A Venetian Vampire

by Michele Hauf

  “Does he now?” King turned his gaze on Dante. “And what do you believe it can do?”

  “I didn’t specify,” Dante said. He wasn’t sure if King had false information about the egg—the eternity-giving powers of the spell had been a rumor disseminated decades earlier—or if he’d lied to Kyler to give her incentive to actually return with the object. “But as a vampire hunter you know what it really does, don’t you?”

  King held his jaw so tight the muscle in it pulsed repeatedly. “This does not involve you, D’Arcangelo. You should leave.”

  “Or die?” Dante crossed his arms high at his chest. He noticed as King’s eyes averted to the Bible tucked at his waist. “Are you going to prove to Kyler that she shouldn’t have ever trusted you?”

  “Kyler will obey me. She wants to do the right thing.”

  “Giving a vampire hunter that egg is not the right thing. It belongs to me, actually. And I intend to keep it.”

  “Then we have come to an impasse.” King plucked the stake from the holster and spun it once before catching it smartly in his hand.

  “No,” Kyler said from behind Dante. “Just let him go. I’ll give you the egg.”

  “Kyler,” Dante warned calmly. “He’ll stake you the moment you’ve handed over the prize. You know that.”

  “Why would I waste a perfectly good blood child?” King asked. “And for that matter, a thief? She can prove very handy to me for future endeavors.” He played his thumb over the rubber grips on the stake’s cylinder hilt.

  There was no sharp, pointy end on it. For the moment. Dante knew from witnessing a few slayings that the hunter slammed the stake against the vampire’s chest, then compressed the paddles in the grip, which released the stake end into the vamp’s chest with a thumping, piercing death punch. And then? Ashes.

  “If you want to start a war,” King continued, “over a pretty little bit of sparkle and gold, then by all means, go ahead and deny me that treasure. But I promise you, D’Arcangelo, you won’t see the pain coming. You’ll turn and suddenly be ash.” King sniffed disdainfully. “My favorite kind of vampire.”

  Dante exhaled through his nose, setting his shoulders back. “Try me.”

  He saw the man’s arm move and reached for the Bible. Thrusting it before his chest with both hands, Dante felt the impact as the stake tip pinioned out and pierced the book. King hissed and retracted, grabbing his hand. His skin may have brushed the leather, Dante couldn’t be sure. He didn’t see the man’s hand smoking.

  “Don’t forget,” King said as he backed toward the open door, “you asked for this. Kyler, if you don’t bring the egg to me by dawn, your lover will be ash.”

  Dante pulled the stake from the Bible and flipped it in the air, catching it. “You first.”

  The door closed behind King as he fled, the stake Dante had thrown at him embedded in the wooden frame.

  Kyler clutched him from behind. “Now what?”

  “Now?”

  He had started something, indeed. Unwisely? Probably. But he wasn’t about to let the lying vampire who would kill his own kind have the spell, whether or not it did what he thought it did.

  “I’d say we get the hell out of here. You’re not safe anymore.” He raised the Bible and peered through the hole at the stake jabbed into the door. “And I wager King’s knights will come knocking sooner rather than later. Grab the egg.”

  She nodded, picking up her backpack near the couch and heading into the kitchen. She wasn’t fearful or panicking, and that was good. But she should be.

  Because Dante had shaken the king out of his castle.

  Chapter 13

  “Why do you think King gave up so easily and left?” Kyler asked as she followed Dante through the city. She lived in the fifth arrondissement, and he’d suggested they head straight for his tribe’s safe house to drop off the egg. That was across the river in the eighth.

  Dante stopped at the end of an alleyway, seeming to assess which direction he wanted to turn. “King didn’t expect me to open the door,” he said. “He thought a frightened woman whom he could manipulate would be waiting for him.”

  “Maybe he’s scared of you?”

  Dante laughed. “Don’t for one moment believe that man is scared of anything. Because then he’ll have you right where he wants you. No, he’s taken a step back to assess and plan. And I don’t believe the Bible burned him. Again, he was surprised at the prepared attack. We’re being followed.”

  “How do you know?” She clutched his hand; his grip was firm and comforting.

  “The knights move with stealth, but one of them had garlic for supper. A lot,” he said. “Come on. I’m sure they’re out in numbers. King isn’t going to let my showing him up stand for long.”

  He pulled out his phone and dialed as they walked swiftly.

  “Who are you calling?” Kyler asked. “You’re actually carrying a phone? Won’t that ruin the line of your suit?”

  “Must needs, Kitten. I’m calling Christian de Baureaux. Leader of the Incroyables.”

  “Your tribe?”

