Let Them Speak (Vampire Assassin League #13)

by Jackie Ivie

  “Will I get it back?” she asked.

  She wasn’t enrapt? Under his spell? His enthralling powers must be weakening or something. Dev frowned at the proof before his eyes. What the heck was this?

  “Please?” he said next. It sounded like a plea. It probably was. He didn’t delve into it too closely. In a moment he was going to snatch it.

  She handed him the phone without looking. He crushed it.

  Her eyes went wide at the sound and then she looked down, watching with open mouth as bits of plastic and circuitry filtered to the floor.

  “What did you do that for?”

  “I’m protecting you.”

  “From Stan? Or…my crew? Or what? The world at large? Are you crazy?”

  “Shush.”

  Dev lifted the hand she was watching and put a finger up. It didn’t do much.

  “That was the latest thing in smart phones. It costs a pretty penny. You’re going to replace—”

  “Sydney.”

  She moved her gaze back up his chest, hovered for a bit at his jaw line, and then finally lifted her eyes to his. A large whoosh accompanied the locking of their gazes, caused by the flare of every chandelier rocketing into full light throughout the lower floor. And probably the ones in the upper floors as well. The amount of illumination was staggering. Eye zapping. They both had the same squint as he consciously extinguished each and every light, except the one behind her; the one atop his dining table. That one he left as if a beacon. Surrounding them. Isolating them.

  “Did…uh? Wow. Did you just do that?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “How?”

  “I told you. I’m a vampire.”

  “And that means you have what? Superpowers?”

  She looked worried. He smiled crookedly, hiding his fangs.

  “Some. It comes with the territory.”

  “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  He shook his head.

  “You’re really…a vampire?”

  She swallowed between the words. He heard it. He almost felt it; which was amazing enough to make his eyes intensify, while hers widened.

  “Oh yes,” he finally answered.

  “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

  He couldn’t help it. He grinned. And she fainted.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  This wasn’t her hotel room. This wasn’t even her hotel.

  Sydney blinked on the gloomy image of high walls, lofty ceilings with molded plaster, an ornate window treatment – which didn’t do much to assist whatever the flickering light source was, and the impression of vast space. She groaned.

  “Good. You awaken from a faint quickly. I’ve brought spirits.”

  Sydney turned her head. It was the vampire man. And how was it possible that he looked even better than before? He should probably fasten his coat. Or put a shirt on. Or find loose-fitting pants. Or maybe shave his head. Gain some acne. Grow a beard. Hell, do anything other than be the most gorgeous thing ever, even while looking slightly mussed and a little uncertain. And he was making the view extraordinary, since he was crouched at her side, holding a tray with all sorts of cut-glass decanters with one hand, while the other fussed with a shot glass. One hand, Sydney. As if that tray weighed nothing. Well, what did she know? To him, it probably did.

  He looked up at her, putting a slight crease in his forehead. Her heart reacted with a thump that almost hurt. She had to look away for a moment before the blush betrayed her. He might be a monster. As if they existed. He might be insane. Psychopathic. Delusional. But damn! None of that curbed the effect he seemed to have on her. Again. Still.

  “You were out four minutes, eleven seconds.”

  “Really?”

  “Not bad, actually. I’ve seen longer. You probably need reviving. You have a preference?”

  He started shifting bottles.

  “To what?”

  “Most ladies require smelling salts after a swoon. Or at the least, a shot of something strong. I’m a bit out of touch. What do ladies drink nowadays? This flavored vodka stuff? Or…tequila? Perhaps whiskey?”

  “You have liquor?”

  “No. Not me. I purloined this selection from the staff quarters.”

  “You purloined it?”

  “I wouldn’t claim most of these concoctions. They don’t even stock dark rum.”

  “Dark rum? Ugh.” She pantomimed a shudder.

  “You’re no taste for dark rum? That’s…distressing. I was hoping for a bit of—um. I’ll save it for later.”

  “Where am I?”

