Straightening his crisply ironed blue Oxford shirt, he faced his hand-picked supernatural. Roger Corbetti, his unofficial enforcer, sprawled in a chair. The big were-tiger had served Radu well in the past.
“Roger, the Tualatin Mountain Homeless Shelter has integrated. This throws my plans into complete disorder. In less than a day, this priest, Soleil”—the name tasted terrible on his tongue—“has managed to upstage the entire conference. I just got asked if he’d be my vice president! The media has called him the greatest proponent of civil rights since Martin Luther King, Jr. That is my title.” He jabbed his finger into the air, outraged.
“Yes, boss.” Roger stood up, ready to get to work. As a man, Roger was built like a tank, broad shoulders tapering down to a firm waist.
Unthinkingly, Radu smoothed his hand down his own flat stomach, making sure nothing sagged.
Radu pointed at the were-tiger. “Later this evening, that bastard is going to give a press conference at the Hollywood Theater.”
Roger growled eagerly under his breath. “I’ll be there.” He was a man of few words. The shape-shifter escaped through the open windows so smoothly that no one even got a photograph of him.
The so-called priest wouldn’t stand a chance. Only a vampire could beat the were-tiger’s strength.
Radu knew exactly where all the vampires were. Right now, the three left in the world were in this hotel. Himself, Joe, and the third…. Well.
Umar, Radu’s were-hawk advisor, escorted in a vampire with a shaved head, layered punk rock shirts, ragged jeans, and stained combat boots. When the door closed behind Umar, leaving them alone, the younger vampire sat and put those horrible shoes on a round table’s pristine tablecloth.
In the quiet elegance, he looked like a black eye on a beautiful woman.
“Why have you brought me here, Randall?”
Radu narrowed his eyes at Anthony O’Neill. His last surviving spawn never failed to rebel. Some nonsense about being Irish. Or French. Or it could be the circumstances of Anthony’s making.
But Anthony’s past made him valuable. A risky choice but necessary.
“You know I go by my name again.” Radu waved his hand, avoiding looking at the damaged nail.
Anthony shook his head. “Something wrong with the old manicure?” he asked, his disdain ripe in the air even though his tone was polite.
Angry, Radu gathered his powers. Time to remind his rebellious child who was in charge.
A tiny hole appeared in Anthony’s throat. A pinprick at first, but Radu drilled his determination into the bald man’s flesh. A bead of blood pooled and spilled away from the tear as Radu’s concentrated willpower penetrated like an ice pick into Anthony’s undead body.
Blood dripped down Anthony’s black T-shirt. As the wound deepened, the drip turned into a fountain, eventually soaking into his ragged jeans.
For long moments, he kept his eyes locked on Radu, defiant until the puncture reached his spinal cord. A little more pressure to the spine, and Anthony would be beheaded. And finally dead.
The Irishman closed his green eyes, giving in. Radu smiled. He loved the rush his power gave him.
Anthony futilely wiped at the mess left of his throat. It would heal in its own sweet time.
Another reason why Radu loved the Governor? They were so good with cleaning up blood.
“Someone you know very well will be at the conference. You are to discredit her.” Radu snapped off the order.
Beaten and dripping gore, Anthony bowed his head. “Anything else?” he asked.
“No.”
The Irishman headed toward the door. Even though Radu’s child was under seventy, he moved like an old, old man. The young vampire quietly left the room.
Radu narrowed his eyes. He was suspicious of Anthony’s quick capitulation. His slippery make never gave in this easily. There had to be a catch.
He’d find out soon enough what Anthony’s game was. The younger vampire couldn’t keep his master out of his head for any length of time.
In the most basic terms, a vampire created another by feeding a human blood and tears. Even though vampires wept tears of blood, the transformation needed both substances. Radu had never bothered to find out why.
No one ever mentioned how individual each Change was. When Radu had dripped his fluids into Anthony’s reluctant mouth, the struggling man had bitten Radu’s fingers. Some of Anthony’s saliva had mixed with Radu, creating an unusual mental bond between the two. Radu could control Anthony’s behavior. Conversely, Anthony knew just what was going on in Radu’s head.
