Let Them Speak (Vampire Assassin League #13)

by Jackie Ivie

  “They actually filed a complaint?” Devereaux asked.

  “Didn’t say that. The ladies appear to be posting photos of puncture marks, blood droplets, and the aforementioned clothing. It appears they’re setting up an online auction. Good thing you actually took my advice and left the sword at home.”

  “I never said it was me,” Dev answered.

  “Man. Just take the punishment, D.C. It’s easier in the long run. Trust me,” Nigel inserted.

  Akron ignored the interruption. “What happened looks like a typical Friday night in New Orleans, so we also ran a little search on Beethan and company. Nigel?”

  “Right. Fifteen hunters booked on International Flights to all sorts of destinations in the Far East. Bangladesh. India. Mostly Indochina. Cambodia. Thailand. Myanmar. No. Make that seventeen of them. Two more just got booked to Beijing. Looks like they’re setting up a Hunter Convention, Sir. I hope they don’t think they’re being sneaky. You want me to send an associate?”

  “No need. I have a good idea what they’re up to. What I want you to find out is if anyone is heading to NOLA.”

  “Not that I can see, Sir.”

  “Did you check on their newest corporal, Lance Reed?”

  “Who?”

  “This is your prior organization, Nigel. You really should keep up.”

  “His prior what?” Dev asked.

  “Nigel is a Beethan, Devereaux. Their leader, Chester? Well. He’s Nigel’s son. I know. Hard to believe.”

  “Now wait just a minute, Sir. Just because my girlfriend went off the pill without telling me does not make me a father. It makes me an unauthorized sperm donor. And I wasn’t joining the Hunters anyway. That’s the fight that brought on my accident. And really. Manchester should’ve had that tree removed long before I ran into it.”

  “I’m not blaming you, Nigel,” Akron replied. “And I’m rather glad you’re a terrible driver.”

  “Sir?”

  “I hope I don’t regret saying this, but I like having you about. Now, will you check on Reed?”

  “Right. Lance Reed. What am I checking for?”

  “Location. He’s their replacement for Von Holstaad. Top Hunter ranking. Specializes in taking out pairs. Sneaky bastard.”

  “Oh. Wow. You’re right, Sir. I probably should keep up with that son of mine. Or…maybe I should just visit his mother. It would probably give her a heart attack. She’s near seventy. That might be fun.”

  “Corporal Reed, Nigel?”

  “Got him. Looks like he’s stationed in Po-Dunk, Wyoming, Sir.”

  “Where?”

  “All right. Fine. Take away all a guy’s punch lines. Make that Gillette…and checking. Wow. You’re good, Sir.”

  “On his way to New Orleans, is he?”

  “Flight just took off from Denver.”

  “Well Devereaux, looks like you’re about to have company. We’ll send back-up.”

  “That’s not why I called,” Dev replied.

  There was a distinct pause. And then Akron spoke one word. It was elongated and extremely eerie sounding, as if a voice synthesizer was being used.

  “Real…ly?”

  “We’ve got a little over ten seconds left on this call,” Nigel remarked.

  “I’ll call back,” Dev replied, and did the exact same maneuver as before. He ditched the used cell phone. Picked up another. This time when he called he got Akron and Nigel at the same time. And Akron started the conversation.

  “Hello again, Devereaux. We did a more thorough search this time. Came up with a very interesting item. A film crew is apparently picking through U.P.C. looking for a location for a series featuring a vampire. Strangely enough, one of their members failed to use her key card to access her hotel room last night. She’ll probably be reported missing today. Nigel?”

  “You called it U.P.C., Sir.”

  Akron’s sigh had the same vibration and volume as his voice.

  “Fine. Just the facts. Got it. Her name is Sydney Ross. She’s a film scout for—”

  “I know who she is,” Dev replied. “That’s why I need help.”

  “Let me guess. She’s your mate,” Akron said.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll send human interference. Nigel, get Vaughn. Set him up with a fake wife. They’ll be replacements for when we lease Devereaux’s place to this company. And I want you to know I’m fully toying with sending you to Timbuktu, Devereaux.”

