“Semantics,” I replied smoothly, ignoring his sharp intake of breath at my insolence. “After Vlad sees the guests, I’m quite sure he’ll leave the room. Cloak yourself and follow him. I’ll be with you.”
The Angel stared at me through hooded eyes. His lips thinned and he made a low whistling sound through his clenched teeth. “You have large balls for a Vampyre,” Roberto commented.
“Thank you,” I replied trying not to wince at the pinch my mate delivered to my ass.
“Wasn’t a compliment,” he shot back. “You have a plan?”
“I have a plan,” I confirmed as he looked at me doubtfully.
“I will do this more out of curiosity than any allegiance to your Royal Family.”
“I beg to differ,” Pam hissed under her breath.
“What was that?” Roberto inquired.
“I said I feel like a heifer,” Pam lied with a serene smile. “Ate my own weight in whipped cream about a half hour ago.”
Before Roberto could reply a hush fell over the two hundred Vamps and Angels in the great room.
Satan was back and all fucking Hell was about to break loose.
Chapter 21
“No fucking way,” I muttered as I watched Satan stroll back into the room with a terrified entourage—two of them weren’t even dead yet.
“No one will believe this,” Pam said as she yanked out her cell phone and hit record.
This was not what I’d requested and my stomach clenched. I was torn between laughing at the Devil’s selection and roaring that the use of humans, no matter how amusing, was unacceptable.
Bela Lugosi was dead and understood the Underworld, immortals and all the rest of the shit that went on under the human’s noses. He apparently enjoyed visiting Hell on a regular basis. There was even a rumor he’d once beat Mr. Rogers at poker—a difficult feat at best. I could only assume Leslie Nielson was also up to speed on the bizarre goings on in the afterlife. His somewhat calm demeanor led me to hope this was accurate.
However, Gary Oldman and George Hamilton appeared to be on the verge of a mental breakdown or pissing themselves. Not good. Not good at all.
All of the men were clad in Dracula costumes from their respective films. The unfortunate atrocious bun—for lack of a better word—on Oldman’s head was at least twice the size I’d remembered from watching the movie. Satan was positively giddy as he lined the four men up on a raised platform at the far end of the large room.
“On three boys,” he directed.
The crowd surged forward toward the evening’s unusual entertainment, but all eyes were on Vlad. He had gone utterly still and red flames began to shoot out around him. It was highly doubtful he would incinerate the Angel’s great room, but the expression on his face didn’t bode well for a damage free evening.
“What is going on?” Roberto demanded as he waved his hands and turned all the bars covering the windows and doors in the room to ash. “What is that idiot thinking?”
I decided to keep the information that Bela Lugosi had been my idea to myself. I figured since Satan had taken it upon himself to bring four Draculas, not just one. I was off the hook.
“It’s a ploy to piss Vlad off and separate him from the Old Guard,” I explained quickly as I took his arm and pulled him to a position closer to Vlad. Losing him would be disastrous. Raquel was next to me. I could feel her even though I couldn’t see her. I made sure Jean Paul stayed close as well.
Roberto’s chuckle took me by surprise. “Fucking brilliant,” he muttered.
Damn it, if I’d known he would approve, I would have taken credit.
“Your Majesty and Pam,” I instructed in a whisper. “Find Ethan, Astrid and the rest. If Satan’s back they should be here too. Get them up to speed and have them ready to fight.”
“But I need to film this shit,” Pam said.
“Trust me. It’s being filmed,” I told her.
Cell phones were out and aimed at both the stage and Vlad. There would have to be major damage control after this one.
“Come,” the King said as he took Pam’s hand and quickly slipped from the room.
And the show continued…
“One, two, three,” Satan bellowed, barely able to contain himself.
“I vant to drink your blood,” the four men choked out in a strangled whisper.
“Louder boys!” Satan insisted. “No one could hear you.”
“I vant to drink your blood,” they said with a bit more volume.
“Better,” the Devil congratulated the frightened foursome. “Now do the thing I showed you. And Leslie, do that thing with your eyes like you did in Airplane. That just slays me,” he said as he clapped his hands together in delight.
It had the makings of a horrific reality show. Bela Lugosi, Leslie Nielson, Gary Oldman and George Hamilton spread out and became something akin to an air guitar rock band as they chanted, I vant to drink your blood over and over. Bela was the lead singer. Gary was on drums with his vamp-bun bouncing dangerously to the left. Leslie was on air guitar making googly eyes and I was fairly sure George was on an invisible keyboard. Fucking unbelievable.
“This is for you, Dracula,” Satan yelled as the crowd began to laugh.
Even the Old Guard was shocked enough to chuckle at the mortifying spectacle. However, Vlad was quaking—literally.
