Having fun in New York City, I see.
Behave or there’s more where this came from.
P.G.
Over the years, Pierre Gaucher had proven to be quite the cunning adversary. He’d begun to court her at the end of the nineteenth century, during France’s Belle Époque, a time of great peace and prosperity in her homeland. The economic success that had resulted from the invention of steam-powered ships and railways caused a social and cultural explosion, especially in the forward-thinking capital of Paris. The arts once again flourished, which had turned out to be the perfect moment for a classically-trained ballerina like Anaïs to jump back into the limelight.
Taking advantage of her talent and skill as a dancer, Anaïs soon became one of the principal courtesans at Moulin Rouge, a well-known cabaret in the Parisian district of Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy. Each evening at sundown, she’d pretty herself up, walk out onto the stage in costume, and put on an elaborate circus-like extravaganza for the crowd. Her most famous role had been that of Cleopatra in the Bal de Quat’zarts, a number in which she was surrounded by a harem of young, naked women. At the time, it had incited quite the scandal, and Anaïs had relished every minute of it.
Pierre lived in a lavish mansion on the outskirts of Paris. Bred from old European stock, he was fabulously wealthy and arrogant as the devil himself. Like most men of royal lineage, his title had afforded him both the means and opportunity to do anything he damn well pleased. Soon after their courtship commenced, Anaïs became aware of each and every one of her lover’s vices. He gambled like crazy, drank more than his share of alcohol, and dabbled in opium and other hallucinogenic drugs. He was a self-professed wild child. In fact, Pierre reminded her quite a bit of her younger self.
In need of company after living alone for nearly two centuries, Anaïs chose to disregard the seedier side of Pierre. Evil was inherent in him, obvious by his dark, obsidian eyes and the wicked grin he’d sport as he watched Anaïs feed off helpless human inhabitants. He was a voyeur and loved it when she’d pick up handsome men, get them off, and then drain them dry. It seemed to thrill him. Before long, he’d duped her into turning him into a vampire with some sob story about the two of them living happily ever after.
Big mistake!
Other than her father, Anaïs had never met a more conniving bastard in her life. Realizing her error in judgment, the two of them had parted ways a short time after the conversion. Ever since, she’d done her best to steer clear of Pierre. The way Anaïs saw it, she had two choices. She could either end his life or avoid him entirely, and quite frankly, Pierre wasn’t worth the time or energy it would take her to kill him.
Anaïs harbored no fear when it came to Pierre; he simply gave her the creeps. After they broke up, she mostly kept to herself. She’d lost her patience when it came to men.
But like the plague, Pierre was hard to elude, especially when they both still had roots in the City of Lights. A shiver shot down Anaïs’s spine as she thought about all the brutal murders he’d committed over the years.
Not wanting to lose her nerve, she picked up the phone and dialed Aristotle’s telephone number. Dawn would soon approach and she prayed he hadn’t gone to bed already. Luckily, he answered on the first ring. He didn’t sleep much just as she’d remembered.
“Good morning my dear,” his frail voice came through the receiver. At nearly a thousand years old, the offspring of one of the original vampire families was considered ancient. Anaïs knew the old man didn’t have much time left, especially after suffering a broken heart as a result of his wife’s untimely death. “I see you’re still awake.”
“Sorry to disturb you. Something’s happened,” she said, trying to keep her pitch calm. “Can you loan me a few of your security people?”
“Why? What seems to be the problem?”
Anaïs closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then proceeded to explain the events that had unfolded after she returned to her suite. It was hard, considering she was used to fending for herself. Her initial instinct had been to catch the first flight to Paris. She hated having to rely on the clout of the Kristopolous family to protect her from a perverse stalker. Yet without knowing the terrain or having access to connections from back home, she had nowhere else to turn. She realized that Aristotle’s first move would be to contact his son. It didn’t matter that he was on his honeymoon. As the head of the New York City coven, Andreas had a right to full disclosure.
Anaïs hung up the phone and continued to tidy up the disheveled room. A few minutes later, her cell phone chimed, letting her know a call was coming through.
