“David.”
“David, we’re here to help. Whoever referred you here received the same treatment and wouldn’t have sent you if they were uncomfortable.”
He lowered his eyes.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of in feeding. We may not be human, but we’re certainly not the animals therians have painted us to be.”
When he finally looked up, Dylan watched his expression change. Shadows shifted across his face.
“What if therians are right? What happens if I want to be an animal?” He grabbed the clipboard, his nails curling over the silver edge. “Could you offer protection to those I left behind if I . . . lost control?”
Words abandoned Dylan’s tongue, rendering her speechless. What if therians were right? How could he think such a thing? Therians had spent the last hundred years trying to prove vampires were out of control and leading society toward destruction, even though the numbers of vampire street feedings were at an all-time low. Dylan had the numbing realization that this vampire was not like the others she treated. He wasn’t a victim looking for help from his natural-born urges. He didn’t want to blend with society, break prejudices and unfair barriers imposed by shape-shifters across Crimson Bay.
The idea that this shaky vamp wanted to become the animal therians believed he was blew Dylan’s mind. “We don’t offer that kind of service. I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.”
He snatched her tiny wrist and squeezed, his eyes glossy with desperation. “Please don’t send me away. This is the only place left for me to go.”
“Surely your khiss could better guide you or offer private counseling services.”
“They’re after me.” He checked the door over his shoulder. “And I can’t run from my fate much longer.”
“Who’s after you? Your khiss?”
“The Court,” he whispered.
She twisted her wrist in his grip. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Court isn’t after anyone. Their sole purpose is to organize our society, not draw attention to its members by making them attack mundanes.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know the Court has organized an effective system. It’s worked for centuries.” And it was the system that had funded ReVamp from the beginning, giving them a leg up on finding what was tainting their blood supply. They didn’t have any leads yet, but with the Court’s assistance, it wouldn’t be long until they discovered what was weakening the wills of vampires across the area. Although bloodlusting street crimes were at a record low, they were climbing, despite her best efforts.
Dylan moved her free hand beneath the counter to the emergency button. The one that would call her guard, her protector, into the room in a flash. “Now let go of my arm before you lose your head.”
Blood-red eyes measured her face, her fear. And then David let go of her steady hand. “You don’t understand. They want to enlighten me.”
Dylan’s heart warmed at the thought. His aversion to the vampire equivalent of modern-day marriage was laughable. She moved her fingers away from the glowing red button beneath the counter. He wasn’t a danger after all; he merely had a case of extremely cold feet. Funny thought, considering vampire lore would have mundanes believe vampires were inherently frigid to begin with.
She shuffled through closing-shift paperwork, the pressure in the lobby lifted. “So let yourself be enlightened. There are worse things that could happen than being a part of one of our oldest, most revered ceremonies.” Number one on Dylan’s list at the moment was the fact that she could’ve just been attacked by this unstable vamp. Time to install heavier security in the institution. Cameras, alarms, a big freakin’ dog . . . on second thought, she supposed that’s why Ruan was assigned to her office; for her protection. Where the hell was he anyway?
Tunneling his fingers through his flaming red hair, the vamp paced a circle. “Really? You think there are worse things than going through with the Valcdana? Tell me something worse than being enlightened for life by someone you don’t love. Tell me that.”
“How is losing control going to solve your problem? All that will get you is a stake to the heart by one of your own kind.”
“You didn’t give me an answer.” He stopped in front of the oversized bay window and watched sunlight-protecting blinds clamp into place. A dim red light bulb on the ceiling flickered, then kicked on full force, spreading a deep glow over the walls.
Morning was upon them. The only thing separating Dylan and David from a lethal case of sunburn was the secured windows and the swinging door from whence he came.
Dylan put down her paperwork, moved around the counter. Damn, she should’ve locked the door as soon as he came in. “I still don’t understand why you’d rather let yourself lose control and feed from a human than be enlightened. Most of the chosen in your position consider it a privilege.”
He stared far beyond the closed blinds a long time before turning back to her. When he finally did, his face was sunken in, his eyes hollow pits in his face. He was the closest thing to a skeleton she’d ever seen.
Misery, she thought. Standing before her was utter misery in vampire form.
“Tell me something worse than being enlightened by someone you don’t love.”
“David—”
“Tell me.”
She blurted the first thing that came to her mind. “You could cease to exist.”
He nodded again and again, slow and methodical. Took a step toward the unlocked door. “I suppose you’re right. I suppose to die honorably in the eyes of the one I love is better than disrespecting what we have.”
She hated herself for having to throw logic into the wind of his emotional firestorm, but couldn’t hold back from stating the obvious truth. “David, if you die you’ll have nothing. You’ll be nothing. You won’t even get to experience the love you two share.”
“If they take her from me, they take everything I am!”
He glanced longingly at the exit as if a beautiful sanctuary waited on the other side, barely out of reach. She imagined the natural swing of the door, guessing how far streams of sunlight would invade the room. The hypothetical line of death landed right at her feet. She moved toward the back room. Just to be safe.
“David, why don’t you follow me into the back so we can talk about this? I could show you around.” Then tie you down until you’re psychiatrically evaluated.