For a brief second, I was certain he was going to blow up the room. The flames engulfing his body burned so bright I had to shield my eyes. Clearly Roberto and Satan were on the same page. As Vlad raised his hands above his head in a psychotic rage, he was zapped on two sides from both the Devil and the Angel standing next to me. They weren’t killing blows. They were warning blows.
“Enough,” Vlad screamed as he quickly recovered from the cautionary zaps. “This will end immediately.”
“But wait,” Satan said, goading the unstable Vampyre past his limit. “We’ve rehearsed more. Tell everyone your name boys.”
“I. Am. Dracula,” Bela Lugosi announced grandly as he whipped his shiny black cape around him and gave the crowd his patented evil eye.
The applause was loud and Bela took a deep and heartfelt bow.
“No,” Leslie Nielson shouted, shoving Bela out of the way and waggled his brows so high I thought they would hit his hairline. “I am Dracula.”
Clearly the actors were now relishing their roles thanks to the laughter from their audience. They were unaware of the deadly Vampyre seconds away from losing his shit.
“I am tan Dracula,” George Hamilton proclaimed in his best Transylvanian accent.
Satan’s spit take and loud guffaw were more amusing than the shit show on the stage. Not to be outdone by his competition, Gary Oldman jumped out in front, removed the pins from his bun, tore his shirt open as his hair tumbled around his face and revealed a pair of fake fangs.
“I am the real Dracula,” he grunted as he gnashed his plastic teeth at the now shrieking crowd.
“Is it time to break dance or do we fake fight and bite each other now?” George Hamilton called out to a doubled over Satan.
“Fucking improvise,” Satan commanded through tears of mirth.
And they did.
And it was brilliantly horrific.
And it did exactly what I wanted and expected it to do.
As Vlad fled the room in a furious huff, I grabbed Roberto and Jean Paul and tailed him.
“Cloak,” I hissed as we picked up our pace. “We can’t lose the bastard.”
“I can find a needle in a haystack,” Roberto bragged as he disengaged his arm and cloaked himself.
At this point I lost the ability to know if he was still with us, but I simply had to hope he’d keep his word. Jean Paul and I stayed in corporeal form and I led the way. We stayed close to the walls and followed him through several long hallways. I felt Raquel’s presence and halted as Vlad turned right into a room and slammed the door violently behind him.
“Raquel, you need to stay away unless you can hide
your scent. It will destroy the entire plan if he knows you’re there,” I whispered. “Plus he wants you and there’s no telling what he’ll do in this state.”
“I know,” she grumbled. Her disembodied vice floated through the air. “I’ll go search for Ethan, Astrid and the gang and bring them here. Do not, under any circumstances, die. I will find you and kill you dead myself if something happens to you. Do you understand me?”
“That’s true love,” Jean Paul said with a chuckle.
“A little violent if you ask my opinion,” Roberto’s body-less voice chimed in.
“No one asked,” I said, relieved that he had kept his promise and followed. “I’m not sure exactly what will happen once we’re in,” I admitted carefully, “but stay cloaked until I drop mine and we’ll improvise.”
“Like the Draculas on stage?” Roberto inquired tightly.
“Yep,” I told him with a grin. “We can break dance and bite each other.”
“You undead people are highly unorganized,” he said in a tone laced with disgust.
“Yes well, we’re also highly motivated killing machines,” I replied flatly. “Most of us have consciences and can control our violent tendencies, however those like Vlad can’t. I say we go in and have a good time.”
“Because killing others is so delightful,” he spat.
“No, but eliminating bad fuckers is wildly enjoyable,” I shot back.
“I suppose when you put it that way… ” Roberto conceded. “But I’d prefer to take him alive if he’s committed these transgressions you accuse him of. Far more fun to torture the bastard.”
“I thought you weren’t into that,” I said with an eye roll.
“I’m into justice. I adhere to an eye for an eye philosophy,” he replied.
“Then I’d suggest you have a long stake ready. Vlad seems to be quite fond of them.”
Roberto took back his corporeal form for a moment and his feral smile chilled me to the bone. The Angel literally glowed with vicious energy. He was a sick fuck and I never wanted to end up on his bad side. Angels were as unpredictable as Demons. Knowing his dirty secret would either save me at some point or make me a target.
“Are we going to just float in and wait for the idiot to talk to himself and admit his guilt?” Roberto asked, exasperated.
I was tempted to say yes just to piss the Angel off, but this was not the time to have fun at the expense of the uppity bastard.
“While I find that idea intriguing, I have a better plan in mind,” I said. “Jean Paul, morph now.”
“Wait, this Vampyre can morph?” Roberto asked, completely shocked.
“Mais oui,” Jean Paul answered the question with a shrug and a lopsided grin. “Watch and learn,” he added cockily.
The Angel’s sharp intake of breath at the insult had me biting back my own grin. I liked my new brother-in-law a lot. He was arrogant, talented, and deadly—a fine combination.
