Keeper of the Dawn (The Keepers: L.A.)

by Heather Graham

  “And besides,” Sailor said, “I really would like a part in that movie, and I think Alessande can make that happen for me.”

  As they walked out of the building, Alessande had the curious feeling of being watched. She turned around to look, but she didn’t see anyone.

  And yet she was certain that someone was observing them closely.

  Chapter 7

  Brigitte Hildegard was perched in the corner of one of the settees in the elegant room where they’d met before.

  Alan was standing at the doorway, waiting, as the butler led Mark and Brodie in.

  Charlaine Hildegard, who looked to be in her early thirties, was seated across from Brigitte. There was something about the way she sat there—in one of the high wingback chairs—that was distinctly imperial. She might be the cousin of the male heir in residence, but she was every inch the queen of her domain.

  Her hair was darker than Brigitte’s, her eyes a more intense blue. Her facial structure was classic—and her attitude was arrogance personified.

  Neither she nor Brigitte rose as the men came into the room. Mark felt as if they had stepped back in time to Regency England. Charlaine waited regally for them to come and pay homage to her.

  They obliged.

  “Detectives, this is my cousin Charlaine. If you need to know something about the Hildegard family, Charlaine is the one to ask. And she has agreed to speak with you.”

  Mark refrained from clicking his heels, bowing and kissing the hand that was offered to him. He managed to grasp the hand—with its flawless manicure—and shake it. “Thank you so much for seeing us, and I apologize for the unpleasant nature of the topic we need to discuss with you, but, as I’m sure you’re aware, two women are dead, and we believe that another was meant to be sacrificed upon your great-grandfather’s tomb,” he said.

  Charlaine wrinkled her nose. “This is ever so distasteful,” she said.

  Yes, he thought, trying not to roll his eyes at her choice of words. Murder could be ever so distasteful.

  “I do hope that you’ve found something with which to charge those people,” she added.

  “At the moment, Ms. Hildegard,” Brodie said, “charges are pending.”

  “At least you have the perpetrators locked up,” she said.

  “I’m afraid they’re out on their own recognizance at the moment,” Brodie admitted.

  “Goodness! What use are the police?” she asked.

  “We believe that they don’t really understand what was going on that night,” Mark explained.

  From her perch on the settee, Brigitte let out a soft groan. “Really, Detective, what was done to our family tomb, that is the real crime!”

  Yes, to the Hildegard family, trespassing in their tomb might well appear to be a far greater crime than murder.

  “Ms. Hildegard, according to newspaper articles of the time,” Mark said, “your great-grandfather was a student of the occult, and he himself professed a belief that he could be brought back to life.”

  She smiled. “My great-grandfather was a showman, Detective. He knew how to entertain, his...dabblings in the occult made him very good at entertaining. I assure you, we aren’t hiding any ancient texts that hold the secrets to life and death—or life after death.” She smiled at him. “As a vampire, you should know far more about that than any of us.”

  “I was born a vampire, Ms. Hildegard.”

  “Well, of course you were. But to the best of my knowledge, only vampires can come back from death in any way, and that’s because, whether by bite or birth, their chemical makeup is different, so they’re not really dead until they have their hearts staked or their heads chopped off.” Her smiled deepened, but there was something taunting about it. “So, no, our family does not have any answers, and whatever performances my great-grandfather put on...well, they were just that. Performances. Now, as to the vandalism at my family’s tomb...you will see that something is done, correct?”

  “We’ll do our best,” Mark promised.

  She waved a hand in the air. Like a queen, she was dismissing them.

  “Thank you so much for speaking with us,” Brodie told her.

  Privately, Mark was wondering what the point of their trip had been, since she hadn’t actually told them a thing.

  “Not at all,” she said. “You may, of course, call me at any time.” She looked from Brodie to Mark, where her gaze lingered, as if she were judging him.

  Mark smiled. “A pleasure to have met you.”

  As they left the Hildegard estate, Brodie turned to Mark and laughed. “You should ask her out. Maybe we could actually get some information from her that way.”

  “What?”

  “Seriously. Did you see the way she was looking at you?”

  “And you know that how? Did you do some kind of Elven mind read?”

  Brodie shook his head. “No. I tried, of course. Thing is, she’s an Other, and she knew she was going to meet a vampire and an Elven. She was prepared, careful not to let me make that kind of eye contact.”

  “That woman is scary,” Mark said.

  “Maybe, but she’s still into you,” Brodie said. He punched Mark in the shoulder. “You should take one for the team. You’re free, after all,” he said cheerfully.

  Free. Yes, he was. But, oddly, he didn’t feel free. It had started with that freaky daydream at the cemetery.

  And then...

  Then, last night, he’d held her. Kissed her. And when he’d held her, when he’d kissed her...

  No, I’m not free. I don’t know why, but I’m not. Which was ridiculous. And he should be free, because, if he wasn’t...

  Again he saw the blood, running down the aisle as if it were a red velvet runner....

  “We’re cops. I’m sure we can figure something else out,” he said casually. “Come on, we’ve got to get to Alessande’s house. A girl is dying. Alessande needs this lab report.”