  “Do you have an assignment a little closer?”

  “As a matter-of-fact, yes. Belize. Is that close enough for you?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Nigel? Cell-jack Miss Ross’s connection and start texting everyone. Type something like she’s found the love of her life. Don’t call. She’s fine. She’ll be in touch.”

  “That’s pretty lame, Sir.”

  “Make something up, then. Use your imagination. Go brainstorm or something.”

  “Her cell doesn’t have a signal, Sir.”

  “I destroyed it,” Dev informed them.

  “Good move. We can still find it. Nigel. Start looking for the last call.”

  “Got it, Sir. To some guy named Stan. He’ll be first on my list. And then I’ll book travel for Devereaux and his honey. Dang. How do you handle this, Sir?”

  “Handle what?”

  “Having all these associates find their mates while we just exist. Alone and unmated. Bachelors for eternity.”

  A heavy sigh echoed through the speakers. “It’s a very good thing I like you, Nigel. I handle it by ignoring it. Perhaps you’ll try that?”

  “Good plan, Sir.”

  “Anything else we should know, Devereaux, before we sign off?”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  “And it is—?”

  “I turned her.”

  “What?” The word came simultaneously from both Nigel and Akron. That made it extremely loud and annoying.

  “She was a bit insatiable. And I…well…I. It’s been a long time. I lost control.”

  Silence greeted him. It lasted two seconds. And then Nigel spoke.

  “You’re absolutely right, Sir. Ignorance is best. I guess this means I need to arrange night travel to Belize. For two. On it.”

  “Just stay hidden, Devereaux. And keep her out of sight as well. We’ll be in touch with particulars.”

  And with that, the screen went black.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sydney didn’t awaken. Her eyes popped open and she sat up, instantly bombarded with sensory overload. Sound. Sight. Touch. Taste. Smell. Hearing was first, however. All sorts of sounds filled the space, blending into a rush of noise that begged ear plugs. She had to consciously mute it. Sydney was good at that, though. It was a learned skill. There wasn’t any other way to get things done at the studio with hundreds of people about and a job to do.

  Next came sight. Something was peculiar with her vision, too. Although the room was dim, she could make out everything in perfect clarity: wallpaper from some prior century. Furnishings to match. Glass globes dotted the wall at regular intervals. She was atop a smallish canopied bed. And she didn’t even need her glasses.

  As for her tactile senses! Wow. Sheets of an incredible count caressed her bare skin. The comforter was hand-loomed out of tiny strips of linen. It was meant to be light and airy; a barely-there coverlet. Yet she could feel every inch of its weight. Even the air had scent and texture to it. She moved an arm and actually experienced the resistance. The musty smell. The warmth. Humidity. Slickness.

  All of this was bizarre, and then even that got trumped. Sydney concentrated on her own body. She’d never felt better. Ever. She hummed with energy. Glowed with vigor. Vibrated with a sense of wellbeing she couldn’t ever remember experiencing.

  “Hello Love.”

  Sydney’s head turned, her eyes instantly finding the speaker, that way-over-the-top gorgeous vampire guy. Devereaux Castillion. Dev. Her body pulsed in place as their gazes connected. Oh my. He’d dressed differen
tly, but even in faded denims and a navy-colored t-shirt that molded about pectoral muscles doing nothing to disguise well-toned shoulders and arms, Devereaux was impressive. The man was pure visual eye-candy. He wasn’t just good to look at, either. He was an incredible lover. Everything those dark eyes promised, they delivered. More than once. And longer each time. And she really didn’t need to remember that. Not right now, anyway.

  Sydney narrowed her eyes as he neared, although nothing on his lower body moved. No steps were being taken. No stride used. Was he…gliding? She’d have glanced down to check, but couldn’t seem to move her eyes. She wet her lips with her tongue before running it over her teeth; checking, even if it was foolish. Nope. Nothing out of place. Nothing sharp. Elongated. Pointed. Just teeth. Oh brother. She was becoming as delusional as Devereaux.