  “Yes. We’re going to need backup to make it across the city all in one piece. Christian. You busy? I need a hand. Being pursued by a couple knights with garlic breath. You and Isaac? Great. We’re in the fifth. Near—I don’t know—that bookstore the tourists always flock to across the river from Notre Dame. Thanks.”

  He tucked the phone in his pants pocket. “They’re close. This way.”

  He tugged out the titanium stake King had left behind and crossed a street. They jogged parallel to a high hedgerow that sparkled from an earlier rain. It was much later than Kyler had thought it was. She must have been out for quite some time. She’d have words with Dante about that later.

  When an oncoming car’s headlights forced them off the street and onto a sidewalk, Dante suddenly ducked through a gate and into a private city park.

  “Ah,” he said, “I like this square. Used to be a Merovingian cemetery. And Saint Julien’s stags,” he said with a gesture toward the bronze sculpture in the middle of the park. “So deliciously macabre.”

  Surrounded by the hedges, the small park boasted a bronze water fountain in the middle of a pebbled square. The sculpture featured stag heads, and people climbing up the triangular column. Sort of looked like baby heads to Kyler, but then, she didn’t think that had been the effect the artist had been going for. Benches were placed at the four compass points in the park, and the roses climbing the gateway through which they had entered bloomed sweetly.

  A massive tree propped up by concrete posts caught Kyler’s eye, and she veered toward it. “Wow.”

  “The oldest tree in Paris,” Dante said. “A locust, I believe. Planted in 1601. Well after your creator King was born.”

  “That’s amazing.” Kyler sucked in a frightened breath as the iron gate screeched behind her. Instantly she lost all interest in the ancient tree.

  Dante spun around, pulling her behind him as he did so and assuming a protective stance. Before them filed in three men, each wearing long black leather coats with high collars edged in blades. The blades were to prevent vampires from sinking in their fangs. At their thighs, chain mail lined the black leather pants. Further protection over the femoral artery from a well-placed bite. King had told Kyler this when he’d mentioned the Order to her. It had never occurred to her he knew it from hands-on experience.

  The one who wielded a stake in both hands asked, “You Dante D’Arcangelo?”

  “Really? You want me to identify myself before you decide to ram in that stake? And you actually expect honesty?” Dante waggled the stake he held admonishingly. “Let’s be gentlemen and leave the lady out of this, shall we? Kyler, step out of the way.”

  “Three against one?” one of the knights said. “Works for me. We need the wom
an alive anyway.”

  Against her better judgment, Kyler started to step back. When she’d taken two paces, suddenly her arm was grabbed and she was pushed aside by a tall man with shoulders so broad they were equal to two of the hunters.

  “Ah, my seconds have arrived,” Dante said.

  Kyler assumed the beefy guy and his sidekick were from Dante’s tribe. Now the match was even. But she couldn’t begin to feel relief as one of the hunters flung a throwing star toward Dante’s head. He ducked, and the vampire behind him caught it with a hiss as the sharp tip cut into his palm.

  “Dipped in holy water?” the beefy guy said. He tugged the star out and shook spatters of his blood onto the pebbled walk. “Tough luck, idiots. Keep your crosses to yourself or find them shoved up your—”

  “Isaac, be polite,” the other said as he stepped forward. Dressed in gray wool trousers and a plaid vest with his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, he exuded a scholarly appeal—with rock-hard biceps. “Gentlemen, to arms!”

  Dante charged a hunter with the stake. The scholarly one—Kyler guessed he was Christian, the tribe leader—pulled out a short sword. The biggest one wielded what looked like a smaller version of Thor’s hammer.

  Kyler’s legs bumped into the concrete bench behind her, and she landed on her butt, clutching the backpack to her chest as she watched the frenzy of activity.

  The opponents weren’t overly talkative as swords met stakes and the remarkable hammer swung into ribs. As he took punches and dodged the swing of the stake, Dante moved like a wild animal, crouching and ducking, rolling onto his back and coming up to both feet with sinuous precision.

  Kyler’s heart pounded. She didn’t want him to die. Much as she had convinced herself that he could never see her as anything other than “another notch,” she had fallen for Dante’s cool charm.

  A hunter stumbled backward toward her, and the one Kyler guessed was the tribe leader managed to insinuate himself before her, kicking the hunter back and sending him flying to land sprawled on the bronze fountain.

  “My lady.” He bowed quickly to her, then spun to help Dante fend off a maniacal deluge of what looked like karate moves, arms swinging and boots kicking.

  Kyler marveled over how the three vampires worked together without a word to one another. They instinctually seemed to know what the other was doing; whereas the knights stumbled and worked on their own.

