Back and forth he paced across the end of the room, like a cat in a cage. Not like a lion, ponderous and slow, but more like a cheetah, lithe and bristling with latent speed and power. She shivered and wanted to pull her blanket higher, but she was afraid the movement would alert him that she was awake. And she wanted to continue her clandestine surveillance. She knew she shouldn’t, but having done it the night before, she found it easier to do now. Besides, the role of covert observer gave her a strange feeling of power—a power that felt good in the shadow of such a forceful being.
She didn’t want to admit it, but the very sight of him intrigued her. More than that, the sight evoked physical responses in her own body she was even less anxious to acknowledge. Yet she watched.
His skin was pale and flawed by faint linear scars on his back, but his chest and arms were unmarred except for a strange mark on his left forearm that she hadn’t noticed last night. A tattoo? From this distance she couldn’t be sure. His chest was smooth, and she watched the play of his pectoral and abdominal muscles as he moved. A thin line of black hair trailed downward from his navel only to vanish below the waistband of his silk pajamas. She should be embarrassed. She was fascinated.
He disconnected his call and turned to face her. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. Did you sleep well?” One lazy brow lifted just a little.
As if he cared. But his gaze lingered on her. Now she was embarrassed. “Yes. What was that all about?” She nodded toward the phone still in his hand.
“Business. Get dressed, then we’ll talk.”
She gathered items from her dresser and travel bag and retreated to the bathroom, donning a white tee with an open-weave lace neckline and a long silk skirt done in a pieced scarf pattern of pink, red, and gold. With her handmade gold jewelry she felt comfortable, yet dressy enough to hold her own in a roomful of stylish vampires. She combed her hair, letting it hang to the middle of her back, then stepped into the suite.
Her eyes immediately met Drago’s, and a strange feeling crawled over her skin at the intensity of his blue gaze. She finally remembered to breathe, and as she sucked in air she lowered her eyes. He was dressed simply in black trousers and a white shirt, but he looked no less stunning than if he had been in formal evening wear.
Marya took another deep breath. She really needed to get her feelings under control. This was business, a rather nasty business, not a date, and this was l’enforcier, not some kind of white knight. His job was to compel obedience and punish disobedience, nothing more. That she was still alive was only because it was to his advantage, for now.
“I know you don’t have this little problem, but I’m starving. Do you suppose we could have lunch?”
His cocked brows lifted, but a look of innocence failed to invade his world-weary eyes. “Je suis vraiment desole, mademoiselle! Why did you not say something earlier?”
She flashed him a smile that was as insincere as his remark. She could do without his snake oil charm.
He took her to one of Jackson’s finest restaurants. His charm might be suspect, but the depth of his pocketbook seemed real enough. He ordered nothing for himself, but encouraged her to order anything she liked, even making suggestions to her. In the end, she made her own selections, pasta and a salad.
She felt strange seated across from Drago in such a setting and quickly searched for a topic of conversation. It wasn’t difficult. “So have you figured out yet what this whole thing is about?”
“No. The only thing I’m certain of is that this is about me, not you. You’re merely a disposable tool someone used to try to kill me. My death—my true death—is what someone wants, and very badly.”
At first she thought his words to be pure arrogance.
“Disposable tool? Thanks a lot.”
He didn’t respond, and a glance at his hooded eyes, focused on a spot across the room, showed no conceit, only a lassitude that strangely frightened her.
“Drago?”
His eyes found hers. “If you had been successful, cherie, I would be dead, and no one would be the wiser. That is the truth of it, like it or not.”
“And you say you don’t know this Revelin Scott at all?”
He played with items on the table, tapping the crystal water goblet with his fingernails and fingering the texture of the cloth place mat, but she noticed he avoided touching the cutlery. Must be sterling, she thought.
“No. I have few dealings with the Circle, and know only of their highest ranking officers.”
“Who did you call on the phone?”
He sighed, as if he didn’t want to answer. “Philippe Chenard. My aide in Paris. I asked him for information on Scott. I like to learn about my opponents before I face them.”
“So what did you find out?”
A smile curved his lips. “Now, cherie, do you think it prudent I discuss such things with you?”
His question irritated her. She picked up her fork and fidgeted with it just to annoy him. “I’m involved in this as much as you are.”
He watched her hand with a smile that told her he knew exactly what she was doing. “You are, but I doubt that monsieur Scott would appreciate my telling a mortal his life’s history.”
“If he’s your enemy, what do you care?”
His smile broadened, and she saw teeth flash. Teeth that were surprisingly white. And sharp. “He may not be an enemy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He may be a pawn, just as you were.”
“Then who . . .”
The smile faded. “I don’t know.”
“All the Undead hate you. My father noted that more than once in his journal. Do you even care, Drago?”
He again looked at that elusive spot on the wall. “Those with power are often hated.”
She tapped her fork to try to regain his attention. “You didn’t answer the question.”
Her salad arrived, and her question remained unanswered.