“What’s there to talk about?” He took another step toward the door. And then another. “You already said you can’t help me. But if I die, could you at least offer my lover protection?”
“There’s no need for that. There are other ways to—”
“Could you protect her?” he begged.
“I . . . I suppose I could try.”
“Thank you.” Even though his mouth spoke words of appreciation, his eyes whispered goodbye.
Dylan shook her head. “I can’t promise—”
“Eve. Her name’s Eve Monroe.”
“David . . .” Dylan stepped toward him. No, toward the back. A step closer to safety. God, if she only had the courage to get to him before he barbequed them both.
He reached a pale, shriveled hand for the door. “Tell her I would be enlightened by no other.”
“No!”
Dylan barely had time to dive for cover below the counter before sunlight engulfed the room. Cold winter wind howled in her ears, silencing David’s screams for Eve, for his love, for the future they’d never share.
After heavy-duty springs snapped the door closed and extinguished the last trace of light, Dylan stayed sprawled on the floor, wondering why in her two hundred years on this earth it never occurred to her to question the Court’s rules. It seemed that ability had come to David so easily.
How on earth she was going to tell Eve Monroe that her lover would never return to her arms?
“You’re late.” Dylan spun around in her chair and faced the door leading to ReVamp’s back offices. She’d tried to pull herself to
gether before Ruan came back from his break. Splashing water on her face, pinching color into her cheeks, and pulling her mocha-tinted curls back did barely anything for the shock glossing her sapphire eyes. Turned out she didn’t have to rush after all; Ruan was late. More than twenty minutes late, actually. Hell of a lot of good a Court-designated “protector” was when he couldn’t even keep a suicidal client from BBQing himself in their lobby. “Where’ve you been?”
“Lunch.” He held up a half-filled bottle of AB from their local blood distributor, Alvambra, and swished it back and forth. She must’ve looked as wiped as she felt; the hard angles of his face dropped as he came closer. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Despite her best efforts at holding herself together, Dylan sighed, letting her shoulders curl forward. How could she have let this happen? Was she really going to contact Eve Monroe? What was she going to say? And what did David mean about needing help with the Court?
“Nothing,” she said, fighting to meet the hard cut of his emerald eyes. “It’s just . . .” She didn’t know where to begin.
Ruan knelt on the floor in front of her chair. His big hands found her shoulders. His embrace was too soft, his gaze too caring. “Talk to me, Dylan, you don’t look so good.”
She pulled away. As much as Dylan valued his protection, there was a danger in his touch. The chummier she got with him, the flirtier he became and the more his eyes lit with a longing she didn’t reciprocate. It’s not that he wasn’t handsome because he undeniably was. His long blonde hair fell over his ears and down to his shoulders in thick, tumbling waves. His emerald eyes shone bright even on moonless nights. And his touch was warm, comforting even. He was everything women fawned over, and wanted to bond with.
But for her, he was nothing more than a friend, a confidant, a partner in her lab. Now, more than ever, she needed that side of him to shine through. There was no one else she could turn to.
She rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes and took a deep breath. “A client came in. He . . . he opened the doors into the sunset. It was close, Ruan.” She could still feel waves of heat rippling across her skin. “Too close.”
“What?” Ruan practically jumped off his knees and stormed through the swinging doors into the lobby. He was a pissed-off whirlwind with hands clenched into fists and a fan of blonde hair flipping behind him.
Dylan didn’t have time to tell him she’d already locked the front doors and swept up the mess. David’s ashes left a dank, spicy smell in the air and filled the office trash bin. She’d ask Ruan to take it out later. She couldn’t think about that right now.
Rushing back into the lab, Ruan stopped before her, his arms folded across his chest. “Why didn’t you call me? That’s what I installed the emergency alert for, damn it. I would’ve been here like that,” he said, with a snap of his fingers.
She swallowed dust. Her throat was so dry. “I know, I know. There just wasn’t time.”
“What’d he want?”
“Help with the Court.”
“Damn it, I should’ve been here.” Ruan’s jaw pulsed in time with his foot. “What can I do?”
Cobwebs cluttered Dylan’s thoughts, making her brain sticky with confusion. “Ever heard anyone speak poorly of the Valcdana ceremony?”
“About how painful it is?”
“No, that’s common knowledge.” How could being drained within an inch of your life be pleasurable? “I mean about someone not wanting to go through with it.”
Ruan took the chair from a neighboring desk and straddled it backwards, dwarfing the tiny metal backrest. “Can’t say I have, although even if someone was having doubts there’d be no choice, would there?”
He was right. Once the Primus selected a khissmate to complete the Valcdana, it was an honor—a duty that couldn’t be turned down. Though who would want to anyway? Becoming haven royalty was something everyone dreamed of, no matter the pain involved.
Knowing that, though, made Dylan more confused than ever. What would make David choose death over duty? Love over honor? Her eyes flittered to the door and back as David’s last words rang through her head. There might be a way to find out. One person had the answers she was searching for.