Fuck! It’s Andreas.
Before she could even say ‘hello,’ he shouted in her ear. Through the static of his satellite phone, she could hear the barely-leashed anger loud and clear. “Listen. I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but I’m sending some BPA muscle your way. If a vampire is responsible for this threat, I want all the ammunition we can get. Do I make myself clear?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me! You want a vampire assassin to protect me? They’re our enemies, or have you forgotten?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. But Eva’s friends have got skill and firepower on their side. They’ll be able to track down the son of a bitch quicker than my men could. And this one’s got a helluva lot of balls coming after my family,” Andreas said. Half a second later, the phone connection was severed.
****
As soon as he received word from Eva, Oliver jumped to his feet. She’d gotten a call from her father-in-law about a rogue vampire on the loose, a cold, calculating killer who took it upon himself to slice and dice his own kind. Grabbing his coat off the rack by the door, he rushed out of the house and hopped into the passenger side of the black Range Rover. Adam Sapien, one of his most reliable agents, sat behind the wheel.
One thing was for certain – Oliver wasn’t looking forward to coming face to face with Anaïs again. Not after the whale of a slap she landed on his cheek the night before. But true to form, Oliver was a sucker for a damsel in distress, even if said damsel turned out to be a beautiful bloodsucker.
“Boss, we’ve got a tail. A dark blue sedan about four cars behind ours,” Adam said as he revved the car’s engine.
“Easy on the gas pedal,” Oliver told him, placing a firm hand on the steering wheel. “We don’t want to tip him off. Put in a call to central command and give them our coordinates and a description of the vehicle. They’ll take it from there.”
“Sure thing.”
By the time the Range Rover pulled into the underground parking structure of the hotel, the blue sedan that had been following them had disappeared. Exiting the car, they took the service elevator to the thirteenth floor. It led them straight to Anaïs’s room.
Oliver had hoped she’d left the crime scene intact, but when they arrived on her doorstep, it seemed as if she’d been hard at work putting things back into their original locations.
Of course! Once she heard I was headed to her hotel room, I’m not surprised she tried her best to screw up the investigation.
“I told Andreas not to call you,” she said, ushering them in with a reluctant wave of her hand. “It’s best if the coven handle this privately.”
“Adam, get started. Give me a complete forensic work up of the room. I want to know everything about this guy, including his shoe size and what type of aftershave he wears.” Oliver ignored her comment, his eyes searching the suite for clues. “Where’s the photograph?”
Anaïs pointed to one of the dresser drawers. “It’s in there.”
Slapping on a pair of rubber gloves, he gently pried open the drawer and pulled out the picture. He held the image up to the light and stared at it, then turned it over and read the intimate message inscribed on the back. Suddenly, his eyes widened in acknowledgment.
“You know this guy?”
“Yes, we’re fairly well acquainted,” she said, wringing her hands together as if nervous. “Althoug
h it’s been years since I’ve seen him. At least five, I’d say. But that’s not surprising considering I don’t leave my apartment much, unless in search of food. Even then, I stay close to home.”
Oliver scrubbed his hand over his five o’clock shadow. He was tired. He hadn’t had a wink of sleep, let alone made time to shave. “Tell me everything you know about him.”
“His name is Pierre Gaucher and he lives just outside of Paris,” she said pacing the confines of the room. “We used to be an item. Years ago. Long before either of you were born.”
“Do you have any idea why he’s stalking you now? Have you done something recently to provoke his rage?” he asked, interrogating her with question after question. He knew that giving Anaïs the third degree would surely piss her off. Workplace casualty, he couldn’t help it.
“Of course not! Do you think me mad?” she shouted, then grabbed a piece of stationery off the end table by the bed and scribbled something on it. “I’ll write down his last known address for you, but that’s it. My personal life is none of your concern.”
“But Adam’s not finished collecting the forensic data.”
“Call me when you’re done. I’ll be down at the hotel bar,” she stomped out of the room and slammed the door.