As a result, each knew just how much the other despised him. It was an uncomfortable co-existence.
After Anthony left, the third known vampire in the world crossed the threshold into the meeting room. From a chance meeting in a smoky bar in Paris, Radu had founded the CCC with Joe Carter back in 1969. Ever since then, Joe had been Radu’s advisor and attorney. The handsome black vampire was a valuable asset, but Radu knew little about him. Radu occasionally wondered who Joe’s maker had been, but Joe never told. Unusual. Radu dismissed the thought when Joe spoke.
“Governor Green on the phone for you again.”
“What does he want?” Radu countered.
“He is curious about your choice of vice president.”
“What state is he from, again?” Radu couldn’t keep all of them apart. Seizing power in the old days in Europe had been more violent, but certainly more straightforward.
“Wisconsin. He’s a wildly popular governor with a very unpredictable populace.” Joe’s memory was always useful.
“Very well. I’ll take it.”
Joe reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gold and red iPhone.
Radu took the slim machine and did not thank his advisor. Face bland, Joe left the room as Radu greeted, “Hello, Governor Green!”
Chapter 9
Immersed in the heady scents of rage, hot blood, and popcorn, Valerie scrutinized the turret-decorated walls of the Hollywood Theater. Protestors of all shapes and kinds crammed the forty blocks between the theater and the shelter. The entire city swam with the electricity of lightning-fast change. People still in their Halloween costumes chanted along with parents and sleepy-looking children. Silent and serious, Valerie tucked herself against the wine shop across the street.
In twenty minutes, the delicious Father Lance Soleil would speak to the world on his decision to allow werewolves into the Tualatin Mountain Homeless Shelter. Valerie unconsciously licked her lips at the thought.
“Demons, go back to hell!” a female protestor shouted near Valerie’s sensitive ear.
Valerie ignored her.
A man in a black kilt yelled back, “Everyone deserves equal rights!”
What a sweet darling, she thought fleetingly. His misplaced chivalry momentarily warmed her.
As the mob swallowed him and the woman again, Valerie looked to the west. The crowds were too packed to allow passage for Radu’s white limo. It squatted like a malicious albino Gila monster amongst the swarming mass. A phalanx of security and police escorted her brother through the noise and chaos into the building.
Valerie didn’t care that she was witnessing history. Yet again. She just wanted to get on with her undeath. In order for that to happen, she had to kill Radu. In order to kill Radu, she had to get into the theater.
Police covered every entrance. Not just human police, either. From shape-shifters to giant animals, all were out in force. An enormous were-spider skittered by. Several squirming silk bags filled with angry, squirming protestors dangled from her abdomen. Not even a vampire could sneak through that much security. The only way in was straight through the barricaded front doors. This would not be easy. She shrugged. What about tonight had been easy?
It was rapidly getting more difficult. Right in front of her, an older human brandished a broken bottle at a crying little girl wearing pink ribbons.
“Keep her away from me!” he shrieked.
Her curved baby nose morphed into a bear’s snout as she howled for her mother. A policewoman wearing leather gloves reached for the toddler, but another screaming human got in the way.
Lucifer’s blood, Valerie thought, save her from stupid mortal antics. If the child got trampled, she would never get inside to finish her job.
Impatiently, she snatched the child up by the straps of her overalls. When the cub wailed in fear, Valerie slung an arm under the diaper-stiff denim and held the girl against her shoulder. Unthinking, she patted the heaving back in ancient, soothing rhythms of comfort.
A muscular brown-haired woman frantically waved her beefy arms over the heads of the crowds. Valerie nodded, silently telling her that her child was safe.
“Everything is fine, little one. I see your mother.”
The little girl rewarded Valerie for her good deed with renewed sobbing and a mucus-laden nose in her lapel. She automatically hitched the child closer as she evaluated the crowd between her and the mother bear.