  “On a couch.”

  “Where? Exactly?” Sydney asked.

  “Oh. My home. First floor. Morning room. Or you could call it the withdrawing room.”

  “Withdrawing room?”

  “That’s what it used to be called. Now, I believe the term has been shortened to drawing room. I modeled it after those in English baronial estates. Women used a room such as this when they retreated after dinner, leaving the men to drink their port. This room also catches the morning sunrise. So you can call it the morning room if you like.”

  “Are the windows shuttered?”

  “Of course.”

  “Wonderful. Guess that’s out, then.”

  “What?”

  “I’m talking to myself, okay?”

  “Why? I’m here.”

  Sydney sat. He’d been a little off. It wasn’t just a couch. It was a Victorian-era settee, covered in dark-colored velvet material with a tuck and button design, that was then affixed to an ornate curved-back, wooden frame. In perfect, mint condition. The armrests were even rolled and tucked. This piece belonged in a museum with a ‘Do Not Touch’ sign on it. And she was sitting on it. She hoped she hadn’t drooled.

  “Look. Uh…Devereaux. That is your name, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. Dang! The guy was stirring. Everything about him seemed to pull at her. Everything. She had to dart her eyes away and selected a matching Victorian era cabinet behind his left shoulder that probably stood ten feet. That piece of furniture supported candelabra with a full complement of lit candles atop it. Well. That explained the flickering light source. She looked back at him; narrowed her eyes to absorb the impact; started speaking.

  “Look. Devereaux. I think we got off on the wrong foot. We weren’t even properly introduced. My name is Sydney Ross.”

  “No LLC?” he enquired.

  She smiled. She couldn’t help it. “That stands for Limited Liability Company. I’m a contractor. For a film studio in California. That’s why I’m here, actually.”

  “Oh…is it now?”

  “You heard my employee…um…?” What the hell was his name? And why was it so hard to focus?

  “Stan,” he supplied.

  “Oh yeah. Stan. Are you using some sort of mind control on me again?”

  His eyebrows rose. Her heart decided to move to her throat and pound away from there. That was going to make speech difficult.

  “Well?”

  She was right. Her voice was croaked. And it pained to make the sound.

  “I’m not using vampiric powers on you. Not right now. And…I’ll try not to use them again. Fair?”

  It was her turn to lift her eyebrows. She watched his eyes dart away this time. As if she affected him. It wasn’t possible. The most handsome thing in existence? No way. Not Sydney Ross. That would never happen. But buggers! It was thrilling to just think it!

  “You’ll try not to?”

  She prompted it after long moments when he just crouched there. Looking at something on the settee behind her. Or maybe the wall. Completely immobile. Demonstrating not one hint of expended energy from holding up what looked like fifty pounds of tray. Statue-like. Nothing flexed. Nothing trembled. He didn’t even look to be breathing.

  Impossible. Unless he really was a vampire. Come on, Sydney. Get a grip here.

  He moved his eyes back to her, snagging and then holding hers. Damn! His gaze was hypnotic. Da
rk. Intense. Powerful. Her pulse ramped into a higher tempo and sound, making it difficult to hear his words. But at least her heart had relocated from her throat.

  “I can’t promise I won’t use them again. I’m not that noble.”

  Well. At least he was honest. Or he looked honest as he said that. And what were they talking about anyway? His promise about non-use of a concept that didn’t exist? This was insane. What was option three again, Syd? Oh yeah. Embrace the impossible. Embrace him?

  Oh shit. Her body gave an instantaneous lurch, sliding her thighs along the velvet. Toward him. That prompted a tingling she was going to ignore. She started talking to disguise it. She didn’t even care what she said.

  “Okay. Fine. We’ll move on, then. I’m on assignment here. I came to New Orleans to scout locales for a possible series…and while this home of yours is amazing and probably perfect if we make it look a bit dusty, I can’t imagine what price range you’re talking.”

  “Devereaux Castillion.”