Frustrated as hell, Oliver rubbed the stiff muscles on the back of his neck. What was I thinking? Although he’d only known Anaïs for a short time, he sensed that backing her into a corner by way of interrogation would force her to unsheathe her claws. Her instinctual reaction reminded him of that phrase, ‘You get more bees with honey than vinegar.’ In order to extract any valuable information to help find the killer, he’d have to use kinder, gentler tactics. Mind reading might do the trick. But in Anaïs’s case, seduction seemed to be the best course of action. Besides, Oliver couldn’t deny his attraction to her. He had an overwhelming urge to take the voluptuous vampire to bed.
By any means necessary, Oliver chuckled to himself.
Chapter Five
La Bohème
By the time Oliver had called to inform her that his work was complete, at least for the night, Anaïs could barely keep her eyes open. Looking out the tinted glass windows of the hotel bar, she watched as tiny rays of sunlight danced across the pavement. Nearly transfixed by the sight, she shook her head, then plied herself of the bar stool. She dragged herself through the lobby to the elevator. The BPA agent who’d accompanied Oliver remained posted outside her suite. Once inside, her listless body collapsed on top of the comfortable, king-sized bed. Dead to the world.
Anaïs must have slept for hours. The next thing she recalled was the buzz of a cell phone. She remembered placing it on vibrate moments before she’d tumbled onto the pristine-white comforter and drifted off to sleep.
Her eyes at a puffy half-mast, Anaïs reached for the phone on the end table. Her voice was groggy and strained as she spoke into the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Good evening, sunshine. Rise and shine,” Oliver’s annoyingly cheerful baritone echoed in her ears. “I’m taking you out for a night on the town.”
Cocky bastard, like I’d agree to that.
Of course, she knew the snoopy son of a bitch had probably picked those words out of her brain. Glancing at the clock next to the bed, she took note of the time. Five thirty-seven. Much too early for a vampire to be awake.
“No way. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
She hated his irritatingly smug demeanor. If only she could get her hormones to agree with that assessment. On the contrary, at the sound of his husky voice, her nipples had already gone taut, her panties damp with moisture. After last night’s dirty dancing, the mere suggestion of seeing him again almost drove her insane with lust.
Truth be told, Anaïs was attracted to Oliver, ball-busting BPA agent and all. Sure, he’d attempted to seduce her with his mind-reading mumbo jumbo. But that prince charming maneuver he pulled after Pierre had threatened her, no doubt made up for it. In spades. The two of them had chemistry and there was no reason to fight it. Besides, it had been two days since Anaïs had fed. She needed Oliver’s blood.
“Tsk. Tsk. Stop being such a sour puss,” Oliver teased her. “We’re going to the opera to see La Bohème. I hear it’s one of your favorites.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Research, my dear. I can’t help it. I’m an information whore,” he said, his sexy laugh sending shivers down her spine. “Come with me. Please. Since Eva’s out of town, my second ticket will simply go to waste.”
A whore, huh? Not a bad quality for a man to possess. “I haven’t got anything to wear.”
“You won’t need to worry about clothes. At least not for long,” Oliver said, then paused as if waiting to gauge Anaïs’s response. No doubt, he’d sensed her desire in the unspoken words.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” The hitch of her breath gave away her shock and embarrassment.
“My dear, I rarely jest. In fact, I’ll have an outfit and all the accessories sent up to your suite.” The blatant sexual innuendo, along with the generosity of his gift, momentarily threw her off guard. The scoundrel had thought of everything and now she had no excuse to turn him down.
Anaïs groaned aloud as she rolled over onto her back on the bed and stretched her tired, achy limbs. “Fine. I’ll meet you in front of the opera house at eight,” she conceded, then hung up the phone with the press of a button.
Anaïs hopped into the shower and took a quick rinse off. Still in her robe, she towel dried her long, burgundy tresses. Then she applied a splash of color to her cheeks and a dollop of pink, iridescent gloss to her lips. Never big on face paint, even in her days at Moulin Rouge, she preferred to keep her appearance au natural.