“Ever heard of Eve Monroe?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, but I’m not very good with names. What does this Eve Monroe have to do with Court or with the vamp who came in? Don’t you want to talk about what almost happened to you back there?”
She knew if she looked into his eyes she’d be pressed with genuine concern. So she spun around and grazed her fingers over her idle laptop, bringing it to life. “Court is next week, right?” It wasn’t really a question. They both knew the date. How could they forget?
“Dylan, you need to slow down and tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. I’m not following you.”
She ignored the pretty comment, shelving it with the other kind words he’d tried to win her over with through the years. “You’re going to help me find her, Ruan.”
“Find who? This Eve woman? Why?”
“Because I promised someone I would and I can’t think of a good enough reason not to follow through. What do you say?”
Even though Ruan didn’t have the foggiest idea what Dylan was asking him to do, his eyes bloomed with warmth. He’d help her simply because she asked him to. She hoped his feelings weren’t coated with something stronger . . . something like love . . . but when he said, “I’ll gladly do anything you ask me to,” Dylan became seriously concerned with how deeply his feelings had rooted.
Crimson Bay’s hottest nightclub, Mirage, was getting ready to close its doors. Last calls—coupled with the sunrise—prompted drunks and otherworldly creatures alike to head home for cover. Hip-hop beats shook the air. Women gyrated against hips of men they’d never met and hoped to snag, while greasy men smiled ear to ear at the easy lays in their grasp. Scantily-clad waitresses slid around the room, keeping spirits high as they escorted the severely inebriated to the back alley.
High-class luxury club material it was not. But no one complained. The alcohol was priced right, flowing at all hours of the night. And the company was hotter than hell. Pretty accurate, since most of the clientele were from hell.
In the corner of the club, in a booth with no overhead light, two men with nothing in common shared a drink—and hopefully a means to an end.
“I hope you realize this is going to get messy. Once your shifter agrees to this he’s going to be knee-deep in vampires.” The dark-haired, dark-eyed male tipped back his rum and Coke and snapped for another two.
Moses watched as one of his voluptuous waitresses slunk over, set the drinks down in front of the dark man, and winked. She’d definitely earned her money tonight. Keeping this man liquored up and distracted put Moses one foot ahead. “You worry about your part of the deal, and I’ll manage Slade. Don’t let your blood freeze over that.”
“How do you know he’ll be on board?”
“Because I’m not giving him another option.”
“We need him full in,” the man growled. “If you force his hand, how do you know he’ll comply every step of the way? His reputation precedes him, and it ain’t an unblemished one. I hope you realize that if he goes rogue in that haven, we’ll both go up in flames.”
Moses leaned across the table so the dark man could feel the heat flare out of his golden eyes. “He’ll comply because even if he doesn’t take orders from me anymore, I’m still his Sheik. Which means I control him no matter what he believes. Besides, he owes me for an incident that happened long ago.” He leaned back, slouching into the leather bench, drink in hand. “Hell, he owes himself.”
“I hope you’re right. For both our sakes.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about your sake. But I don’t put my shifts on the line for just anyone . . . or anything, so this better go smooth.”
The dark man adjusted his shoulders beneath his bulky sweater. “If you leave it up to me and gra
nt me a little trust, you’ll get what you seek. Now where’s your man?”
As if on cue, Slade shuffled through the crowd, unfazed by the women stroking his shoulders as he passed by. He was bulkier than Moses remembered, towering over six muscular feet in height. His tobacco-black hair was cut short, showcasing his severe bone structure and hatred-fueled midnight eyes. That bastard looked mean. Slade had always been the son of a bitch no one could break; Moses absorbed the grim satisfaction that he had been the only therian to do it.
Instead of sliding into the booth, Slade snatched a chair and straddled it backwards, arms folded over the back. “Let’s get to it,” he said, in his usual raspy tone. “Why’d you call me here?”
Knowing the dark man wasn’t about to front any information, Moses stepped up to bat, extending an arm across the booth. “This here is—”
“I don’t give a shit who he is,” Slade interrupted. “I just want to know how it comes to pass that I’m ordered not to come back here, then nearly a hundred years later I’m summoned for renewed service. And this doesn’t look like a house call so don’t blow smoke up my ass with formalities. Out with it.”
The dark man leaned out of the shadows, a menacing figure drenched in black. “Oh, I think we’ll get along fine, you and me, but my name is of no consequence. You can call me whatever you like as long as you show proper respect.”
“So Asshole is out then?”
Moses snorted while the dark man held Slade’s gaze. When he spoke again, a growl reverberated from his chest. “If you call me that again, Transie, the next words you speak will be coming up from the floor.”
“I’d like to see you try that.” Slade sat upright, ready to spring.
“It should be easy . . . I hear you’ve lost your edge.”
Slade stood and kicked the chair, then turned on his heels. “I’m outta here, Moses. See you next century.”
“Wait.” Each step he took toward the exit made Moses’s plan slip further through his fingers. He aimed for the grandstands. “I’ll restore your status, Assassin.”
Slade stopped dead in his tracks. The next words he spoke carried over his shoulder. “Swear it, Sheik. On your life force.”
Intervamption Page 2
