by Vivi Anna
He hadn’t known until he was well and thoroughly smitten with her that Marta was a vampiress. By then, he didn’t care. He just wanted to be with her all the time. His work even suffered. Richard, his superior, noticed and called him on it. His obsession with her had gotten so deep that Cale had almost quit so he could be with her all the time. Thankfully, he saw the light in time to save his career.
It had been a Friday night, and the two of them were out on a date. They went out for dinner, drinks and dancing, then back to her place. He’d had quite a bit of wine and had been feeling no pain. When they went to bed at her place, Cale had been expecting the usual amazing sex. Marta had been extremely skilled in the bedroom, but the few times before when she’d asked if she could bite him, he had refused.
This time, though, she’d decided not to ask for permission.
During oral sex, she’d bitten him in his femoral artery. At first the pain was immense and he tried to fight her off, but eventually it faded into total bliss. Even now he couldn’t really describe the ultimate pleasure he’d felt. But deep down in his soul he’d known he’d been violated. His trust had been shattered.
After Marta had her fill of his blood, he’d rolled off the bed and grabbed his clothes. His vision had been blurred and it felt as if he was very drunk, but he managed to get out of the house and drive back to his place. He hadn’t been sure exactly how he’d made it, though. He’d known he’d been weaving all over the road. It still surprised him that someone hadn’t gotten hurt by his recklessness. But he had to get away. If he’d stayed in that house, he would’ve killed Marta.
After that night, Cale never saw her again. She must’ve known his feelings, because she didn’t try to contact him. It was as if the relationship had never happened. He’d stripped his apartment bare of any traces of her. He tossed out all the gifts she’d given him and erased her phone numbers from his home and cell phones.
He dived back into work. He became a better agent. Worked harder, worked longer and never asked for any time off. Richard was at first ecstatic, but after a while, when Cale turned sullen and isolated, he began to worry and told him to get some therapy.
But Cale never did. He didn’t need it. He was as cured as he was ever going to be.
At least he thought he was.
Being around Olena was bringing up all his feelings from the past. He knew deep down that Olena wasn’t Marta. That they were completely different women. But it still didn’t stop him from panicking when Olena had kissed him. He couldn’t deny he wanted her, but he found it difficult to let down his guard. When her fingers had fluttered at the zipper of his pants, flashes of her fangs digging deep into his thigh had raced through his mind. A shiver had raced down his spine. It was a mixture of fear and excitement. That was what bothered him the most. His conflicted emotions.
They would only get in his way of doing his job. And for Cale, the job was the only thing that mattered anymore.
Once dressed, Cale went into the living area and called room service. He couldn’t sleep, but he definitely could eat. He’d need his energy for what was to come. A magical sex club was going to be an interesting experience to say the least.
As he waited for the food to arrive, Cale booted up his laptop. He wanted to do some more research on the victim, Luc Dubois, and his ties to organized crime. He also wanted to know more about Phantasia. There was nothing worse than an awestruck human walking around a place where hungry predators like vampires and lycans lurked. He couldn’t go in there appearing weak. They would eat him alive.
While he accessed Interpol’s interface, Cale considered all that he’d been able to glean with his telepathy. Olena had been right about the timetable of his arrival. He had already been on the plane to France when the explosion happened at the National Bank of Nouveau Monde.
He’d been working another case, a bomb scare in Paris. There had been a call warning about a bomb on the Eiffel Tower set to blow precisely at noon. The bomb squad had found the bomb and been able to dismantle it just in time. When Cale had inspected the bomb, he got flickers of images in his mind as he touched the wires. He received an image of a vampire, dirty and unkempt, talking about blowing up the bank. And another image of the same guy talking about a virus.
Whoever had constructed the bomb in Paris had something to do with the explosives that took out the safety-deposit boxes in Nouveau Monde. He might not be the person who did the job, but he’d definitely helped build the mechanism.
Cale had convinced Richard to let him go to Nouveau Monde and investigate further. When he’d mentioned the word virus, the Interpol boss got very twitchy. With its catastrophic ramifications, chemical warfare scared everyone inside the agency. But now that Cale was here in the city and saw the destruction in the bank and where it led to, he didn’t think this had anything to do with biological weaponry. He had another hunch, but he wasn’t quite ready to share that with anyone. Not Richard at Interpol and definitely not Olena.
One o’clock came quickly as he ate and flipped through information on the club and the owners. By the time Olena knocked on his hotel room door, Cale thought he was prepared to enter Phantasia and speak with the people involved.
But once he saw Olena standing in the doorway expectantly, he wished he’d done some preparation to see her again. Despite his reservations about getting involved with her, the sight of her still punched him in the gut. She was a stunner. More beautiful than any woman he’d seen before. And it wasn’t just her looks. There was something almost ethereal about her.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked.
He nodded and then turned to get his suit jacket hanging on the back of the chair. Olena had yet to step into the room. He wondered if it was because he hadn’t invited her to. He knew that myth about vampires having to be invited was just that—a myth—but he wondered if Olena abided by it to make a point. To give him some sort of control over their partnership. If so, he respected her for that, even if it was purely semantics.
