Xavier: Vampires in Europe (Vampires in America Book 14)

by D. B. Reynolds

  “So he can’t open the door from the other side?”

  “Not that my associates are aware.”

  “Are any of these associates that you consulted sorcerers themselves?”

  “Regrettably, no. One is a magic user, but not powerful enough to be considered a sorcerer. The others are vampires—one old enough to remember the war and the other a historian who has studied the sorcery of that time.”

  “I know you’ve been sending your vampires out, looking for something. What is it?”

  “Not something, but someone. It takes a great deal of power for a sorcerer to transport others, rather than just himself. I suspect that’s why the initial attacks used so few people. But even those few could not have been carried far. He has to have a headquarters in the city. There’s no other possibility. But Barcelona is a big city with many buildings.”

  She studied the ground pensively for a moment, then said, “I told you about Kerry Nask, the woman coming in tomorrow with the others. I told you she gets hunches about stuff. Like telling us to take this street, instead of that one, when we’re on a mission. Or warning us not to launch a particular operation that we’ve sometimes spent a lot of time planning. And we’ve learned to listen to her. I don’t care how much time or money we’ve put into a specific op, if Kerry says don’t do it, we don’t. Sometimes it’s cancelled completely, other times we just shift the timetable or the specifics around. But we never, and I mean never, ignore what she says.”

  “Is she a vampire?”

  “No. Her mother’s a witch, whatever that means. She heads up a coven in Pennsylvania. But Kerry’s not. A witch, I mean. She’s not even sure how she knows to warn us about stuff. It’s not something she works at. It just comes to her.”

  “She’s clearly a sensitive, but that can include any number of abilities.”

  “Well, I was just wondering if she might be helpful in tracking down this sorcerer of yours. Would he give off enough of a . . . sign or whatever that she could pick it up? Like if we drive up and down the streets of Barcelona?”

  He didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand, but considered it. “Doubtful,” he said finally. “But if I or my vampires managed to pick up a trace, she might be useful in confirming it. What I’d really like is to capture one of his people and persuade them to talk.”

  LAYLA KNEW WHAT persuade meant when he said it like that. He’d pry into the person’s head and dig around until he found what he needed. And she had no problem with him doing that. These people, whoever they were, were shooting at her people. Or her parents’ people, which was close enough. After all, she’d grown up here.

  She took a step closer to Xavier. “See, now, that’s something I could have helped you with, if you’d told me. Capturing one fighter is very different than stopping an entire retreat.”

  She regretted that step when he took a step of his own, putting them bare inches apart. Which was way too close. But if she backed up, she’d be admitting it bothered her to have him there.

  He was looking down at her, his eyes once more filled with that eerie pewter gleam. She had to tilt her head back to look at him. He was so damn tall. She was very nearly six feet—was that tall in her boots. But he still towered over her. Well, not towered. It just seemed that way since she was accustomed to being taller than most people. She really liked that about him, though. Liked that he was taller, that she had to stretch to put her arms around his neck, that he’d probably completely dominate her in bed . . .

  “Stop that!” her inner voice screeched. He was still watching her. “Yes?” she asked calmly, as if she’d spent the last few seconds waiting patiently and not spinning sensual images of the two of them.

  His lips curved the tiniest bit. “Is the absence of vampires on your team deliberate?”

  She shook her head. “No. One of our original members was a vampire. Great guy, excellent scout. He fell in love, and his girlfriend wanted him out. Wanted him to stay alive, I guess. He was a damn good fighter, and a very good friend. He still is. And he was damn near irreplaceable on the team. The best we could do was fill the hole he left.”

  His gaze changed, as if he was seeing a part of her he hadn’t known existed. He probably was. Her years in the army hadn’t been spent at a desk, and notwithstanding the damn vineyard, neither were the jobs she did with her team. She’d done things both in the army and after that she’d rather forget, but they’d changed her, made her harder, more skeptical, less trusting. All of that. But they’d also taught her how to survive the worst humanity had to offer, how to protect the people who fought at your side, and how to walk away when it was over.

  Xavier’s eyes never left her face, but the sense of him changed. The air was just the air, no longer filled with the stark awareness of him that had her thinking hot, sweaty thoughts that she shouldn’t.

  “When are your people arriving?” he asked, somehow stepping back psychologically, without physical moving.

  She blinked as the world returned to its normal state, feeling as if she’d been stretched too tight. She licked dry lips, much too aware of his eyes dropping to her mouth, following the movement of her tongue.

  No, no, no. They were not going to do this.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, hearing the rasp in her own voice. “I’m not sure what time. But definitely in the morning.”

  His eyes lifted from her mouth to meet her gaze. “I’ll want to meet them tomorrow night.”

  “Everyone? Or just Kerry?”

  “All of them. Three, you said. You trust them, but I need to meet them, Layla. I need to be sure.”

  He said it so calmly. There was no insult intended. Just the truth. She couldn’t get angry about that. He had ways of judging people that she couldn’t match.

  “All right,” she said just as quietly. “Where?”

  “They’ll be bunking in the barracks?”