  “What?”

  “It’s an introduction. My full name.”

  “Oh. French. And Spanish?”

  His jaw tightened and he flushed. Or something. It was hard to tell with the lack of light. Whatever it was, the view just got more amazing. Stirring. Endearing. As if he was troubled. Unsure. Thank goodness for the candlelight. That was one point in her favor. It muted some of his impact. Oh what was she thinking? Any light on him was too much.

  “My father was a plantation owner from the old country. Spain. The Castillion plantation was large. Sugar cane. In Santo Domingo. My mother was…uh…she was one of the non-hired help. Of mixed blood. Mostly French.”

  “You’re…Creole, then?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course not. Look, all I’m here for is the house. Doesn’t really matter who owns it, their history, or their ancestry. As long as they’re legally entitled and mentally competent to sign a lease, that’s the bottom line. Got it?”

  “No. You’re here because I brought you here.”

  Sydney tilted her head. Hard to argue that. “True,” she finally remarked.

  “And the real reason is a bit more complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  He glanced down at the tray he still held and back at her. “You don’t need a restorative?”

  “Do I act it?”

  If an undead thing sighed, he would have. She got that part from the exasperated sound coming from somewhere between his teeth. And that reminded her…she hadn’t noted any elongated canines recently. And that’s what had started this spate of nonsense he called swooning. She watched him swivel and place the tray on a low table right behind him. Actually, she watched the muscles in his legs flex and move beneath his trousers as he did it, but that wasn’t something she was willing to admit.

  Damn! If he was a vampire, she was up against some major odds. She’d heard about their allure. That’s why they were starting this series with a vampire episode. Everywhere she looked was advertisement about how sexy a vampire is. She hadn’t believed it. She still didn’t, even with one of them right there! Within touching distance. And the propaganda was dead on, too. Vampires were very sexy. This one in particular was oozing sex appeal with every passing second. Hell…nobody in the real world would believe this.

  Maybe she should search out an option four here.

  “Okay. So. How about I start? How much are we talking to lease your place? It’s got three floors, right? Or…make that two habitable floors and an attic. And I know you’ve got a servant’s wing. I’m going to guess at least what – three bedrooms? Maybe four? And I’m also going to guess you’re a bit low on bathrooms, so we’ll need to bring in our own port-a-units. Stop me if I’m wrong.”

  He ignored her for the most part, thank goodness! She’d kept talking as he stood, ran his hands along his coat edge before pulling his pant legs out from where they were pressing on some very interesting parts, and then he simply swiveled and took up the space right beside her. On the settee. And that just matched one of those really nice muscular thighs against one of hers. Only now she got to experience exactly how hard and masculine it felt, too. She couldn’t face him. She clasped her hands together and tried to watch them and not the leg right beside hers.

  “How old are you, Sydney?”

  “That’s pretty personal information to ask a potential lessee, isn’t it?”

  “Twenty-six?”

  She smiled. “Almost thirty. Next month. Thank you.”

  She pulled in a breath and moved her head to face him. And got some sort of electric shock the moment her eyes met his. She watched as his eyes widened, too. As if he also felt it. But that was patently ridiculous. The entire situation was.

  Option Four must be to get drunk. Perhaps she should start. She didn’t even care if it was dark rum. Or vodka.

  “Hmm.”

  That bit of growling noise he gave sent shivers through her spine. Down her arms. Legs. Hell, even her fingers and toes tingled. Sydney swallowed and moved her view to his chin.

  “Look. Devereaux. I need an opening figure.”

  “I’m twenty-six,” he replied.

  She snorted. “I’m older than you? That’s funny.”

  “Age is a variable here.”

  “How about I start? I’ll offer…six. Six grand a month. With utilities.”

  “I was turned in the year 1783.”

  Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

  “I was dueling.”

  “Dueling? Right. Swords or pistols?”

  “A sword is a gentleman’s weapon.”