  * * *

  “Transymil is actually in the hemlock family,” Alessande explained, dicing leaves to add to the potion she was making. “So you would probably treat it much the same way you would treat hemlock poisoning. Although...there’s more here than just a hemlock derivative. Okay, let’s go back to the beginning. Originally this drug was only known in the Otherworld. It comes from a plant grown solely in a small part of the world by the local Others.”

  “Go on,” Mark said. “Say it. Vampires.”

  “Well, everything starts somewhere, and I swear, I’m not looking to offend vampires,” she said, gazing across the counter at him. His expression was amused, and she realized that he’d been baiting her.

  He and Brodie had arrived half an hour ago. She’d immediately begun to study the report, and then had started formulating the potion she hoped would be an antidote. She realized that she was ridiculously ill at ease with Mark, especially right there in her house. It had been one thing to dream about a ridiculous wedding in which she was somehow intended to be a sacrifice—it was quite another to dream about having wanton sex with the man. The best antidote for her was to keep as busy as possible creating an antidote for Transymil.

  Brodie, Sailor and Declan had just left, and she was all too aware of being alone with Mark.

  “What’s in there?” he asked, looking at the steaming pot on her stove.

  “Simple things, mostly. Tannic acid, ground coffee, mustard and castor oils, and then some ingredients we Elven are particularly aware of. Fenweddin, persicle, bee leaf. And...” She paused, looking for a sharp knife. She glanced at him apologetically for a moment as she prepared to prick her finger. “...a drop of Elven blood. It has restorative properties.”

  “Do you want me to leave the room?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice. “Are you afraid I’ll see that speck of blood and freak out, sink my fangs into you and drain you dry in a flash of uncontrollable desire?”

  She felt a flush rising to her cheeks. She was very afraid that she wouldn’t mind the uncontrollable desire part as long as h
e left the fangs out of it.

  I don’t even like him! she told herself.

  But she did.

  “Alessande, I’ve been on synthetic blood since I was born. My mother didn’t even go for slaughterhouse blood, the way so many people did. She’s a vegetarian,” he told her.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. Then she pricked her finger and allowed three drops of blood to fall into the potion.

  “What now?” he asked as she stirred the pot.

  “Now, it needs about two hours to simmer,” she said. “How are you and Brodie going to get this to her? She’s in the hospital—and I’m assuming there’s a police guard on her. If they’re not Others...”

  Mark nodded. “True. But Brodie and I are the lead detectives on the related murder case. We’ll have no problem getting in.”

  “But you have to get this into her—unnoticed.”

  “I am a vampire,” he reminded her.

  “Right,” Alessande said, and moved uneasily away from the stove. She looked out the window and breathed in the peace of her surroundings. Her house, which was actually a cabin, stood in a beautiful forested area. She needed the trees; Elven were tied to the earth. They hadn’t come to the States until commercial flight had become common, because they couldn’t survive in water for long, and even traveling on the water by ship was draining for them. In fact, if they were away from land for too long, they perished.

  She glanced toward the bay window in her living room. An ornament hung there, a talisman for her people, a tree with roots so long that they grew upward toward the sky and joined with the branches.

  She had always loved what she was; her people believed in learning and in healing, and they truly honored the earth.

  But now she knew that she wasn’t only Elven. Her biological father had been a Keeper.

  “Are you all right?” Mark asked her.

  “Of course.” She lowered the heat on the potion so that it could simmer and covered the steaming pot. Nervously she looked at him. “Um, if there’s something you need to do, feel free. You can come back in a couple hours when this is ready.”

  He shook his head. “Alessande, there is no way on earth that I’m going to leave you alone right now.”

  “You really don’t need to worry. I doubt many people even know that this cabin is here.”

  He sighed, and actually seemed to be struggling for patience. “Alessande, I’m a cop. And as a cop you learn pretty quickly that if a bad guy wants to find someone, he does. I meant what I said. I’m not leaving you alone until this is over.”

  “Oh, well...we have two hours, then.”

  “What, that’s it?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “No passionate demands that I leave? No insistence that you can take care of yourself, that you’re not just Elven, you’re destined to be a Keeper?” But he was smiling, and she loved that smile. Loved the way it made the gold flecks seem to burn in his eyes, loved the little dimple it caused to appear in just one cheek.

  “No,” she said simply. “So...what would you like to do? We can watch a movie, listen to some music. I have some board games around here somewhere.”

  She was startled when he walked over to stand beside her, just leaning against the counter, not quite touching her.

  “We could have mad passionate sex,” he said.

  Her breath caught. “I, uh, I was under the impression that you didn’t like me very much.”

  “Sad to say the truth about men and sex—any men, human, Other, anything in between—is that, on the one hand, liking someone doesn’t really matter very much. But, on the other hand, you’re very much mistaken. I do like you,” he told her, humor still in his eyes. And then his voice changed, going soft and serious. “I like you too much.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. She wondered if it was just her, or if the like part didn’t always matter that much with women, either—Elven, Other, human, whatever—not when the man was Mark, someone who moved with confidence, had the perfect physique, had the sexiest hint of huskiness in his voice and flecks of gold in his eyes....