  “Where…am I?”

  Now, that was another bit of weirdness. Her voice sounded sultry and warm, even to her own ears. It carried a sensual timbre she’d never noted before. If she’d possessed this voice earlier, she’d have been a shoo-in for radio. Maybe she should change her field.

  “Uh…my sanctuary.”

  “Sanctuary?”

  “I had it specially designed. Attic room. Hidden behind one of the fireplace walls.”

  “What…time…is it?” she asked.

  “The sun has just set. And I mean just set. I must have forgotten that.”

  Oh no. She’d had the best lovemaking session of her life and then slept all day? What would Stan be thinking?

  “I have to get up.”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “And I have to get dressed.”

  “Yes,” he replied again.

  “I don’t suppose you have anything in my size?”

  “I’ve got your suitcases. There were four of them, yes? In matching tan leather. You don’t travel light, do you?”

  “I’m planning an extension of this trip to Ohio to see my aunt and her family, and – wait a minute. Why do you have my luggage?”

  “You’ll need it. Unlike some of my compatriots, I didn’t have the foresight to purchase a wardrobe just for you. Foolish. I know.”

  “All right. Let’s just move past that non-answer. Have I been asleep all day?”

  “Not…literally,” he replied.

  “Literally?”

  “How do you feel? Are you ready to get up? Get dressed?” He held out his hand as if she’d take it.

  “What’s going on? And explain it in plain terms, okay?”

  He pulled in his cheeks and moved from their eye connection to look at something over her right ear. Even if Sydney wasn’t well-versed in what a lying face looks like, she’d have still known one was coming.

  “Nothing much.”

  “Define nothing. And then you can clarify the much portion of that.”

  He looked back to her. She got sucked into his gaze again. It wasn’t hard. It was actually difficult to think of doing anything else. He had eyes just formed for delving deep into. Losing oneself in. They were impossibly tempting. Incredibly dark. Mysterious. Her nipples tightened. Something flitted through her belly, and it did resemble the butterflies from poetry. Her thighs quivered. Her loins joined in. Moistening. Preparing. All of her seemed steeped in anticipation of something so vast she had no description, and then he ruined it.

  “Ah. Love. If only—! Please. I beg you. You need to cease that and rise. Get dressed. Please. Now.”

  “Right now?”

  “Time is our biggest enemy at the moment.”

  Her shoulders fell. She sighed. And then she just opened her mouth and put it in words. “Are you that desperate to get rid of me?” she asked.

  His eyes flared. The glass globes matched it, sending intense light into the room before they sank back into the dimness. Sydney blinked once. That was another unusual item. Her pupils hadn’t even reacted. She hadn’t even squinted.

  “Take my hand. Now.”

  “Why?”

  “I will explain everything later. I promise. Once we’re airborne. But please. For now, you must hurry. Get dressed.”

  “What’s wrong with now? You have another appointment—excuse me. Did you just say airborne?”

  “We have a flight scheduled.”

  “Not a chance, Devereaux. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The close-lipped growl he gave was probably an answer. But it wasn’t one she wanted to hear, anyway. Sydney tipped her head to the side.

  “Okay, Devereaux. I’ll play along, but just because it’s entertaining. Where. Exactly. Are we flying to?”

  “Belize.”

  “Belize?”

  “Central America. It’s a very small country, just below Mexico.”

  “I know where Belize is.”

  “Then hurry. Please?”

  “Why? Are we going to miss our flight?”

  “We have a private jet. Come. Hurry.”

  “You know, most guys ask, Devereaux.”

  “Most guys don’t have a Hunter on their ass, a film screw overtaking their heretofore peaceful abode, or such an argumentative woman to deal with, either.”

  “Oh. Right. Argumentative? Me?”

  “Sydney, please. This Hunter I speak of. He’s good. He left Denver this morning. He’s had all day to hunt you.”

