Raphael shifted. “You know those don’t last nearly as long as we want, so she’s at it again.”
“I wish we could just send her back to hell to her father.”
Nicholas perched on Drake’s desk, his black eyebrows drawn into a V, the emotion in his dark eyes unreadable and dangerous. “If only we could, but unfortunately, we can’t. There’s no spell in existence to do so.”
Drake let out a low whistle. “We can wish all we want, but it won’t make it so.” He turned his face toward Raphael. “What’s going on with business?”
“Don’t you want to talk about Zakara?”
“Nothing we can do about her right now. We’ll have to wait again until the time is right and she’s vulnerable.”
“So true,” Nicholas chimed in. “Okay, as far the business, I’ve found quite a few other lucrative ventures that’ll make all of us even richer.”
Drake laughed low. Since they’d followed Nicholas’s business acumen, all of them had become millionaires many times over through the last few hundred years. “Really? How much money do you think vampires actually need?”
Nicholas’s mouth spread into a mischievous grin. “There’s never such a thing as too much money.”
* * * *
Zakara lolled on the giant bed in the sumptuous room of the mansion she’d rented in Beaumont. Beautiful frescoes decorated the ceiling. Gilded furniture, in the style of Louis XVI, complemented the gorgeous, light-colored walls and the rest of the objets d’ art. She remembered the time of the French Revolution well, for she’d offered Louis and his Queen a way out of their dilemma. They’d refused her and died for their pitiful human convictions. What fools they’d been.
“What are you thinking of, my Queen?”
She rolled over and faced her newest vampire, David Williams. He’d been a cop as a mortal, investigating all of the bloodless murders occurring around Beaumont. One of her vampires, Cecelia, had gotten a little carried away when she had David outside of the club. Cecelia had tried to glamour David into forgetting about the investigation. When that didn’t work, she tried to glamour him into going a different direction. Again, he resisted and attempted to fight her. Cecelia had no other choice but to tear out his throat.
Cecelia came to her after the fact, begging for help and forgiveness. She gave both, the latter only temporarily. Naturally Zakara had cleaned up the mess by going to the hospital and turning David. Procuring a body to substitute for his was the easy part. Enough derelicts and homeless died every day in Beaumont, often with no identification, that she could pick anyone and place David’s toe tag on it. The hospital morgue didn’t hire the brightest of humans to work there, so no one bothered to check the body before its transfer to the crematorium.
“Nothing,” she said and touched his face. “How does it feel be immortal.”
“I’m always hungry,” he said with a sigh. “Will this ever go away?”
“In time, my protégé,” she answered softly and guided his hand down to her waiting pussy. She was always wet and ready for anything. She’d recently worn out her twin playthings, so she decided to give them a rest in the sun, their ashes scattered to the four winds never to be seen again. Good. They’d been good while they lasted.
He jabbed clumsy fingers into her waiting sex, where he halfheartedly tried to finger fuck her. She would have none of it. “Who taught you to fuck?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t have many partners.”
“That’s obvious,” she snapped and pushed his hand out of her cunt. “Well, since we have a bit of time on our hands, protégé, I’m going to teach you to fuck properly so once you have the woman you want, she’ll enjoy your charms.” She didn’t mind instructing—sometimes.
“Ah, I do want her,” he moaned as she pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips.
Moving a bit, she sank down onto his eager cock and manipulated him with internal muscles.
“Except another vampire tried to stop me.”
She froze. “What vampire?”
“I don’t know his name, but he’s a huge vampire with long blond hair.”
Her fiery blood turned to tiny cubes of ice. “Did you say he had long blond hair?”
David nodded. She started her manipulation of his cock again.
Drake.
He’d been flying under her radar for the last few hundred years, though she’d tried to find him in various ways. How he avoided her when the others couldn’t remained a mystery to her. He was the oldest of the bunch and had probably learned a few tricks along the way to hide himself. “I know of the vampire of whom you speak.”
“Who is he, and what does he want with my woman?”
She rose slowly so that his cock nearly slipped from her wet pussy, then drew him back in. He groaned.
“He belongs to me, or he did once.”
“Then keep him away from my woman.”
“All in due time.” She purred and rotated her hips, grinding her sex against his tight balls. “Since they are both something we desire, shall we work together for the same cause?”
His fingers dug into her hips and elicited a modicum of pain flaring up her sides. Pain could be good—sometimes.
“Hell yeah!” He thrust upward hard. “I want Christine McCall.”
“And I want Drake Haaken,” she said. “Shall we fuck to our agreement?”
Zakara proceeded to ride him harder than anyone she’d ever taken to her bed, including Drake. Out of all the vampires she’d ever created, Drake had been among her favorites to make and bed. With his Viking looks and strength, she loved to spend hours with him. Unfortunately, the others had turned his head, and he joined their force instead of hers. How could he forget the power he had? She would have made him king of all vampires but no, he had to leave with the others.
She sped up her strokes and ignored David’s cries of pain. Confidence surged through her veins like an express train. With a little luck, if she got Drake back into the fold, the others would surely follow.