The mood was getting ugly. The crowd had started on the path of becoming a mob. Disagreements turned into shoving matches. An older woman holding a sign reading GOD HATES DEMONS shoved into Valerie’s path. She jabbed two gnarled fingers in the child’s back.
“Be gone, you disgusting hell-creature!” she screamed, her breath a disgusting blast of sour old milk. The baby screeched louder.
By Lucifer’s dirty fingernails, what was wrong with these humans? Valerie thrust two fast fingers in the woman’s solar plexus and pressed past her as she bent double. But the drama didn’t end there.
Across the street, someone picked up the man’s broken bottle and waved it in the mother bear’s face. She raised a claw-tipped hand and roared.
Valerie mentally slapped her forehead. Why did people knowingly get between bears and their cubs? Were they completely devoid of self-preservation?
Before all hell could break loose, the spider’s webbing zipped overhead. Inescapable, sticky ropes trapped the threatening bottle.
The crowd quieted as the spider pulled the man away from the bear. Valerie nodded in approval. Obviously the were-arachnid had superior strategy sense.
“Mama!” the baby wailed.
Now that the coast was clear, Valerie could act. She rubbed the small bear’s back. “Do you like to fly?” she whispered in the tiny, furry ear.
Curious big brown eyes met hers. “Wha?”
Valerie smiled. “Zoom! Go zoom?”
“Zoooooom!” the child crowed and flapped her arms.
Valerie swung the toddler down, and then lightly tossed her through the air. The girl flew through the air over dozens of heads. The policewoman caught her with strong, steady hands. Tears turned to happy cries as the mother and cub reunited. The policewoman shot Valerie a quick salute of thanks.
Before she could respond, Radu and his coterie broke through to the barricade. The police reached for the door handles.
Time to go.
Valerie slithered to the front of the crowd. If she moved fast enough, she could take the high ground and kill Radu from a distance by using her stake as a dart. Finishing him here, in front of the authorities, would get her arrested. Or staked. Not pleasant choices.
The police opened the doors to escort Radu in. Now was her chance.
Unleashing her full vampiric speed, she slipped between the police, around her brother, past the barricades, and into the theater before anyone could see her. No other supernatural being moved as fast as a motivated vampire.
“Windy tonight,” one of the police said. Radu frowned, but didn’t comment. He obviously didn’t believe any other vampires survived.
The others murmured assent, but by then, she was deep inside the theater.
Valerie shook with motivation tonight. A few more minutes and Radu would be dead before the cameras started rolling.
Chapter 10
Lance perched on the hard edge of a red velvet theater seat, elbows resting on his knees, staring at his one-page statement. Usually he enjoyed the charming interior of the turn-of-the-century theater with its three movie screens and narrow balconies, but not tonight. The black and white of the paper in front of him absorbed all his concentration.
This speech sucked. It sucked like a universe-swallowing black hole. It sucked like a giant sucking thing.
But it was the best he had. His shelter needed him back twenty minutes ago. Jane, the assistant director, had called with panic in her voice. Nothing ever rattled Jane. Every homeless PNC in the city, frantic for food and a dry floor, had mobbed the shelter. Tempers were flaring in the dining room.
More desperate suck.
Worse, he’d have to speak on the stage. In front of cameras. Sweet God.
The air stirred around him, raising hard-honed instincts at the base of his neck.
Without looking, he dove toward the sticky cement floor and tucked into a somersault. He came up in a fighting crouch only to get caught in the gaze of the vampiress he so yearned to possess. His inconvenient desire would not leave him alone.
His future stood before him. No longer pale, controlled death on two legs, but flushed, her eyes sparking with some strong emotion.
It didn’t matter how she got in, Lance thought. The woman was here, and barely two feet away from him.
She was hardly conventionally attractive. Her cheekbones jackknifed away from her narrow face. Those deep-set hazel eyes and thick eyebrows gave her a serious, shadowed expression. Black hair, brushed severely away from her high forehead, revealed a widow’s peak and dainty ears, each one adorned with three diamond earrings. A hard kind of beauty. Lance knew the truth of the cliché of beauty hiding danger.
