"The number you dialed is not working or is no longer in service."
Stellan
It might have been hours, days, or even years that I drifted. Sometimes I could see dim lights. Other times I could hear muted voices. Occasionally, the tang of blood dribbled past my parched lips or the sting of a needle sank into my arm, but that was it.
When I was finally able to open my eyes, Ivan's features wavered and swam into view. He was built like a bouncer — tall, broad, and hulking — but the analogy stopped there. According to Olga, his skin was a rich shade of black licorice with a hint of black raisins, two of her favorite flavors. He possessed a wide friendly face punctured with perfect lips —not too thick — and a distinguished looking nose that was squared off at the tip. His lips and nose were the features that made him uniquely him. He'd sketched them out on paper first then had me surgically alter his face to match his sketch. Apparently, that's what friends are for sometimes, especially if one of those friends is a trained plastic surgeon. In Ivan's defense, he was on the run from a militant coven of vamps from which he'd chosen to expatriate himself. He'd urgently needed to disappear in plain sight. What better way to do so than through facial reconstruction surgery?
"You're alive." That was another thing I liked about Ivan, his no-nonsense demeanor and ability to state the obvious.
"Undead, you mean." I groaned and sat up. I rotated my head a few times to loosen the stiffness and looked around the room. We were underground, that I knew from the strong scent of earth permeating the air. It looked like some sort of cave. Candles shimmered from votives scattered haphazardly around the room, mostly on the floor. I was sitting in the middle of an oversized bed with red silk sheets and a gold gossamer comforter like a gothic king.
"It's a grotto near the water's edge." Ivan grimaced slightly.
I raised and dropped a flap of the gold comforter. "Is this your idea of a joke?"
He grinned, flashing his perfect set of eggshell-white teeth. "More like Olga's idea of a joke. She insisted the earth possesses strong healing elements for vampires and said you would recover from your burns more quickly out here than inside the resort."
"Figures." I threw my legs over the side of the bed, shocked to discover how weak I was. "How long have I been here?"
He raised and lowered his enormous shoulders. "Nearly two weeks. You were burned pretty badly. It took awhile for you to heal."
"Mercy!" I muttered beneath my breath. "I need to call Grace." My wife. "Where's a phone?" She would be frantic. No, she would be beyond frantic. Probably assumed I was dead. My chest ached at the unimaginable misery my lengthy absence must have put her through.
"About your wife." Ivan's voice was serious as death, bound with a thick ribbon of empathy. "I'm sorry, Stellan, but she's gone."
"What do you mean gone?" I thundered. My strength must be returning, because the hand I slammed against the side of the bed snapped the bedrail in two.
"Fatal car crash, my friend. I'm sorry," he repeated.
I'd always valued Ivan's direct, to-the-point demeanor in the past. However, his words shoved themselves like daggers into my gut. I was still absorbing their slices when he continued.
"According to the coroner's report, she died on impact. Her father, a war hero, died in the ensuing explosion."
I stood and stormed around the cave, causing a small shower of stalactites to loosen their grip from the ceiling. They shot like long, knobby fingers to the ground and shattered. I wished one of them had decapitated me on its way down, so the torturous ache in my chest would subside, but no such luck.
Ivan wisely waited against the far wall until I could speak coherently again.
"When?" I gritted through clenched teeth.
"Couple of days after your ship sank."
"They got to her," I concluded acerbically.
"It would appear."
It was most likely the same group who had come after my crew and me. Raw rage and the need for revenge brewed deep in my bowels. I would track down those responsible for my wife's death and make them pay if it was my last deed on earth.
The room seemed to tilt as my brain teetered on the needle thin edge of madness. It made no sense why I still had Grace's scent so strongly in my nostrils or the taste of her kisses in my mouth. When a human died, the sensations they radiated would begin to fade from a vampire's memory, but hers was far from diminished in mine. Her lingering essence was strong, potent, real. Almost as if she was standing in the room.