HATRED. WOULD A young mortal like Marya even understand if he tried to explain? He doubted it. It wasn’t as if he had one day said to himself, “I’m going to become the most hated of the Undead!” It had just happened. Yes, those in power were hated, and yes, he had intentionally built a reputation of fear and respect. He was strong, but in his position, that was often not enough, so in the beginning he had employed ruthless tactics. He could still be ruthless if the situation demanded it, but more and more he felt that those up and down the hierarchy hated him more for his independence. He did what he wanted to do, with very few negative consequences. Until now. Now it seemed he was about to lose Nikolena’s protection, and without that, regardless of his strength, he’d be vulnerable.
Marya’s question had bothered him. It still did, as he watched her eat. Did he care? He didn’t know anymore.
What he had told Marya about Scott had been true enough. Drago didn’t think the ex-Circle member was behind the plot to kill him. Scott was just over two hundred years old, part Irish, part Scot, who had fought as a British soldier for Wellington in the Peninsular War against the French. In 1809 he was wounded in Spain and brought to the Other Side shortly after. Scott had fought against soldiers of Drago’s adopted country, but Drago couldn’t see that as a reason to hate him now. Scott had been an enforcer for the Circle for forty years and had a good record. It had indeed been Nikolena herself who had requested his transfer to the Brotherhood. If Nikolena had faith in the man, that was a point in his favor. However, Drago would test Scott’s strength and intentions for himself soon enough.
He looked at Marya, and she raised her eyes to his, holding his gaze for a long moment before shifting her attention back to her meal. He would need to keep a close eye on her. Until this thing was over, he would have to safeguard her life. He had given her life, and he wasn’t going to let someone else take that away. Bodyguard to a mortal,
and an aberration at that. It was a strange feeling. Protecting her wasn’t the only reason he’d have to keep an eye on her, though. As long as she carried such a hatred for all things vampiric, she was a danger.
Still, the danger from her was minor compared to the true danger. Somewhere out there a being with a lot more strength and hatred than Marya possessed wanted him dead. And he had no idea who it was.
Seven
THEY DROVE TO Revelin Scott’s office early in the evening. Drago smiled as he pulled up in front of the small, unassuming building. Most vampires, himself included, preferred to live and work in opulent surroundings, but Scott’s office was an exception.
“Is this it? There’s no sign,” said Marya.
“I’ve been here before. Besides, can’t you smell it?” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Rot and decay.”
She shook her head. “Not from inside the car and not with you sitting next to me I can’t. How do you know he’ll be in?”
“I called earlier today. He’ll be here.”
She cocked her head. “You’re very sure of yourself. No one dares defy the great enforcier. Is that it?”
“If they’re smart.” He ran his gaze slowly down her body and back up again. She looked good enough to eat in her filmy silk chiffon. “Something you would be wise to keep in mind, mademoiselle.”
She didn’t look one bit intimidated. “Tell me, do you always get your way?”
He gave her a small smile, but no answer. In the silence, Nikolena’s voice rose in his mind. There are whispers of your removal already on the wind. He banished the memory. There was business to be done.
“When we get out of the car, I’ll leave it unlocked. As soon as you verify that Scott is the vampire who came to your house, your part is over. You come back here, sit in the car, and wait for me. Understand?”
A pout started to purse her mouth. “This involves me, too, remember?” She stressed the final word, obviously wanting just that—the final word in all this.
He couldn’t give it to her. “Scott and I will discuss our business in private. My way, remember?” He drew out the last word as well, mocking her.
She looked both annoyed and disappointed, but nodded her assent.
“C’est bien! Let’s go.”
He escorted her inside, and as soon as they entered, the stench of the Undead assailed his nostrils in full force. A pretty, young blond sat behind a desk. From the sharp stink that clung to her, she couldn’t have been more than fifty years old. The instant she saw him, her attention never wandered. He watched her eyes and saw all her emotions laid bare in their widening depths—two seconds of curiosity, three more of dawning apprehension, and a dozen more of fear and awe. By the time he announced himself, he had no doubt she knew who he was. “Alek Dragovich for Revelin Scott.”
“Yes, sir. One moment.” She picked up the phone, hit a button, and whispered into the receiver, but her eyes never left his. She hung up the phone. “He’ll be right out.”
“Merci, mademoiselle.”
He no sooner got the words out than a man appeared at the head of an adjacent hallway.
“Drago. And Miss Jaks.” A look of surprise flashed across Scott’s face, but he quickly recovered. “No calls, please, Callie,” he said to the young woman. He started to usher them down the hallway.
“One moment,” said Drago. “Marya, is this the man who came to your house?”
She looked at Scott. The young man with the shaggy hair, dimpled chin, and outrageous outfit would indeed be difficult for her, or anyone, to mistake.
“He’s the one.”
Drago nodded. “Wait for me.”
She took one last, long look at Scott, turned to catch Drago’s eye, then left. He had no doubt Marya would give anything to hear the coming conversation.
“Follow me,” said Scott.
They entered a large office that was as unique as its owner. The room had only one small window, but was brightened by several lamps, colorful artwork, and a color scheme of orange, aqua, and yellow.