Her gaze traveled his body, boldly checking him out like a man would look at a woman. Something hotter and badder replaced the anger in her eyes. Her passion ignited his.
She licked her lips, staring at him like he was the most delicious thing she had ever seen; water in the desert, soup to a starving prisoner, coffee ice cream with hot fudge on a bad day. Her desire hit him like a warm slap of water.
Only once had any being ever before looked at him with such blatant lust. His penis thumped against the constraint of his zipper.
Seeing his bulge, a lewd, knowing smile tipped her face into wicked pleasure. Her hip cocked to one side, exaggerating the curve of her. Unthinking, Lance hooked his thumbs into his front belt loops, framing his crotch.
“Can I help you?” he offered, his voice calm in comparison to his arousal.
He would never forget her first words to him.
“I should kill you. You complicate my life.” A slight accent gave her voice a hypnotic, dangerous lilt.
At that moment, Lance knew that she had let Chad live as a favor to him. Why would she do that? He’d find out eventually, but for now, he had more important things to learn.
He ambled closer. “You should. Then I wouldn’t have to give this speech,” he countered.
She moved in enough for him to smell rosemary and incense. He reached to pull her closer by her belt loops.
The doors opened and the floor thundered with the pounding of feet. Radu Tepes’s entourage entered the room. Camera lights flooded the room.
Breaking eye contact, his woman swung around, her black coat swinging in her wake. The wings of a gold dragon spanned from shoulder to shoulder, gleaming against the soft fabric. He watched it fly away as she disappeared upstairs.
She’d left him to the dubious mercy of the press.
Chapter 11
In the upstairs hall, Valerie sighed in exasperation at her behavior. How could she delay herself again? How could someone nearly six hundred years old act like a—what was the word she wanted? Dorky. A dorky, hormonal teenager. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Control yourself, she warned her clit.
Arousal wasn’t new. For Lucifer’s sake, she was over six hundred years old.
But sex was easy to sublimate. She’d always been more violent than sexual, even as a human.
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br /> To be Freudian about it, Eros hadn’t been on her radar. Thanatos, Death, was her companion. A response like this, after all these years, embarrassed her. She set her jaw. Sex on toast or not, she came to kill, not to tease out Lance’s spicy scent from all the others in the crowded room. An aching spot between her legs proved her a liar.
Lance started his speech, but she refused to listen. She propped her hips against the rough plaster of the building, tucking one knee up and tipping her head back to look at the dim ceiling. No tears, she demanded of herself, even as her eyes tingled in threat.
She couldn’t risk her secrets. Too much depended on Dracula remaining dead. She also knew damn well that lovers wouldn’t stay with a furtive, untrusting partner. How could she afford to follow this fragile, erotic promise, delightful as it was?
The resident ghost floated past. It nodded and continued its rounds.
Everyone Valerie loved died. Usually by her own hand.
She had no choice. It was time to pull herself together and finally finish Radu. She silently stalked to the balcony to listen to Lance’s lion’s tongue voice capture the world.
“Tonight, I did not make history. Tonight, I did not change the world. I am not a hero, nor am I a devil. We are all fallible. We all suffer. All of us need a place to sleep.
“Tonight, I only did my duty to those who hunger and thirst, who need a place that is warm and dry. If you look into my past, and I know you will, you will see that I have done many things, for good and ill. I will tell you this now: Sometimes life lets you make up for your mistakes.
“If I have angered you with my actions tonight, I consider that the price I have to pay for the wrongs I have committed.
“If fear holds you, let it go. If fury consumes you, be at peace.
“Good night.”
At his words, Valerie’s knees, always so reliable, buckled. Silently, she landed on the floor.
Something hot and alive kicked in her chest, almost as if she’d swallowed a rat whole instead of drinking it. She touched her curled knuckles to her breastbone, half expecting her heart to beat.
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