  “Yes. The barracks are empty, so there’s more than enough room.”

  “Will you stay with them, too?”

  “Yeah, it’s what we’re used to. We get more done that way.”

  He nodded. “Good. I’ll come to you, then. One hour after sunset. I’m assuming you know when that is?”

  She smiled slightly. The sun’s schedule was something you just knew when you lived inside the Fortalesa. It had been a while for her, but it was posted in her mother’s kitchen, in her father’s office, and pretty much everywhere else. “I know it.” She would have turned away then, but he touched her wounded cheek, his fingers stroking her skin so gently that she didn’t feel it until he was turning her to face him. “Does this hurt?”

  “Not really.” She was far too aware of how close he was. She wanted to jerk away, to tell him not to touch her. So why didn’t she?

  She was still trying to work that out when he said, “Look at me, Layla.”

  Oh, no. That way lay madness. But a stubborn part of her refused to stand there with lowered eyes as if she was afraid of him, afraid of what she might do if she looked into those strangely lit eyes. She lifted her head.

  “I can heal this.” His fingers touched the injury with tender care.

  She shook her head, her eyes still locked with his. “Don’t waste your energy. It’s not that bad. It just stings a little.”

  “Then perhaps this will help.” Her face was still upturned to meet his gaze, when he lowered his head and put his mouth close to hers. She had a moment of panicked indecision. Her heart raced in eager anticipation, and she was so damn hungry for his touch, despite the years she’d spent cursing his name. But she’d sworn she wouldn’t do this. He couldn’t be trusted, not when her heart still ached sometimes in the dark of night. When she was cold and exhausted from a day that had seen too much blood and death. When she longed for memories she could wrap around herself, memories that would convince her to keep go
ing.

  Before she could decide, before she could say anything, his lips were touching hers, and they were so sensuous and warm, so unlike the cold face he showed to the world—the hard-ass vampire lord who took no shit and gave no quarter. She moaned in soft surrender as her mouth opened against his, as his other arm circled her waist and pulled her closer . . .

  “No!” she cried, and shoved herself away from every part of him. Not just his mouth or his body, but the memories of that last night before she’d left for good. The night he’d broken her heart, told her she was too young, too inexperienced to know what she wanted. Too young. Right. As if a two-hundred-year-old vampire was going to a find woman more his age to suck on. She’d cursed herself then, for being stupid enough to fall for him. For believing that she was somehow different, that he’d love her when he’d never loved anyone.

  “Layla—”

  He reached for her, but she held out a hand palm first. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Just no.” She walked away from him, trying not to run, not wanting to fall. It was so fucking dark. She reminded herself who she was—no longer a heartbroken nineteen-year-old girl, but a strong, accomplished woman. A deadly fighter who commanded not only the respect of some of the best soldiers in the field, but their friendship, and their love. She didn’t need Xavier in her life. She didn’t need anyone but the people who were already there.

  Chapter Nine

  THE NEXT DAY dawned hot and clear, and too fucking early. Layla rolled out of bed and went straight to the shower she’d skipped the night before, because she’d been too tired. She was moving to the barracks today, and reminded herself to strip the sheets so her mother didn’t come home to blood and dirt. She never worried about this stuff in the field, where everyone was in the same condition, and where a bit of bloody filth was the very last thing one was concerned about. But her mother would be aghast, and even more so if Layla explained they did it all the time.

  She grabbed the sheets and yanked them off the bed as she walked away, dumping the pile near the door to take with her. There was a laundry room in the barracks. She could wash them there, and if she pulled up the comforter on her bed and closed the door, maybe her mother wouldn’t notice the sheets were gone.

  She shook her head. What was she? A teenager again? Trying to cover up evidence of her many misdeeds? Christ, she was a grown ass woman. She didn’t need to explain her shower habits to her mother. But she was still going to take the sheets with her to the damn barracks. Coward.

  She checked out the wound on her cheek before stepping under the shower’s hot spray. It was ugly and would leave a scar. But it was more like a deep tissue burn than a bullet wound. It didn’t even sting when the water hit it . . . “Fuck!” Well, not much. She should have just let Xavier heal the damn thing.

  She soaped her body quickly and efficiently, then washed and conditioned her hair even though she would just braid it back for the day, probably while it was still wet. Gorgeous hair wasn’t on her list of priorities either.

  Was it ever? She tipped her head back to rinse out the conditioner and tried to remember the last time she’d cared what her hair looked like. There’d been the trip the team had taken to Paris, before settling down into the vineyard. Yeah, they’d all gotten spiffed up for one of their nights there. They’d gone to a Michelin-starred restaurant and everything. And before that? She couldn’t remember, which was an answer in itself. Layla Casales was not exactly Miss Universe material.

  Shrugging, because she really didn’t care, she stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and pulled on some underwear along with her usual sports bra, then combed and braided her hair. Deodorant, and moisturizer with a strong sun screen, because while she didn’t do primping, she also didn’t want to end up a wrinkled old crone by the age of fifty.

