by Unknown
Talk about a target rich environment.
He shifted on the hard wooden pew, trying to ignore the prickling sensation on the back of his neck -- the result of so many vampires in a confined space, all of them throwing off energy. He wasn’t psychic by any means, and only somewhat sensitive to supernatural energy. But he’d have to have been certified morgue material not to feel the power rolling through the room.
“All this vampire mojo getting to you?”
He looked down to see Eden eyeing him with a carefully blank expression. “You mean it’s not getting to you?”
She shrugged. “Number one, I can feed on energy. I’m shielding.”
“Feeding on energy, huh?” He shook his head. “The whole world is just one big snack bar to you people.”
She stood up and smoothed down the skirt of her dark red brocade dress. His gaze unwillingly tracked the movements of her small manicured hands over every delicious inch of her rounded hips, then lower to the fullness of her thighs…
He shook it off. Yeah, he was attracted to her. She had the face of a dark angel and the body of an ancient goddess. Despite her uppity attitude, he could easily waste a few hours fantasizing about getting her naked in various positions.
But he didn’t have a few hours to waste. Hell, he didn’t have a single second. Someone in his line of work couldn’t afford distractions. Distractions got you killed.
Too bad that in this particular case the client was the distraction.
“You, sir, are a bigot.” She raised her dramatically arched black brows at him. “And now, if you’ll excuse me…” She turned to exit the pew.
He grabbed her by the elbow. “Where are you going?”
She threw his hand off. “Where do you think I’m going? Mortal body, mortal needs.”
Two of the werewolves who’d come with them as backup drew in closer.
“I’ve got this.” He held up his hand to them before turning back to Eden. “You can’t go to the ladies room until we’ve swept it.”
Something flickered in the depths of her eyes… something that told him the full impact of her situation had finally registered with her.
“Am I to expect you to stand outside the stall and hold my purse, or do I actually get to go in there alone?” The venom in her words pierced him like a dart.
“We’ll sweep the room for any devices.” He gestured to the members of the Speedway Pack stationed at various corners of the room. Damn, they needed radios yesterday. “Then Lisa and Sable will go in with you.”
Sadness filled her face. Somehow, he knew the expression wasn’t foreign to her. “This really is the end of my privacy, isn’t it?”
He steeled his heart. Poor kid, hadn’t she inherited Master Cain’s entire estate when the old bloodsucker made himself into hot roasted vampire? She could buy her own island and run away from all this shit.
Going soft and feeling sorry for her wasn’t an option… at least, not where he was concerned.
* * *
Eden tried to focus on the service. Usually the soothing hymns bellowing forth from the pipe organ and the dancing flames of hundreds of candles could quiet her inner storms.
But not tonight.
What had she gotten herself into? She focused her gaze on the beautiful visage of Mother Rachel, the raven haired high priestess of St. Germain. When the crowd, prompted by the priestess, intoned their petitions to the great ascended master, Eden forced herself to go through the motions.
She truly believed in the Germainian faith. Her father had schooled her in it since her earliest memory, and as the empress of the Gulf Coast and head of a major vampire house, she would be a de facto representative of the church. But the new circumstances of her life had hit her with the force of a wrecking ball.
She had no privacy. What little autonomy she’d managed to gain had slipped out the back like a shoplifter making off with a major score.
She rose to her feet to join in the concluding hymn, conscious of the newest member of her staff beside her. He hated vampires -- that was clear enough. All she’d needed was a bodyguard, but somehow she’d ended up with a rogue vampire assassin by her side.
What the hell had she done to her life by accepting her father’s succession?
The long vista of the years rolled out ahead of her like a red carpet. Endlessly being guarded, protected, isolated from the rest of the world. It had been that way for as long as she could remember. A succession of caretakers obsessively monitoring her health, keeping her out of the sun, watching her diet like hawks.
She’d learned early on that being protected had very little to do with being loved.
She hadn’t been guarded because she was loved. No, she was merely rare… an exceptionally healthy dhampire and successor to the master.
She was a hothouse flower and a freakshow, all rolled together in one chubby little package.
The hymn came to an end and one by one, the congregants -- vampires all, with the exception of a few swans, human servants, and a scattering of shifters -- filed into the center aisle to receive their blessing from Mother Rachel.
“What is this, some kind of undead communion?” Cameron snorted from behind her.
She stifled the impulse to use her elemental conjuring powers and shake the ground beneath his feet. “Ever heard that old saying… if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything?”
He grinned down at her. “I’ve never had much use for old sayings.”
She felt her blood racing, partly with anger and partly with the desire to rise to his bait and match wits with him. Most of the men in her insulated world were so busy bowing and scraping before her that witty repartee was sadly lacking. “What about a new saying, then?” She returned his mirthless grin. “Sit your ass down in the pew or the big bad vampire bitch is going to make you regret it.”
“You know I can’t leave your side, oh royal one.” His gaze traveled down her body again, in that same blush-inducing way he’d demonstrated earlier. “Besides, you’re not a big bad bitch. You’re not a big anything.”
