again.

  For her part, Sara didn’t seem concerned. She moved on the stairs like she was heading down to meet a business acquaintance. Taking a cue from her, I schooled my features into what I hoped was a pleasantly blank expression instead of one that said “dear-God-get-me-out-of-here. ”

  At the bottom of the stairwell was a hallway that branched off into other rooms to our left, and a wide-open space directly ahead with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the beach from the heights of a cliff. Or maybe we were on a mountainside. We’d gone through so many twisting, winding roads, I wasn’t sure anymore.

  “Ah, ladies, you made it,” said a pleasantly deep male voice from our right.

  I had seen pictures of Clyde Seabreeze before, and even a couple of video interviews online. However, they lacked the impact of the real thing, who was currently—and very deliberately, I was sure—standing under a small spotlight a few feet away from a small group of men. One was lounging on some more artsy than comfortable looking couches, and the rest were hanging back in the shadows; probably bodyguards.

  Of course, the first thing I noticed was the hair. It was dark—black—obviously dyed. It wasn’t a good color for him, but that was like saying it wasn’t a good color for Brad Pitt in his prime.

  His gaze drew me in next. Clyde’s eyes were . . . well, cliché as it sounds, a smoldering, dark blue. Come-hither eyes. Eyes deep enough to drown in. I remembered at the last second to look away, and, much like whenever David Bowie came on screen in Labyrinth, soon found myself staring at what was obviously framed by his too-tight pants and the tails of the shirt he hadn’t bothered to button.

  “Mr. Seabreeze,” Sara said, and with far more grace than I could possibly have mustered, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine.”

  The two of them were very cool and polite with each other considering he looked like he’d walked off the set o
f some romance novel photo shoot. I debated opening my mouth, but the words package and balls were dangerously close to the tip of my tongue. Instead, I mutely offered my hand when he approached to give us both a polite, welcoming handshake. I imagine my vow of silence was probably for the best—for all of us.

  “Ms. Waynest,” he said, smiling in a way that told me he knew exactly what I had been staring at a moment ago, “I am thrilled to finally meet the girl who stole the heart of Alec Royce. I must admit, I never thought he’d request that I be the one to offer sanctuary to one of his own, but I am delighted that I could be of service.”

  I’m sure my blank look spoke for me. His smile became a little more genuine, and he spread his arms, bowing his head in a theatric move reminiscent of an orchestra director.

  “You must forgive me, I have forgotten my manners. Ladies, may I introduce you to Fabian d’Argento, master of San Francisco.”

  A man who was sprawled as if he had been placed just so on the couch inclined his head to us. “Delighted,” he said, clearly not.

  Like Clyde, Fabian was lovely to look at but undoubtedly far more deadly than you would think based upon appearances. I had once mistaken Royce for a lackey; had I not just been introduced to the two, I might have easily assumed the same of Clyde and Fabian. Though they were both pale, and perhaps unfairly good-looking, they did not give off any dangerous vibes. Their ability to pass as human and my instant attraction to them was what made them dangerous, particularly since, as both were masters of their respective cities, they must have been ancient. The old ones always seemed to be devious and strong enough to lay the smack down on anyone who got in their way.

  “Fabian, this is Shiarra Waynest and Sara Halloway. Alec has sent them here to visit for a time.”

  The other vampire finally looked mildly interested, one brow quirking. “Is that so? You pair are private investigators, yes? I understand Ms. Waynest has caused quite a stir back East.”