“Drago. Welcome to Jackson. Have a seat. I take it this visit has to do with Marya Jaks?”
“It does. I prefer to stand, thank you. You paid a visit to her about a week and a half ago?”
Scott sat behind his desk, leaning back in his chair. “I think you know I did.”
Drago examined one of the paintings on the wall. It was an original Peter Max. “Let’s have no guessing games, monsieur. Answer my questions.”
“Yes. I paid her a visit. On your orders.”
The painting was extraordinary. “What did you tell her?”
“What I was bloody ordered to tell her.”
Drago turned to face Scott. “Monsieur, if you persist in turning this into an amusement, I will glean what I wish to know without your cooperation, and I promise you won’t find the game amusing.”
Scott put his feet up on the desk and crossed them at the ankles. “Your threats don’t scare me. My assignments come through all the proper channels, and I do as I’m told.”
Drago admired the combination of strength and stand-up fortitude, but any time disrespect was an equal dose in the pot, a show and tell was in order. The ‘tell’ portion came first. Drago’s gaze locked with Scott’s, and the age-old clash for dominance began. Drago unleashed the influence of his eyes and mind, testing the younger vampire’s response. “You will reveal all to me, Revelin Scott, all the things I want, and all that you want, so that I have not only my answers, but your every intention and desire.”
Strangely, the enforcer didn’t fight back with his own compelling gaze, but merely let Drago feel his power. “Go ahead, Drago. I want you to know me. I won’t wage war with you, but know that I’m no novice to be rapped across the knuckles.”
The control Drago felt in the brash young man was indeed formidable. No match for himself, of course, but stronger than Drago had experienced in any vampire since Dallas Allgate last year in Natchez. Scott and Allgate were close to the same age, but vampiric strength had nothing to do with age. In Drago’s experience, it had more to do with the physical and emotional strength the person had had in life.
The second half of the lesson, however, was still in order. The ‘show’ portion. Drago’s body rose several inches off the floor, and he extended an arm toward Scott. Energy crackled across the room, and Scott’s feet flew upward as he was thrown in a backward somersault to crash against the far wall. The dramatic display never failed to impress. Even those vampires who were the cockiest and most confident of their own power thought twice about opposing Drago after receiving such a lesson. Scott got to his feet slowly, and by the time he picked up his chair and sat down, Drago was already seated across the desk and brushing the lint from his trousers.
“Well, monsieur, shall we start again?”
“You bloody bastard! I’d heard you could do things like that, but I didn’t believe it.”
Drago shifted his attention from his fine linen to the young man, raising his brows.
This time Scott kept his feet under his desk. “All right. What do you want to know, Drago?”
“Who gave you the orders?” He let his voice drop to a purr. There was no reason now to shout.
“Deverick.”
This was so much better. “Ah. And what exactly were you ordered to tell Marya Jaks?”
Scott pulled on the cuffs of his gold shirt to straighten his attire. “That you had reversed your decision regarding her evaluation, and that she was to be terminated. I told her she had the usual two weeks to put her affairs in order.”
“And you didn’t think to check with me?”
“I don’t question my orders. I assumed Deverick had received all the proper authorizations.”
“As a result of your visit, the mademoiselle tried to kill
me.”
“So? She obviously failed.”
“Do you know who would wish me dead, monsieur?”
Scott laughed. “Let me guess. Half the world?”
The young man was becoming irritating again. “The trail led to you.”
Another laugh, this one louder, burst from the young enforcer. “You think I cooked up this whole scheme to see you dead? First of all, I’m not that bloody stupid, and secondly, I’ve got no love for any Frenchie, but I don’t have anything personal against you, Drago. I think you’re making too much out of this. Somewhere along the line orders got mixed up, and I was sent to terminate an aberration. So what? She’s alive. You’re alive. No harm, no foul.”
In about one more minute Drago was going to have to give another lesson in deference. “No one reverses my decisions. No one. Mistakenly or otherwise. That girl is to be granted life. Do you understand?”
“Talk to my boss. If there was a mistake, he made it, not me.”
“Oh, I intend to. Where’s Deverick now?”
“In New Orleans, seeing to two of our kind who ran afoul of more than just a paranoid delusion.”
Enough was enough. Drago slashed out with the force of his mind, and instantly a drop of blood ran down Scott’s cheek only to drip onto the front of his ruffled shirt. Before Scott could react, Drago was out of his chair and alongside the young enforcer, grabbing a fistful of gold ruffles. Drago gave a yank on the fabric.
“It’s a pity that Frenchie soldier didn’t do the job properly in Talavera. We’d have one less cocky bogtrotter in the world.” He jerked again on the ruffles, released the man, and was at the door before Scott could utter a word.
“Sorry about the shirt, monsieur. Such a fine one it was, too. I’ll see myself out.”
DRAGO GOT INTO the car and turned on the engine. Instead of putting the car into gear, though, he leaned back against the headrest, closed his eyes, and let the engine idle. Why is nothing ever easy?
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