“Here.” She thrust out her hand toward him. Hanging from between her fingers was a leather rope with a heavy-looking piece of silver on the end. “You’ll need this.”
Cale took it. “What is it?”
“It’s a charmed amulet for protection. François makes them for the team. He’s skilled in defense magic.”
“Do I need to worry about going to this club?” He put the necklace over his head. The amulet was weighty and substantial. He could feel warmth emanating from it even through the cotton of his shirt.
She shrugged. “There’s always a level of danger when dealing with witches. The powerful ones can be very hard to read. Unpredictable.” She said the last bit with a sly smile on her face. She was obviously having a bit of fun at his expense.
“You aren’t very funny.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She turned to leave. “Are you ready?”
He nodded, and shut the door firmly behind him.
As they walked the hall, Olena regarded him. “Seriously, though, you know that I will have to do most of the talking.”
“I know about vampire politics.”
“Good.” As they neared the elevators, she pressed the down button. “Then we shouldn’t have any problems.”
The obvious statement shouldn’t have given Cale the shivers. But it did. Because he had a feeling that something was going to happen to them at the club. He wasn’t exactly sure what, but so far this case and his new partner were becoming more interesting and seriously more dangerous by the second.
Chapter 9
Olena had been to Phantasia only once before. That had been back about sixty years ago, during the Second World War, way before she got involved in crime-scene investigation. The club hadn’t been called Phantasia back then, but it had catered to the same clientele, and she imagined still had the same owners. Vampires tended to hold on to things a lot longer than most people. And sentimentality had nothing to do with it. It was always about money and power.
The
club was a decadent mixture of fifteenth-century Spanish Inquisition and cabaret. Candles flickered in glass holders fixed along the rock walls, giving the place both a romantic atmosphere and a spooky one. Red velvet sofas and ornate high-backed chairs decorated with sparkling gems lined the walls and dotted the floor around the stage. Men and women in various types of costume, some almost nude, draped themselves lustfully across the soft, rich fabric of the sofas. They were all under one kind of spell or another. Some came to get high on magic and others to quench their decadent desires. Some both.
There were several black rope trapezes hanging from the high ceilings, every one occupied by either a man or a woman barely clothed in leather or silk. Olena caught Cale’s stunned look as his gaze swept the crowded club. When he glanced up and saw the scantily clad woman swinging above him, her blue eyes the only thing visible behind the fanciful mask, his eyes nearly bugged out. If they hadn’t been there for such a serious matter, she might’ve laughed at his reaction. Or taken advantage of it.
For now, she accepted it and tugging on his arm pointed toward the bar. He nodded and followed through the gyrating throng of people. The sounds thumping through the wall-mounted speakers was a mixture of music from around the world. Gaelic verse mixed with African tribal drumming. But what was between the lyrics and rhythm was important. That was where the magic was imbedded.
When they neared the bar, Olena wrapped a hand around the amulet she wore. Silently she thanked François for making them. Because the music seemed extra intense. She could feel tendrils of magic tickling her skin, trying hard to gain entrance into her psyche. She glanced back at Cale and saw the same intense determination on his face. She wondered if he knew exactly what he was fighting.
Partygoers made room at the bar for them. Cale’s suit must’ve given them away. No one came to Phantasia in a suit unless they were police.
She leaned on the counter and stared at the bartender. He tried desperately to ignore her, but when she crooked her finger toward him he obeyed, albeit reluctantly. He shuffled toward her, wiping his hands on a towel.
“What do you want?”
“To talk to whoever is in charge,” she said, laying on her power of persuasion. The bartender nearly swooned in her presence, and then he shook his head and pointed toward a red door in the corner of the club.
Olena motioned toward the door. Cale nodded and followed her across the room. As she walked, she glanced over at him and noticed the sweat dripping from his forehead.
She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sweating.”
“It’s hot in here.”
She lifted one eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s all?”
“Yeah, why else would I be sweating?”
“The magic in here is really powerful. Even I’m feeling it a little.” And boy, did she. Her thighs were tingling as if an electrical current was surging through them.
He frowned and tugged his hand out of hers. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s just do our jobs.”
“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if you suddenly get the urge to hump something.” She smirked.
“Not going to happen.”
She knocked on the red door. It opened, and a big bruiser of a guy stepped out. He was a lycan. Tough as steel and loyal to whom they served, lycans made incredibly tough bodyguards, bouncers and bruisers.
“You have the wrong door,” he said.
Cale produced his Interpol badge and flashed it at the guy. “This is a get-inside-free card. Get me?”
The guard glanced around the room and then opened the door wider, inviting them in. Olena went in first, followed by Cale. The guard shut the door, then swung his beefy arm down the hall, motioning them to walk forward.
Soon they were ushered into another room, a big room with several big people in it. Two more beefy guards stood along one wall, and two men—one was definitely a vampire, the other most likely a witch—sat behind the huge glass-and-chrome desk that dominated the room. They were obviously in charge.