* * * *
Days passed since the incident with Drake in his office, which had left Christine bewildered and utterly confused. How could she have fallen under his spell? She had an investigation to conduct, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be conducting it on his couch.
She tried doing a few things around the house like some sewing or rearranging cabinets. She even ironed, one of her least favorite chores, managing to burn her hands a few times because she didn’t pay attention. Nothing kept her occupied long enough and her mind away from the investigation. She’d begged Lou for daily updates, but every day, it was the same old thing—no new details or leads.
Christine flopped down on the couch she’d fluffed four times this morning for something to do. She couldn’t sit around home and just wonder what was going on. She had to do something about the way things rolled.
She stared at the coffee table. Her cell phone lay next to the small vase of fake flowers. She flicked her gaze next to the phone. A small white business card lay beside the curved plastic case. Several numbers, scrawled in familiar handwriting, dared her to call him.
Christine shook her head. She was nuts if she called him. What would she say? “Thanks for nearly raping me on your couch”?
She laughed. It wasn’t near rape. Actually, it would have been the first lay she had in the last few years. Ever since Jason Schubert, the ever-loving abusive bastard, left her, she’d never allowed anyone to get close. So far, she’d made Jason’s words true.
“You’re poison, and no man will ever love you but me. Look at you! What man would want a bitch of a woman like you? Only me, sweets. God, I pity you.”
A tear misted her eye, and she wiped the hated thing away. Even after all these years, Jason’s words still haunted her. As much as she tried, he never strayed far away from her thoughts, especially when it came to other men.
She pushed all those wild thoughts away from her mind. No time to think about this. There was an investigation to co
nduct.
Picking up her cell phone, she punched Drake’s number before she lost her nerve.
He answered on the first ring and said in his utterly sexy voice, “Hello, beautiful detective.” His tone instantly made her knees weak and her pussy wet. “How can I help you today?”
“Um, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”
“You name the night and hotel, and I’ll be there.”
Deep heat crept up her neck and spread over her cheeks. She clenched her thighs together, holding them tightly to stop her sex from reacting to his sultry invitation. No man ever made her this wet and aching before. “I know you think I’m calling you for sex, but I assure you that I’m not.”
“Really?” He sounded dejected. “I’m hurt.”
“Look, I need your help. If you can’t do it, then I’ll find someone else who can.”
Drake chuckled. “Trust me, no one can help you the way I can.”
“Stop with the sex stuff!” She gripped the phone hard to keep from throwing it across the room and ending the already annoying conversation. She had to keep this on a strictly professional level. “I want to go undercover in your club and find out what I can about David’s death.”
“Why? I told you if I found something, I’d let you know.”
“Not good enough. There are certain questions that need to be asked, and only I can ask them.” Silence greeted her. “Can I count on you or not?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Well, think faster. I need an answer now.”
“Do you realize what sort of dangerous game you’re getting yourself into?”
“I’m a cop, remember? I’ve been undercover more times than I can count. I can handle anything that comes down the pike.”
“All right, I’ll let you come to Berserker undercover, but there’s one condition.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “What’s that?”
“That I protect you. If the situation becomes too dangerous, you’ll obey everything I tell you with no questions asked. Is that understood?”
She wavered for a moment about his demand. “I don’t think can do that.”
“Then I can’t allow you to the club undercover.”
“But—”
“It’s as simple as that. Take it or leave it.”
“How long do I have to give you an answer?”
“About thirty seconds. Once I hang up, that’s it. I never change my mind about anything.”
Christine tapped her nails against the phone in a steady staccato beat. He had her trussed up like a Christmas turkey, and she didn’t have a choice. She needed to continue with the investigation. “All right, but don’t bully me or get in the way of anything.”
“I knew you’d see things my way,” he said in a tone of self-confidence. “When did you want to start?”
She thought hard for a moment. “What about tonight?”
“Wednesday isn’t one of our busiest nights. What about Friday?”
He could be onto something here. “All right. Friday night it is. What should I wear?”
“Your sexiest outfit.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Go to the shop on Martin Boulevard called Rambling Rose and pick out anything you want. Tell them to put in on my account.”
“I can’t do that. It’s a high-end store.”
“So? I own it, so what’s the big deal?”
She was shocked. “You own Rambling Rose?”
“Uh-huh. I also own a few other shops and buildings along street as well as others a couple of blocks away.”
“Is there anything you don’t own?”
His deep laughter caressed her already-on-fire body like the smoothest ripple of silk. “Not much. Now go down there today, and I’ll call Sharon and tell her you’re coming down.”
“Who’s Sharon?”
“The woman who manages it for me.”
“If you’re sure—”
“Of course I’m sure. Don’t spare any expense at all.”
“Okay then. I’ll head on down there in an hour.”
“That’s my girl. See you on Friday.”
A distant click and hum told her he’d hung up and would avoid anymore of her protests.