  “Me?”

  “It’s not going to take him long to find you, either. You’re way too noticeable.”

  “I’m noticeable? Look who’s talking.”

  “You disappeared from a film scout crew. That is noticeable. Even here. In New Orleans. In this day and age.”

  Her mouth opened to contend that but a blur stopped her. It crossed the section of bed before her, shifting air, and sending a whining noise. She didn’t even have time to gasp before Devereaux launched through the space, his right hand snagging what looked like a spear; an archaic, deadly, five-foot long, spear.

  That had been sent right at her.

  Sydney would’ve screamed, but didn’t have time. Devereaux landed on the far side of the bed, the spear in his right hand while his left arm was fully about her waist. And she hadn’t even felt him yanking her down to crouch on the floor beside him. Thudding sounds followed, one atop the next, in a rapidity of sound and sensation. The wood beside her cheek echoed with it. And when she peeked, her eyes were riveted to the headboard which was now sprouting innumerable arrows as if some hedgehog had decided to burrow into the wood.

  And then everything filled with hellish liquid fire. Droplets rained down onto them as if a sprinkling system had decided to react, spewing acid. Or something worse. Sydney couldn’t look to see. The moment the hiss of sound came, Devereaux reacted, bundling her into a ball within his arms, his body taking the brunt of the assault. It had to be impossibly painful. Just the hint of air-borne mist pained her eyes, burned her throat, while Devereaux jerked and tensed, every move accompanied with an agonized grunt.

  And then a canister hit the polished wood floor beside them, rolling to a stop near her toes. Devereaux leapt upward, taking her with him. They landed atop the canopy, Dev straddling one of the posts while Sydney clung to him, her arms and legs locked about his torso. The acid-stuff hurt and it warped the view, making a filter of green and blue sparkles she had to look through. She squinted. Blinked away the moisture. And spied their tormentor the same moment Dev did. She could feel it as everything about him tensed; predator spotting prey; defender finding killer.

  A man stood just inside the room, illuminated by light that poured in from where he’d apparently burst through the door. He was large, or maybe he only looked that size through the mist and silhouetted as he was. He was definitely a hunter. The green camouflage attire screamed that fact. As did the crossbow in one arm, the strange rifle-thing in the other, and the big night vision goggles on his face.

  Dev moved. Sydney moved with him. And the hunter went from standing, ready to send some other noxious weapon toward where they’d been huddled, to a large chunk of meat slammed and then pi
nned to a wall. The spear Dev had launched had gone right through the man’s torso. It didn’t appear to have killed him instantly, because gurgling noises accompanied the wash of dark fluid starting to stain the wallpaper on its way down toward the floor. Sydney couldn’t move her eyes. Fascinated at the blood. Horrified at the carnage. Intrigued at the essence. Drawn by the scent. Enthralled by the sight. Something weird was happening. Her mouth was altering. Her canines felt really strange. She ran her tongue along her upper teeth and felt the sting as razor-sharp teeth sliced her own flesh. And the instant taste of blood caused such an ache for sustenance, she trembled with it.

  “You okay?” Dev whispered it.

  She nodded.

  “You may not want to watch this.”

  Devereaux’s muscles flexed, and he tightened his arm about her before he jumped, taking her with him to land lithely on the floor beside the pinned man. She heard the groan of the bed frame behind them as it absorbed the maneuver.

  “Why not?” The words were slurred, almost unintelligible. That’s what came of a swelling tongue, outsized canines, and increasing thirst. That was more oddity.

  “I’m going to feed. And we never take fluid from a corpse.”

  “We…don’t?”

  “Not if we have a choice. Leaves a terrible after-taste. The carrion can have them.”

  “He isn’t dead?”

  “Not yet. Uh…Sydney? Love? Um…perhaps I’d better explain a few things. You ready?”

  Devereaux whispered it to the space near her ear. Sydney turned her head toward him, slit her eyes to view the perfect span of neck he put on display, licked her lips. And bit him.