Olena glanced at the dark-haired man, the witch, in the red silk shirt, leaning back in his leather chair. He was smiling and looking very relaxed. She decided to start her questions with him. It might prove to be a safer bet.
She stood in front of the desk, her hands on her hips. “Are you Valentino DeCosta?”
His smile brightened. “In the flesh. And you are?”
“Olena Petrovich of the NMPD. This is Cale Braxton of Interpol. We are here to ask you a few questions about Luc Dubois.”
He steepled his fingers on top of the desk. The jewels on his rings flashed in the bright light. “What did Luc do now?”
“He died,” Cale answered.
“How?”
“Badly, by the looks of his mutilated body.”
Olena glanced over at Cale. He’d not yet taken his eyes off Valentino. She was glad that he understood why she’d started with the witch; that way Cale could get in his licks. When it was the vampire’s turn, the agent would have to keep his mouth shut and let her do all the talking.
“So what is it you want to know?”
“Did he have any enemies?”
Valentino smiled. “Of course he did. A long list.”
“Would you be included in that list?”
“No. We all loved Luc.” He lifted his hands and gestured to the room. “Didn’t we?”
All the men in the room laughed at that, except for Otto Krause, the vampire. Olena knew of him.
He was a power-hungry leech trying to make a name for himself in the vampire hierarchy. And he was staring at Cale, a predatory gleam in his dark eyes, as if he was trying to decide which limb of Cale’s to rip off first.
“Why is a human Interpol agent in my club?”
Cale visibly stiffened when Otto spoke. Olena realized that his power was probably power-speaking. All vampires had some sort of extra power besides the increased strength, long life, and superior eyesight. She could seduce anyone whenever she wanted. This vamp could probably burst a person’s eardrums just by screaming.
Cale was about to say something when Olena braced her hand against his arm to silence him.
“He’s here with me. Under my protection.”
The vampire smiled, and the tips of his fangs distended just a little bit. It was an act of aggression.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, I didn’t.” Olena smiled right back, baring her own fangs. He was sorely mistaken if he thought he could intimidate her. She’d been around a lot longer than he had. By the smell of him, this vampire was no more than one hundred years old.
Otto leaned forward, eyeing her. “You know, you look very familiar, Ms. Petrovich. Have you been here before?”
Ignoring the question, Olena asked one of her own to the witch, which she knew was a huge insult to the vampire. “Did Luc have any family? Anyone with access to his home?”
Valentino shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. If he did, he never spoke of anyone. Luc liked to party, so I imagine there might be tons of people with access to his home.”
“Any girlfriends or lovers?”
He smirked. “Who wasn’t on his rack one time or another?”
“I don’t know. Were you?”
He shook his head and glanced around the room.
“Not me, darling.”
Olena noticed his gaze lingering a little longer on the vampire.
She turned toward him. “And you, Otto, have you been on Luc Dubois’s rack a time or two?”
He moved faster than she’d given him credit for. Within seconds, he’d jumped over the desk and had her pressed up against the wall, his hand wrapped around her throat.
Cale drew his weapon and pointed it at Otto, which sent the room into a panic. All the bodyguards drew their guns and pointed them at Cale and Olena.
“Let her go, mate, or I’ll put a silver bullet through your skull,” C
ale growled.
Otto never took his eyes off of Olena as he snarled, “I’m going to rip out your throat, bitch.”
She saw the fury there in his face, but she also saw something else that gave her pause. Sorrow. She’d been right to goad him. This was where the real story was, the real pain. It was obvious to her now that Otto and Luc had been more than just business partners. There was real, honest grief in his dark gaze. He’d had feelings for Luc. Maybe he had even loved him.
“It’s all right, Cale. Otto’s not going to hurt me. You can put your weapon away.”
But Cale wasn’t moving. His gun was still pointed at the vampire’s head, unwavering, unflinching.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, bitch.”
“Oh, I would.” She lifted one eyebrow. “Look down.”
Otto glanced down between their bodies and finally noticed the silver blade she had pointed at his heart. The tip was digging into his shirt. His adrenaline was racing so hot and high that he likely hadn’t felt it when she drew it from her sleeve and pressed it to his body.
“You see, Otto just wants to talk.” She poked him a little harder. “Don’t you, Otto?”
He started to laugh, then drew back, releasing his hold on her neck. He ran a shaky hand through his long blond hair and returned to his seat behind the desk.
Cale slowly holstered his gun, never taking his eyes off of the vampire. The guards followed suit and slid theirs away, too.
Olena brushed the front of her shirt. “Now can we get some real answers?”
“Leave us,” Otto commanded.
The guards had no choice but to obey. Olena even had the fleeting sense of wanting to leave the room as well. But she planted her feet firmly on the floor, waiting for the bodyguards to leave them alone.
Valentino glanced at Otto with a question in his eyes.
Otto nodded. “You, too, Valentino. Please.”