In fact, her scent was strongest on the north side of the cave. I whirled and flew in that direction, coming to an halt before a suitcase leaning against the wall. Her suitcase.
I yanked my face in Ivan's direction. "Where did you find this?"
"I tried to talk Olga out of it," he explained calmly, "But she insisted we retrieve it from the base before the authorities shipped everything stateside to her aunt. She swore you would want some of Grace's things to remember her by."
As if I would ever forget my wife! "Olga was right." I greedily ripped open the suitcase and allowed Grace's belongings to tumble out. I sucked in the mesmerizing potpourri of aromas — her shampoo, her perfume — my eyelids shot open. Something was wrong with the scent on the grass green cardigan sweater. I snatched it up and pressed it to my nose.
I immediately recognized it as Antjie Graf's scent.
I shook the cardigan at him. "Has anyone tried to contact Grace's best friend? You probably saw them at Club Halo together. Tall, curly blonde. Her name is Antjie Graf."
"Why do you ask?"
"Logic. If I'd been the one to murder Grace, Antjie would be next on my list of loose ends." I carefully folded Grace's belongings and arranged them reverently in her suitcase. Snapping the lid closed, I threw over my shoulder at Ivan. "I'll be needing an ID, passport, and a plane ticket to Germany."
He nodded and removed a gold shipping envelope from the inside breast pocket of his blazer. It was folded in half.
Inside were the requested alias ID and passport. "What?" I shot him an incredulous look. "You just happened to have this on you?"
He grinned. "Not quite. Olga had a vision you would be waking today.
Amazed, I waved the envelope at him. "How long should it take to secure a plane ticket with these?"
"Olga's already on it. You and I will be heading to Austin, not Germany. Tonight."
"Antjie's in Texas?" Texas was much closer than Germany. By thousands of miles. Coincidentally, Grace's only surviving relative lived in Texas, her Aunt Jillian. "You've been keeping track of her, eh?"
"I have. Unfortunately, it appears I'm not the only one who has."
"Anatoly?" I asked quickly.
"So I suspect."
"Why?"
"She landed a journalism apprenticeship and seems to have made it her life mission to avenge Grace's death."
"Not good." Any digging through Grace's affairs could lead her to mine, which inevitably would have awakened the sleeping lion.
"Agreed."
"Tell me what you know."
"Not much. She arrived in Austin about a week ago on a commercial flight and went off the grid. Two of her brother's arrived a few days ago and checked in to a hotel."
"That's it?"
"I said I didn't know much."
"Austin it is."
Olga was a vampire I had learned I could count on, efficient in her planning and meticulous in her execution, so it didn't surprise me when she came through for us yet again. If something was remotely possible, she could make it happen, whether by natural or magical means I rarely bothered to ask.
As it turned out, she didn't purchase the plane tickets Ivan requested. She purchased a private jet for us to fly ourselves there and back, and she had it delivered by nightfall.
I'm hard to astound, but I'll admit I was astounded. So was Ivan if his gaping mouth was any evidence.
"You and Ivan have been grousing about purchasing one." It was obvious she was enjoying telling us
. "It has all the specs you wanted and then some. Plus I managed to talk them way down on the price when I mentioned I was paying cash."
Cash? How? Most of our corporate funds were deposited in Swiss accounts, not stacked in our island vault.
Ivan shrugged at me and launched himself at her. He spun her around and around in a tight hug before crushing his mouth to hers.
When he released her, she hurried over to me. He frowned after her and watched us speculatively.
"Do what you have to do and return to us quickly." She leaned in to give me a quick peck on the lips. She was as tall as a runway model and could stare me in the eyes without craning her neck. "Preferably in one piece this time, Stell."
I nodded my thanks and squeezed her hands gratefully, too grieved for small talk. I could feel her eyes on me until Ivan and I boarded the small commuter jet.