Without fanfare or sound, Jean Paul morphed into an identical version of Juliet. It was eerie and somewhat alarming as I had wanted to kill the woman with my bare hands only days ago. His voice was hers too. His mannerisms were a little off though.
“Damn it,” I said aloud as I tried to think of a solve.
I was unsure how well Vlad was acquainted with Juliet. Would he notice the differences? In his heightened state of distress, would he even notice she was there?
“Jean Paul, keep your movement to a minimum and your sentences short.”
“I will,” he said in her voice. “I’ve not been around her enough to know her ways. I’ll only do and say what I think is essential.”
“She’s vain,” Raquel cut in sheepishly.
“You’re supposed to be gone,” I told her.
“Correct,” she replied. “But since I’m still here, let me help.”
I nodded tersely. I wanted her safe and away from whatever was about to happen. It was also true that Vlad may be able to sense her and that would blow our cover. But my ulterior motive for her wellbeing was my main motivator.
“Juliet pulls on her hair when she’s unhappy and gestures with her hands often when she’s speaking. Her answers to questions are usually curt and she interrupts constantly,” Raquel offered in a hushed voice.
“Got it,” Jean Paul said.
“She also hates her family—especially me and Astrid.”
“Well, she certainly sound like a lovely gal. She’s one of the Royal children?” Roberto asked snidely. “Why are we trying to save them if this is the way they behave?”
Ignoring him was far better than flattening him.
“I want you to knock at the door and go in. We’ll be right behind you,” I instructed Jean Paul. “Are we ready?”
Everyone nodded and I felt Raquel slip away. It did wonders for my peace of mind that she wasn’t going to be present during what I was certain would turn deadly for someone—hopefully not one of us.
Roberto and I cloaked and covered our scent. Jean Paul did a few jumping jacks and practiced pulling on his long blond hair. He looked so much like the evil bitch that it was difficult to remember that it was Jean Paul in the form of Juliet.
With a final nod and a bit more hopping around, Jean Paul knocked on the door.
And the second act started.
Chapter 22
The room Vlad had escaped to wasn’t large. It was as white and luxurious as the rest of the Angel’s compound, but this one had some color. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with icy white marble bookshelves, but the volumes housed in the heavy shelving at least lent some life to the room.
Vlad paced the short expanse as red flames shot erratically around the room.
“Hello, Vlad,” Juliet aka Jean Paul said as she stood in the open doorway.
I had moved into the room and positioned myself close to Vlad and prayed Roberto had done the same. On a good day, I could probably take Vlad down. I hoped today was one of those days. He had several thousand years on me and had tricks up his sleeve that I was unaware of, but he wasn’t gunning for me at the moment. I was counting on his fury to make him sloppy. However, a confession of what the fuck he was up to was necessary first.
“What are you doing here?” Vlad hissed as he approached her, yanked her into the room by the arm and slammed the door shut.
“I heard there was a party I wasn’t invited to—yet again. So I decided to crash it,” she snapped and shoved him away from her.
“Of course you did,” he replied and watched her through hooded eyes.
He still sparked dangerously, but there was a new energy in the room. Juliet walked the perimeter of the room and casually knocked books and trinkets from the shelves. My eyes stayed glued to Vlad as he took her actions in with interest.
“You failed your mission,” he said tightly. “Raquel is here at the Summit and I don’t see you holding the child.”
Juliet ignored him and continued on her destructive mission.
“Did you hear me?” he ground out as he grabbed her by the hair and forced her to make eye contact.
His fangs were out and his eyes blazed green. Juliet’s lips thinned to a displeased line and she spat in his face.
“Remove your hands or I’ll do it for you,” she threatened as her fangs descended and her eyes went green with fury.
Fuck, Jean Paul was good.
Vlad’s guttural laugh rumbled through the room as he pushed her roughly away. “You’re a foul piece of work, Juliet,” he growled.
“Thank you,” she replied with a sneer. “I’m a product of my upbringing and the company I keep.”
“That you are, my mate—that you are.”
What the fuck? They were mated?
Jean Paul froze inside his disguise and was clearly speechless. Vlad didn’t seem thrown by Juliet’s silence.
“Still playing hard to get I see. As soon as I’ve done your dirty work you’ll have no more excuses and you’ll finally mate with me,” he said in a bored tone. “I’m hol
ding up my end of the bargain. You simply keep failing yours.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Juliet told him with a shrug and a brilliant deranged laugh that demonstrated her instability.
She turned back to her destruction of the library and began to hum a disjointed melody to herself. Juliet pulled at her hair and tossed book after book to the floor.
“I’ve told you I’ll make good on my promises. I’ve had several of your siblings cursed. They’ll age and die within the year.”
Fashionably Hotter Than Hell: Book Six, The Hot Damned Series Page 20