Once she was satisfied with her reflection, Anaïs stepped away from the mirror. She plopped down on a chair and began flipping through the television channels. But before she could find anything interesting to watch, a soft knock sounded at the door. It was Adam, the muscle Oliver had sent to keep an eye on her. He greeted Anaïs with a handsome smile and set a large rectangular box in her hands. She thanked him, and then waited for the acknowledgment that came with a nod of his head.
Closing the door to the suite, Anaïs’s feet skipped to a happy beat. She laid the package down on the bed; all the while her stomach did a series of somersaults. She had no idea why, but the fact that Oliver had picked out a dress especially for her, caused a bundle of nervous excitement to build to a peak. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the corners of the box. Then she pushed the layers of gauzy tissue paper out of the way to reveal a gorgeous, pale pink ball gown.
The bodice of the dress was breathtakingly beautiful. Its edges were curved into the shape of a butterfly with a row of opulent pearls etched around the seams. Without hesitation, Anaïs slipped into the magical frock. She felt like a princess. Long and flowing, the gown fit perfectly, hugging her bosom and hips, as it cascaded down her curves like a waterfall pooled at her feet. Yet the best parts of the ensemble still lay nestled in the oversized box. A delicate pair of satin heels dyed to match the color of the dress and a pear-shaped pink diamond necklace. The jewelry came in a pale blue box with a simple white bow tied around the edge. The word Tiffany’s had been written in script across the center. Damn, if Oliver didn’t have great taste.
As Anaïs put the last touches on her hair and makeup, another knock came from the opposite side of the door.
“Miss Moreau, there’s a car waiting for you downstairs. It’s time to go.”
Of course there is, Anaïs thought. Again, Oliver thought of everything. That controlling bastard won’t let me out of his sight for a minute.
****
Oliver tapped his foot nervously as he waited for the limousine to pull up in front of the steps of LincolnCenter. It was five minutes to eight and patience wasn’t his most redeeming quality. Rather ironic, considering he had a tendency to show up late wherever he went. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief a moment later w
hen the brakes of the car finally screeched to a halt.
Anaïs stepped out of the back seat, and Oliver’s body reacted in full force. Nothing could have prepared him for the onslaught of desire that whipped across his senses. One sleek, sultry leg slid out of the limousine, and gifted him with a glimpse of luminous, bare skin. The vivacious vampire had all the glamour and glitz of beauty queen. Instantly, his cock grew achy and hard. Lucky for him, his tuxedo jacket masked the evidence of his undeniable lust.
Oliver approached, offering his hand to help her out of the waiting vehicle. Even though she felt cool to the touch, their skin-to-skin contact made his shaft burn with need.
“You look amazing,” he said as he kissed her softly on the cheek, then stepped back and guided her to the main entrance of the building. Trying his best to tamp down his libido, he led Anaïs inside and up the spiral staircase to the balcony level. When it came to the opera, Oliver splurged on the best seats available. After all, he practically lived for its soul searching sounds and authentic, period-themed costumes. It was a love that’d been passed down for her beloved mother.
For some ungodly reason, Oliver yearned to share the surreal opera experience with Anaïs. Graceful and refined, he knew the beautiful ballerina would appreciate the arts, even before Eva and Andreas had given him a glimpse into the woman’s storybook life. They had been the ones to suggest he take her as his date. True to form, Anaïs seemed as eager as he did, giggling giddily as they climbed into their seats and waited for the house lights to dim.
The curtain went up and the actors took their places on stage, while the orchestra strummed the chords of the first song. Anaïs squeezed his fingers and smiled, then turned her gaze below, as if mesmerized by the elaborate musical pageantry of La Bohème. They both watched intently, until the end of the second act, when intermission commenced. Oliver had to relieve his bladder, so he made his date accompany him to the handicapped restroom and wait outside the stall by the wash basin. He refused to leave her unattended even for a minute, lest her stalker might reveal his elusive presence. Oliver never refused an opportunity to take a killer off the streets, but it was more than that. Somehow, he felt responsible for Anaïs, concerned about her safety.
Blood and Bondage Page 3