Conversations about her weight always made her cringe and want to run for the nearest exit. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Flattery?” He snorted. “You’re what, all of five foot two in your stocking feet?”
Oh, so he meant she wasn’t big height-wise. So not only was she fat, she was also short. “I’m five three.” Yeah… if she stood up really straight.
Sable had reached the front of the line, and Eden watched as she inclined her head to receive Mother Rachel’s blessing. The priestess raised an ancient crystal wand that sparkled with the entire prism of a rainbow and touched it to the supplicant’s head.
Sable murmured a prayer and stepped aside. Eden moved to the front of the line and bowed her head.
Cameron’s voice cut through the peaceful tableau like a razor. “Don’t touch her.”
She heard Mother Rachel gasp. Eden’s eyes shot open to be greeted with the sight of the high priestess’s horrified face and the equally shocked expressions of the two blond acolytes, Veronica and Malice.
“Make your blessing from St. Jerome or whoever he is, but don’t touch her and don’t let that oversized mood ring of yours anywhere near her.”
Eden winced. This wasn’t happening. If she clicked her heels three times, surely she’d wake up back on Uncle Henry’s farm.
The temptation to open a hole in the ground for a quick getaway almost overwhelmed her.
She made a hasty apology to Mother Rachel and then turned to Cameron. This time she did the grabbing. “We’re out of here.” She pulled him by the elbow, aware that the entire congregation was riveted to the scene.
Her privacy wasn’t the only casualty of her new situation. Apparently, her dignity had jumped ship as well.
* * *
“You did not just fucking do that.” Eden climbed into the back seat of Cameron’s SUV, groaning when a werewolf crowded in on either side of her.
C
ameron put the vehicle in gear. “Do what?”
“Humiliate me in front of my people? Insult the high priestess of my faith?” She dug her nails into the upholstery. “Shall I go on?”
“I have the feeling you will anyway.” He shot her a glance in the rearview mirror.
She couldn’t keep going like this. Something had to give, and it couldn’t be her temper. “Just don’t talk to me anymore, okay? When we get home, you go to your room and I go to my room. Don’t let me lay eyes on you until tomorrow night.” Her jaw clenched. “Got it?”
“Yes, your ladyship.” He turned up the radio and soon the sound of Dwight Yoakam singing Fast As You filled the car.
It was a hell of a lot better, Eden reflected, than listening to herself scream.
* * *
Cameron tapped on the door between his room and Eden’s. He’d had Katya run by his place to pack a bag for him -- just the essentials. The sofa in Eden’s sitting room would do fine for a bed. He’d certainly slept on worse.
An impatient sigh drifted through the closed door. “Yes?”
He cracked the door and peered into the dim room. The blackout drapes were all closed, and Eden was curled up in bed with a romance novel.
“Good book?” He took a few steps into the room.
She sighed and closed the book. “Let’s not pretend you came in here for small talk, okay? You don’t like me, I don’t like you, and the only reason our paths ever crossed is because a serial killer is on the loose.” She stood up to turn back the covers.
“Who says I don’t like you?” She looked different, somehow. Younger or something. He peered closer at her face, realizing it was scrubbed clean of the dramatic makeup she’d worn all evening. Standing there barefoot, wearing nothing but an Astros nightshirt, she looked surprisingly innocent.
Dangerously so, if his aching body were any indication.
“Vampires are obviously not high up on your list of favorite people.” She sat down on the edge of the bed.
He could feel a smile forming despite himself. “How could you not be one of my favorite people? You’re an Astros fan.”
She gave him a faint smile. “Houston born and raised… being an Astros fan is in my blood.”
There was that word. Blood. He cringed at a memory that he couldn’t -- wouldn’t -- allow to resurface.
“You were born here, huh?” He reached for a change of subject. “How old are you, anyway?”
“How many years have I lived, or how old is my body?” The look on her face told him she expected a negative reaction either way.
“Both, although I didn’t realize dhampires aged differently than the rest of us.”
She sighed as if she’d explained this too many times already… which, he realized, she probably had. “I was born twenty-seven years ago, but I began taking my father’s blood when I was twenty-one. Blood that powerful can retard the aging process in humans, so I guess it really worked me over. I get carded anytime I try to order something stronger than ginger ale.” She rolled her eyes. “Most people think I look about nineteen or twenty.”
No wonder she gave off a mixed vibe of world-weary innocence. But he had another question, one he had to ask before she closed herself off again. “Did you love him?”
Her eyes widened. “My father?”
He nodded.
She shrugged and looked into the distance. “Yes, I loved him… as much as you can love someone so ancient.” She shook her head. “It’s complicated.”
“But you miss him?” He leaned against the door frame.
“I miss him more than I ever imagined possible.” She heaved a sigh.
Cameron checked her window locks and said goodnight, leaving her to fall to the dawn. The door between their rooms remained temptingly ajar, but his mind was wide open with thoughts of the beautiful enigma on the other side.
* * *
Houston Homicide Believed To Be Serial Killer Victim
9:46 AM EDT
by David Goldman
HOUSTON TX (Global Newswire) -- The body of a young female found in Houston’s vampire district may prove to be the latest victim of the city’s notorious serial killer.