"I'm taking this beautiful new creature on her virgin flight. You can co-pilot." My friend folded his large frame behind the cockpit and gazed around him in satisfaction. He ran his hands over the controls, giving a low whistle. "Olga wasn't kidding. It has all the latest gadgets."
That was an understatement. The jet possessed every luxury feature imaginable from cream leather recliners to a wide screen TV to a well-stocked wet bar.
Olga stood next to the runway and waved as we took off. A wave of adoration blossomed in my chest for the exotically beautiful Russian woman. She was fast becoming as much of a friend as a business partner. I hoped for Ivan's sake, though, she'd finally given up on the notion of trying to turn our relationship into something else. He was more irrationally in love with her than ever, if their kiss from a few minutes ago was any proof.
I cast a sideways glance at my closest friend in the world as we accelerated and became airborne. "Things seem to be going well between the two of you these days."
His mouth tightened. "It's Olga. Her moods swing with every sunrise and sunset." He gave me a measured look.
Translated that meant she was getting her hopes up again in my direction now that Grace was gone. Vampire he might be, but Ivan possessed the patience of a saint where Olga was concerned. Most guys would have taken a hint and moved on months ago, but not him. I wasn't sure what it was about her that held him in such enthrall. Then again, there were a lot of things I didn't know about Ivan. His life was far from an open book.
He didn't speak much about his past. I didn't ask, but I often wondered how he'd broken free of his maker bond a decade ago when he tracked me down to join forces. I figured he would tell me when he was ready. All I knew was his maker, Vitaly, ruled an ancient coven in Russia. He was known for raising whole armies of vampires, training them, then outsourcing them in dozens of capacities — from mercenaries to assassins to whatever other roles could turn a profit for his ever marching war machine. Anatoly had been turned by the same maker, albeit centuries earlier.
Ivan and I had met during a turf war between Vitaly and several neighboring covens to the south. The short version was that Vitaly wanted to absorb their territory, and the smaller covens had actually imagined they stood a fighting chance in preventing him. Anatoly had used his maker bond to compel me to join the fight. Ivan had been there, too, serving as one of Vitaly's lieutenants over a platoon of bloodthirsty newborn vamps. A trio of southern territory defenders converged on me and would have dismembered me if it weren't for Ivan's intervention.
I owed him my life, a gift I hoped to repay someday. Maybe I could start that repayment now with some assurance about where Olga and I stood.
We reached cruising altitude, and he put the jet on automatic pilot. "It was a delicate process continuing our construction projects without a power of attorney privilege while you were in a coma." He grinned. "Fortunately for you, Olga and I are honest business partners."
By honest, he didn't precisely mean legal.
"Fortunately for me, she's also a world-class forger. " I did not doubt my signature had been required eons of times while I was unconscious.
"Don't worry. She'll collect on the favor when it suits her best." Ivan's voice was infused with admiration and adoration.
"At the most inconvenient time for me," I concluded dryly.
"You know her too well." His expression grew guarded.
"You know her better than I ever will," I assured. "Grace was my always and forever, Ivan. There's no one else for me." Not ever.
He nodded slowly, shoulders relaxing, as I offered what he wasn't selfish enough to ask for. He still had his work cut out for him if he hoped to win Olga's heart. I wasn't even sure such a thing was possible, given her complicated past, but he deserved to know I would not stand in his way.
My heart was set on one thing only — revenge.
Stellan
Austin, Texas
Ivan and I arrived to Austin before daybreak. It didn't take long to track down Axel and Nico in their shabby two-star motel room. Their choice of accommodations told me they needed something cheap and planned to stay for an indefinite period of time, neither of which was a good sign.
We left a message for them with the front desk receptionist who barely raised her eyes from the game show she was watching. We could only hope she would deliver it in the morning. In our note to them, we claimed we were reporter friends of Antjie, just passing through and hoping to catch up with her while we were in town.