  She moved into his arms, reaching up to touch his face.

  “Movie, board game...hot passionate sex,” she whispered. “Um, I think the third would be my choice.”

  This time she kissed him. She arched against him, rising on her toes, sliding her fingers down his cheek. Her lips touched his and their mouths parted, and, as their tongues met, she felt as if the world around her grew electrified, or maybe it was just her...just the impossible heat of him filling her.

  He wound his arms around her, drawing her closer and closer. His hands slid along her back to her buttocks, and then she was flush against him and wishing she could feel his flesh against hers. He seemed to feel the same way. He started to rip at his shirt, then remembered he was wearing a gun and stepped back, looking at her apologetically as he removed his holster.

  No sooner had he set the gun on the counter than her hands were on his buttons and his were on the soft silk of her blouse. They fumbled with each other’s clothing as their lips met again. She spoke against his mouth as they leaned against the counter. “I do have a bedroom.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  She caught him by the arm and started to lead him toward it, but he stopped, and for a moment she was confused. Had she acted too quickly? Was she crazy? Were they just playing some kind of ridiculous game and he’d thought better of it?

  But he’d only stopped for his gun. “Wherever we go...it comes with us.”

  She drew him into the bedroom.

  She loved her room. It was beautifully paneled in natural woods. Her bed was in an alcove, the head- and footboards and posts carved with leaves.

  He pulled back for a second to look. “Wow.”

  “Too much?” she asked.

  “No, just...wow.”

  He laid the holster on the bedside table and fell with her onto her mattress. And when they landed, he smiled down at her. “I think I’ve gone a little crazy, because right now I could devour you like a rabid werewolf,” he said.

  “Elven have no fear of such things,” she assured him.

  “Ah, fearless Elven,” he teased. Their mouths melded again. Her shoes, his shoes, hit the floor, and the rest of their clothing soon followed, until at last they lay together as she had craved, flesh to flesh. They tangled breathlessly in a long and lasting kiss, and when his lips broke from hers, they traveled her body restlessly, moving over her throat and brushing slowly against her shoulder. His kisses poured over her breasts and rib cage and abdomen. She burned and writhed against him, amazed at the strength of the need ripping through her. How long had it been? She didn’t know, didn’t remember, didn’t care. She had tended all through her long life to be discriminating; she’d seldom indulged in affairs. But here he was, majestic and beautiful, and when he smiled...

  This was more than just physical need. She ached to touch more than his flesh; she longed for everything inside of him. She could read minds....

  She wanted to read his soul.

  He was a consummate and inventive lover, taking his time, taking luxurious care, kissing, caressing...making love in a way she hadn’t thought possible. He knew where to touch, how to touch, where to kiss, when to tease...and when to become so intimate that she felt as if the wonder inside her would boil over.

  And then he would bring her back down ever so slightly, giving her the opportunity to touch him in turn, to press herself closer and closer, to bathe his shoulders with kisses and serenade him with moans raggedly drawn from her lips.

  His body was solid, strong and vital. His lips laved her abdomen, traveled lower and teased between her thighs until she thought she would go mad.

  And then he was above her, in her, and her arms were wrapped around him. She stared into his eyes and felt again that fire blazing through her with a wild vengeance. She whispered incoherently, and felt the power of her own passion and desire as
she responded to him. It was beautiful; it was incredible. He led her upward to a place she’d never been to before, and the carved forest around them seemed to amplify every sensation, make it part of the earth and air. She felt his movements, the sweet thrusts, the rhythm, and it was as if her world spun on its axis, making her dizzy with want. The pace of their loving grew frantic, stars seeming to blaze across the ceiling above her as she climaxed with a volatile shudder. She felt the rigidity of his muscles as he thrust deeply into her, and then held, and stayed, and finally lay carefully against her and pulled her to her side as they both cooled down and relearned how to breathe, still entwined, still together.

  It wasn’t like her dream. It was better. It was real. And in the aftermath she drew strength from the wood of her bed and the walls of her home. She had wanted him—desperately. It wouldn’t have mattered if they hadn’t been here. But it was somehow better because they had been.

  She lay against him, her cheek resting on his chest, still in awe of the experience. She was sure that she felt his heart hammering, even as she was certain that she’d felt warmth from him earlier. Vampires, she’d always heard, were cold. Their hearts did not beat; they did not breathe. They hungered; they did not love.

  “I really do like it,” he murmured.

  “Sex?”

  “Well, yes, that, too—but I was thinking of your bed.”

  “I’m glad.” Her fingers moved over his chest. “I can feel your heart.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re a vampire.”

  “My heart exists—why else would you kill a vampire by staking him in the heart?” He was stroking her hair, lulling her.

  “Good point,” she murmured. “I always thought...”

  “I know,” he said huskily. “It’s so easy to believe the myths, to think that what we know about those who are different from us is right.”

  “I never had any negative assumptions about vampires.”

  “Oh, you are such a liar,” he said, but his tone was light, and his fingers continued to move gently through her hair.

  “I was aggravated,” she said.