Christine flipped her own phone closed and tossed it on the table. What should she do? She couldn’t ask a man she barely knew to pay for her expenses. She sat for a moment and debated. If she didn’t show up within the promised time frame, she could almost guarantee he’d be calling her to find out why she didn’t show up or, worse, find out where she lived and drag her out of her apartment.
A slight giggle escaped her. He’d never find out where she lived. That was a closely guarded secret for her safety.
Christine bounced of the sofa and jumped in the shower. Within a half an hour, she was in her Mustang speeding down toward Rambling Rose. She parked; walked into the elegant, upscale store; and was completely blown away. Red and gold glimmered around the walls decorated with gilt mirrors. Scarlet bunting covered the ceiling, bunched at the center to highlight the cut-crystal chandelier hanging overhead.
“Hi! You must be Christine,” a well-manicured redhead called out from behind the counter.
Christine couldn’t help but notice the woman’s hair had been dyed the same shade as the walls.
“I’m Sharon. Mr. Haaken had called and said you’d be coming down to pick out some things.”
“Drake can be very generous, almost too generous.”
“Yes, Mr. Haaken is a very giving man. He’s helped out quite a few folks around here, including me.”
Christine frowned at the formal use of his name. Not many people she knew referred to their bosses by their last name only. “You don’t call him Drake?”
Sharon shook her shocking crimson head with a slow swing. “Absolutely not. None of us who work for him call him by his first name.”
“His choice or yours?”
Sharon shrugged her thin shoulders. “It’s an unspoken understanding. Can’t explain why, but none of us has ever felt compelled enough to call him by his first name.” She pointed to a row of dresses. “Shall we begin?”
Two hours later, Christine racked up almost ten thousand dollars’ worth in charges. She picked out several dresses, shoes, bras, and panties. Sharon didn’t blink an eyelash when Christine tried on dress after dress, unable to decide between colors and varying lengths.
“You know, you spent a lot less than he thought you would,” Sharon remarked while she put everything into the computer. “He thought you’d spend about twenty thousand.”
Her stomach curled into a tight knot. “On second thought, let me just put this stuff back. I don’t really need this.”
“Not allowed. No returns for me. Besides, Mr. Haaken told me you’re not to put anything back you’ve chosen.”
A wave of uneasiness settled on Christine, and she leaned on the counter for support. She’d never spent this much on anything, much less clothing. It made her nauseated. “Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’m not a kept woman by Mr. Haaken or by any man. He’s a friend who’s helping me out.”
Sharon continued to put the number into the computer, not bothering to look up. “I’m not here to judge. As I’ve told you, Mr. Haaken is a very wealthy and very kind, so he spreads his wealth where he sees fit. Nothing more, nothing less.” She let out a long breath. “Finished! Did you want to take everything with you, or did you want it all sent over to your apartment?”
The thought of lugging all of the stuff up multiple flights of steps didn’t’ thrill her to say the least. “I guess I’ll have them sent over.” She gave Sharon her address. “You will keep this private right? I had a problem with a stalker a few years ago, and I don’t want him showing up on my doorstep.”
“Absolutely. We pride ourselves on complete customer privacy. Actually, Mr. Haaken insists on it.”
“Great,” she said and shouldered her purse. “I guess I best be going.”
“Is this Christine McCall?”
She almost screamed at the kind woman about getting her number, but she thought the better of it. Mentally, she counted to ten. “How can I help you?”
“This is Pandora’s Salon and Spa confirming your appointment on Friday at three.”
Christine nearly fainted. Pandora’s was the most expensive and upscale salon in Beaumont. Rumor had it that celebrities often flew in and spent a week at Pandora’s just to “get away.” She could never afford it. “I never made an appointment.”
“One was made for you by the owner.”
Her fingers curled around the base of the phone, tight and unyielding. Drake was at it again. “What sort of appointment?”
“You’re to have a full day of beauty treatment plus hair, cut and color,” the woman informed her.
She paused for a brief moment and ordered, “Cancel it.”
“I’m afraid I’m not allowed.”
Christine cupped her hand over the phone and muttered in a quiet voice, “I can’t afford that.”
“Your expenses are all taken care of.”
Christine leaned against the counter and pondered the marvelous gift Drake offered. At the same time, she didn’t want to be made to feel like a kept woman. She sighed. “Thanks. I’ll be there. Bye.” She snapped her phone shut and turned to Sharon. “Can I have everything delivered on Friday in the morning?”
“Absolutely,” Sharon said and curved around the counter. She walked Christine to the door. “Don’t worry about a thing. You’re in great hands.”
Christine left the store feeling a bit more bewildered than when she entered. How could a man she barely knew spend this kind of money on her? Better yet, how could she let him?
* * * *
Friday came in a rush, almost too fast for Christine’s liking. The things she’d picked out at Rambling Rose came in neat little packages, and she had to admit she had fun looking at everything again and finding spots in the closet for all her new stuff. She especially loved all the new shoes she picked out. Most of them were platform heels, some higher than others.
Ranson, Tracy L. - Prince of Darkness [Bloodborn 3] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 5