  “Interesting. So. How about I move to seven grand? And we’ll pay water and sewer. And what the hell, I’ll toss in refuse removal.”

  “I didn’t lose the duel. He did.”

  “Okay. I’ll ask. How do you…um…well. Die isn’t the right word, now is it? Go undead? Yeah, that works better. How do you go undead from a duel you won?”

  “Penicillin didn’t exist then. I was wounded.”

  “Ouch. Bet that was un-fun. How about eight? I’m not sure I can go higher without calling for authorization. And you made that a bit difficult with your phone stunt earlier. You have one I can use, though? Right?”

  “Vampirism isn’t what they say.”

  “There are too many versions. Which one are you talking about?”

  “It’s not eternal life.”

  “Okay. Let me get this straight. You’ve been a vampire for over a couple of centuries and that’s not eternal to you?”

  “It’s more about the life part of that. It’s non-living. And it’s endless. Forever.”

  “Sounds pleasant. I’ll keep that in mind. Are any of these figures tempting you? Or will I have to match that damn realtor’s figure?”

  “Nothing has meaning. Each night follows the next. Ceaselessly.”

  “Hey. Are you interested in leasing your place, or am I just wasting breath here?”

  “There’s only one thing that changes this endless existence, Sydney.”

  Oh shit. Again. He said her name. With the slightest warble to it. And then he reached for her entwined hands and held them in one of his. And she didn’t even fight it? Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

  “One thing. And it’s such amazing beauty, I find myself nearly speechless with receiving it. I’m not even sure I can explain.”

  No. She wasn’t responding. Not a word. Not even a grunt. She was suddenly cold. Allover cold. Shaking with it. He lifted her entwined hands to his lips and spoke the words to her fingers. As if he was just as afraid of her reaction as she was.

  “We find our mate. The one. The only.”

  And then Sydney surprised even herself. Her lips worked. “I think…I’m going to need that drink now, Devereaux.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  He stopped her on the second drink. She’d picked up a decanter that contained whipped cream flavored vodka. Or maybe it was vanilla. Didn’t matter. It was good. Even at room temperature. We
nt down easy. Especially if you swigged it. And that, after clinking the bottle against the shot glass since the drinks were at knee level. That made pouring difficult. That was okay by her. The clinking helped disguise the shaking.

  And then Devereaux loomed beside her, stopping her from filling her shot glass for the second time by just plucking the decanter out of her hand.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She snorted. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Inebriating yourself isn’t going to change anything. Weren’t you listening?”

  “Inebriating? Listen. Devereaux. I plan on a good drunk. Not just a little inebriation.”

  “Why? It won’t help.”

  “Oh…I think a good drunk followed by a nice bit of blackout might be very beneficial at the moment. So…if you don’t mind?”

  “Answer the why, then.”

  She reached for the vodka. He lifted it higher. She narrowed her eyes. He still looked good. And with the bottle held aloft, it just opened his jacket more, and that just gave her an even broader view. Fine. The man was fine. Didn’t look remotely dead. Or like a figment of her imagination. He looked male. And fit. And all of that just kept sending that same sort of electrical vibe she’d noted earlier. Only now it was even stronger. And he sported a six-pack just ripe for running her fingers down. She barely caught the move to reach and do that very thing. Bad Sydney. She had to get her mouth moving and not her appendages.

  “Why am I drinking? Ahem. I should think it obvious. Alcohol is an option I hadn’t considered. It’s clearly option number four. I should have figured it out earlier. But what’s the loss of a few minutes, give or take?”

  “Option four?”

  Damn. He wrinkled his forehead as he considered it. That was just adding unnecessary ballast to an already heavy portfolio. He didn’t need one more affectation to make him any more desirable. Or attractive. Or just plain salivating hot. She swallowed in order to reply.

  “Yep. Option four. Avoidance. And this is really smooth vodka by the way. I figure I can drink myself insensible and by the time I wake up, you’ll be a figment of the night and everything will be back to normal.”