The victim has been identified as Chelsea Yates, 32, of Houston. The body was spotted in a vacant lot near the Hotel Ruthven by an unnamed informant.
While the coroner has yet to confirm an official cause of death, sources close to law enforcement are reporting that Yates appears to be a victim of the serial killer.
The killer, believed to be a master vampire of unusual strength, has terrorized Houston’s vampire district in recent months. The addition of Yates would bring the number of homicides to twelve.
Chapter 5
“Chelsea Yates was a shifter.” Cameron slammed the newspaper down on Mr. Charles’ desk.
“She had close ties to the Speedway Pack.” Mr. Charles leaned back in his chair, looking as worried as Cameron felt.
“The killer is moving in closer.” Cameron paced the floor of the small ground floor office. “I don’t like this.” He stopped, leaning against the wall. “I don’t like it at all.”
“One wonders how long it will be before the killer starts going after members of our staff.” Mr. Charles folded his hands on top of his desk.
“Let me look at the folder of threats against Eden one more time.” Cameron flopped down in the chair opposite the desk.
Mr. Charles sighed. “I can’t imagine what could be gained by you pouring over those insane ravings yet again.”
Cameron ran a hand over his head. “A pattern… something we’ve missed.” He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Why the hell do the Minotaur vamps hate Eden so much?”
“She advocates feeding on energy and synthetic blood rather than upon humans.” Mr. Charles opened a desk drawer and retrieved a manila folder. “House Minotaur prides themselves on being natural predators, and are outraged at the thought of giving up their more… organic food sources.”
“Which means you’ve got Eden, the Gulf Coast Court, the Germainians, and all their affiliated houses on one side,” Cameron drummed his fingers on the desktop, “and House Minotaur on the other?”
“Minotaur has a band of rogues on their side.” Mr. Charles handed him a second file. “This is everything we have on Minotaur and their associates.”
“You know they’re behind this.” It wasn’t a question.
“As they say… where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Mr. Charles stood up.
What was it with this group and old sayings? Cameron exhaled slowly. “We’ve got to cancel her appearances for the next day or so.”
Mr. Charles nodded. “I figured as much.”
Cameron leafed through the file, seeing nothing. “She’s not going to like it.”
Mr. Charles smiled. “You’re catching on quickly, Mr. Zane.”
Cameron squeezed his eyes shut and sighed again. If only he could catch the killer’s trail and end this insanity -- for Eden and everyone else.
* * *
“This is beyond unnecessary, you know.” Eden tightened the sash of the terry cloth robe she’d put on over her swimsuit.
“I’m not letting you outside after dark without protection.” Zane opened the back door of House Black Rose and held it for her.
“I’ve been to the hot tub by myself a thousand times.” She stepped out onto the covered patio. “There’s never been the slightest hint of trouble.”
“There’s never been a serial killer targeting you before, either.” Cameron led the way down the stepping stone path to the pool and hot tub. “Either I go with you, or you don’t go.”
Eden groaned inwardly. Letting Mr. Buff Body see her in a swimsuit wasn’t high on her list of fun activities, but she was so desperate to get out of the house that exposing her pudge seemed like the lesser of two evils.
“Clow could’ve come with me, you know.” The ogre wasn’t about to win any bathing beauty contests himself.
“Clow is guarding the ba
ck gate.” He stopped at the cabana to eye the sound system. “Music?”
She shrugged. “Sure.” It would distract him for a minute so she could toss her robe and climb into the hot tub unseen.
While he fiddled with the sound system, she made a beeline for the hot tub and tore off her robe. She tossed it on a nearby chaise lounge and plunged into the bubbling hot water just as Cameron made his way to the tub.
She sank down until the water reached her shoulders. Her red two-piece suit was fine for Lisa and Sable to see, but she had no intention of letting Cameron get the full visual.
“How’s the water?” He kicked off the flip-flops he’d worn and took off his shoulder holster. She watched as he took the gun out and checked the safety. The strains of Patti Smith’s Because The Night began to play softly on the sound system.
“Hot.” She sighed with pleasure and leaned back against the edge of the tub. “Blissful, actually.”
“Glad to hear it.” He laid the gun to rest carefully about a foot from the edge of the tub and placed his radio beside it before he began to peel off his black sleeveless T-shirt.
“What the hell are you doing?” She stared at the broad expanse of smooth, muscled chest and strong, tattooed arms.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He tossed his shirt aside and stood there in a pair of black swim trunks she’d mistaken for track shorts, grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. “I’m getting in.”
* * *
He didn’t know which brought him more pleasure, the steaming water or the curvaceous woman by his side. But, as he managed to sneak a glance at the abundant curve of her cleavage, he had to vote for the woman.
“Is this your idea of professional conduct?” Eden leaned forward in the tub, improving his view dramatically.
Actually, it wasn’t. Getting into the hot tub with Eden was substantially more arousing than, say, going to the therapy pool with Mr. Hoffmeyer, the client on his last gig. But strictly speaking, it was a potentially risky situation for her. Why not protect her and enjoy one of the perks of his job at the same time?