While we waited for a return call, I invested in a spray-on tan and a haircut. Fortunately, it was an overcast morning and spitting rain, which made it easier for Ivan and I to shop. We purchased western outfits from a local men's boutique complete with boots and Stetsons. We didn't want the Graf brothers recognizing me from all the news coverage.
Axel texted us around noon, agreeing to meet us for drinks at a small bar on the edge of town at eight o'clock that night.
"What the hell?" Ivan muttered as we pulled up to the stated location in our rented sedan.
The small bar was little more than a run-down shack with one dimly lit OPEN sign showing through the cracked picture window. There was a small gravel parking lot in front and an unlit gravel lot in the back. We circled the building and discovered a shiny black SUV parked in the rear. It was the only vehicle present. What kind of bar was this? We returned to the lighted parking lot and parked in front of the main entrance.
Ivan turned off the ignition and squinted through the windshield. "Think it's a trap?"
"In my experience? Expect anything." I opened the passenger door, got out, and stretched.
A blue flash of light in the window alerted me to the fact someone had just snapped our picture.
"I'll go in first," I offered. "One of us needs to hang back in case things turn south."
It was a good call, because Axel trained a handgun on me the moment I stepped inside.
He looked a lot like his sister, tall with wavy blonde hair, except he was taller with harder angles and a ferocious glare riding his lips. He was dressed in a dark shirt, camouflage pants, and military grade boots. The wall of whiskey bottles behind him glowed golden brown from the recessed lighting. It was like walking on to the set of some gangster show.
"Where is she?" he demanded in a gravelly baritone. The corners of his eyes were stretched tight with worry.
I waved my raised hands at him. "Hello? We aren't looking for any trouble. We're colleagues of Antjie, here to meet her brothers, Axel and Nico, for drinks. That's you, right? The oldest one?" I could easily snatch the pistol from him, but I preferred to let things play their way out.
"Colleagues, eh? That explain why you arrived on a private jet?"
I grimaced, wondering how in the world he'd found that out. "Last time I checked, holding a pilot's license isn't a crime."
"No, but it's above the pay grade of most journalists."
"Yeah, well, I'm not most journalists. Listen, we're looking for Antjie, because we have reason to believe she may be in trouble."
While Axel debated his next move, Ivan shoved the door open and marched in with one
hand on Nico's neck and the other hand jamming a pistol to his temple. Nico was a slightly thinner version of his brother with darker hair but was dressed in similar attire. "I don't think Antjie's brothers are in the mood for drinks after all," he snarled. "Guess we'll be leaving with dry mouths." He shoved Nico in Axel's direction, shook the bullets from the young man's pistol, and kicked the empty weapon across the floor to him.
Axel let out a sigh and lowered his gun. "That won't be necessary. Drinks are on my tab. We rented the place out tonight. Have it all to ourselves. We just wanted to make sure you weren't associated with our sister's kidnappers."
My already cold insides congealed with concern. "Antjie's been taken, too?" I sent a meaningful look in Ivan's direction.
Axel nodded at the empty bar stools lining the counter, indicating we should take a seat. "You say that like there are others. Who else is missing?"
Nico stepped behind the counter to pour us a round of whiskey.
Ivan gave a single warning shake of his head, but I liked what I saw in Antjie's brothers and decided to trust them. I ticked off the number of people who'd been targeted to date. "Grace Livingston, her father, her boyfriend, and now her best friend. Those are a few too many victims to be a coincidence. Something tells me you agree."
Axel dropped his head, shaking it from side to side in visible distress. "I tried to warn Antjie to stay out of this, but she received some text on the day of Grace's funeral that made her act all crazy in the head. There was no talking any sense into her after that."
"Who sent the text?" Ivan asked tersely.
"She wouldn't say. All we know is it had something to do with Grace. The only other thing we're sure about is it's the main reason she applied for the journalism internship. Said she planned to track down Grace's killers and bring them to justice."
Like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. She'd had no idea what she was getting herself into.
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