  Khaki-colored pants, combat-style with multiple pockets, and a tan tank top completed her ensemble along with a long-sleeved shirt in the same color, which she wore unbuttoned. She did a final walk-through to be sure everything she needed was back in her duffel, then for about two minutes, she considered making herself some breakfast. That thought was discarded immediately in favor of a quick trip to the communal kitchen, which was handily located right next to the barracks. It wasn’t her mama’s cooking, but it wasn’t bad either.

  She was just hitting the outside stairs when her phone rang. She looked down at the display and smiled. “Casales.”

  “We’re on the ground in Barcelona,” Brian said, not bothering with niceties. He and the others had been activated, which meant it was time for business, and their business was deadly serious. “On our way to you. I figure an hour, no more.”

  “Good.”

  “Anything new happen?”

  “No. It’s quiet here so far, but my instincts are telling me that won’t last.” She considered warning him about the involvement of magic, but that was a longer conversation. She imagined his reaction not only to the existence of sorcerers, but to the idea that one was tied up in this affair, would be the same as hers.

  “Understood. See you soonest.”

  She disconnected and shoved the phone into a pocket, then began her morning survey of the wall, stopping to answer questions, or just talk. She made a point of seeking out the walking wounded who’d recovered enough, or whose injuries had been light enough, to resume their duties. She’d stopped at the hospital and heard Nowak’s report on yesterday’s injured—both hospitalized and not. She’d been relieved to learn that the most seriously wounded were all making excellent recoveries, thanks in no small part to a late night visit by Xavier, even though he’d told her he wasn’t going. And damn if that didn’t make it more difficult to hate him.

  It irritated her that she was even thinking about him, much less having trouble hating him. She wanted to put it down to exhaustion, but knew it was more. She was bothered by their trek into the forest last night, and how easy it had been to remain civil, even when he’d told her about his investigation into the use of magic by their enemy. She had to admit that her initial anger that he’d withheld such an important piece of intel had been blown away by the revelation that sorcerers and magic were real. For fuck’s sake, could this operation get any more complicated? And then she’d gone and kissed him. It was as if the universe had decided to have a bit of fun at her expense, to push her and Xavier together and see what happened. The chemistry between them was as electric as ever. She’d have sworn there were literal sparks flying whenever they got too close. As if they each gave off a different chemical, and when circumstance brought them within a certain physical distance . . . boom! Sparks flew and an explosion ensued, resulting in bad decisions and unwise sexual intercourse. She supposed for some people, chemistry was a good thing, but all she’d ever gotten was a broken heart.

  She stopped at the back wall and studied the distant trees, looking for anyone who shouldn’t have been there. She couldn’t see all of it. Xavier’s property stretched for acres and while he was a good neighbor, he was also very particular about maintaining his privacy. Vampires had long memories to go with their long lives, and it wasn’t that long ago that they’d been hunted and murdered in their sleep.

  Finding nothing, which was no more than she’d expected, she exchanged a quick word with the two guards patrolling that quadrant, then continued around the other side until she’d walked the entire distance around the Fortalesa’s wall and was approaching the gate. A rush of childish voices had her turning to look down into the courtyard. The morning cluster of children were heading for the fifteen-passenger van that was the Fortalesa’s version of a school bus. These were the youngest students, nine of them who looked to be from around six to eleven years of age. There were older students, too, but their school day began much earlier, and since a few of them were able to drive, they took turns ferrying each other in a fire-engine red minivan. They all could have been educated privately with
in the Fortalesa, rather than traveling to the nearest town, but the parents and Xavier had long ago decided in favor of the socialization provided by the schools, along with a decent education.

  The number of children living within the Fortalesa was small compared to, say, a modest town of the same population. But the Fortalesa wasn’t typical. At any given time, at least a third of the people living there were vampires, and even a few of them had children, either adopted or brought into the family by their chosen mates. Being a vampire didn’t automatically take away the desire to raise a family.

  In a very real sense, however, the vampires themselves functioned as a large family. Vamps tended to prefer living in groups, for protection if nothing else, but within those groups there was a connection as strong as any human familial bond. And within the Fortalesa, that bond had been extended to include most human residents, but especially the children.

  Vampires were the product of their making and socialization after they were turned. And that was largely a function of the vampire who turned them, which in this case was Xavier. There were definitely some in the Fortalesa who’d been turned by someone else, but those few had taken blood oaths to Xavier, which bound them to him as their master in a very real sense, as in literal life or death. But the oaths were more than that. For all that Layla thought Xavier was an asshole, she acknowledged the powerful sense of loyalty that tied him to his people. If the vampires of the Fortalesa ever went to war, Xavier wouldn’t be in a secure place giving orders over the radio. He’d be leading them from the very front of the pack.

  Smiling at the children’s happy chatter, she set aside thoughts of Xavier and turned to study the surrounding forest and the long, empty road beyond the gate. It was so quiet this morning, in contrast to yesterday’s battle—the non-stop rattle of gunfire, the cries of the wounded and curses of the fighters. And then the abrupt silence as the attackers simply faded away. Before last night, she’d very briefly considered, and immediately discarded, the fantastic idea that the attackers were ghosts.