  The biggest of the tribe tumbled onto the ground after dodging a stake, but Dante soared over the man’s fallen form, kicking high as he did so, connecting with the hunter who would have otherwise staked Isaac. A shout of pain accompanied the hunter falling before the old and venerated tree.

  Was it wrong to feel tenser about the tree taking damage than the hunter? Not at all.

  Dante offered the vampire on the ground a hand up, and the twosome went back-to-back to fend off the next barrage of swinging stakes and shouting slayers. They quickly dispatched their opponents and gave each other a high five.

  Seeing Dante perform in this manner after having known only his sensual, suited-armor side made Kyler fall even harder for him. He was the knight her damsel desired. He could protect her, and she would let him.

  One of the hunters lay bleeding on the ground and all three vamps stood side by side, presenting a fierce front to the remaining two who had gotten up from the ground.

  “Give up yet?” Dante asked, giving his violet tie an adjusting tug. “Or do you all want to get carted out of here in body bags?”

  One of them pulled a gold cross out of an inner coat pocket and held it before him.

  All three of the vampires chuckled.

  And then someone not a part of the standoff growled. Like a dog.

  Or rather a wolf.

  Kyler shuffled into the shadows at the sight of the two new men standing inside the gate. She immediately sensed they were werewolves, and her instincts were affirmed when they began to shift.

  * * *

  “Really?” Christian said to Dante as they rushed toward the shifting werewolf. Best time to take out a wolf was during the shift, when it was disoriented. But the entire shift from human form to half man, half wolf took about ten seconds, so they had to move quickly.

  They both charged one shifting wolf and slammed it forcefully into the other. A yelping howl was abruptly cut off with a painful whine.

  Dante turned in time to dodge a stake swinging from on high. He dropped to the ground, kicked up and landed a heel in the hunter’s gut, shoving him off and forcing his body hard against a metal sculpture.

  Isaac picked up one of the half-shifted wolves and head-butted him with a fierce growl to match any shape-shifter’s war cry. Christian swung a punch up under a hunter’s jaw, knocking him out cold.

  “Who invited the wolves?” Isaac shouted as he swung his hammer and brought it down on the wolf’s knee, producing a painful yelp from his victim. “No one said anything about wolves!”

  “They followed us from Italy,” Dante said. They must have picked up the scent of one of their own, perhaps still lingering on the egg in Kyler’s bag? “Take out that last hunter, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Christian disarmed the hunter, gathering from inside his coat two stakes, a garrote and a blade. Isaac charged the last werewolf standing, the twosome crashing into the hedgerow where the scuffle must have alerted people walking by, judging by the surprised shouts they now heard.

  Dante grabbed Kyler’s hand and tugged her aside as a hunter flew over their heads and landed in the shrubbery beside the dispatched werewolf. On the other side of the shrubs, the city flashed by in headlights and tourists’ flashbulbs. If they didn’t move soon, the police sirens would put a damper on this unexpected party.

  “The wolves won’t stay down long,” Isaac said as he passed Dante and Kyler and raced through the open gate. “We’ve a car down the street. Come on!”

  They filed into a black SUV parked by the curb. Isaac took the wheel. On the passenger side Christian sorting through the booty he’d collected, while Dante and Kyler slid into the backseat.

  “You okay?” Dante asked Kyler. He touched her face, searching her eyes.

  She nodded, then shoved the backpack at him. “You hold on to this.”

  “What’s that?” Christian asked from the front. He eyed Kyler, and then turned his focus to Dante. “The reason they were on you?”

  “The reason the knights were after us. I still haven’t figured out the werewolf angle.”

  “Knights,” Isaac said with vitriol. “Why knights? You’ve always avoided conflict, D’Arcangelo. You’re the lover—ah. Is it because of the woman?”

  Dante flicked a look to Kyler. She actually blushed. Sweet kitten. “Partly. But no. This involved me before I even met her. We’ve both become entangled with King for reasons I’m also not too clear on.”

  “King. Don’t start this war,” Christian warned. “You know that bastard always wins.”

  “Too late.” Dante patted the backpack. “Already picked up the gauntlet.”

  “Remember when we’d never refuse a dropped gauntlet?” Isaac asked Christian. “Those were the good ol’ days.”

  “King is vampire,” Dante said. “I told Christian that, but did you know, Isaac?”

  “The leader of the Order of the Stake is vamp?” Isaac whistled lowly. “Shit. I’m with Christian. Don’t get into this with him, Dante.”

  Christian turned and crossed his arms, not offering another word. But Kyler could feel his disapproval as a shiver over her arms. Much like the vampiric shimmer, only heavy with disappointment.

  “This is getting too big for us,” she whispered. “I know it—”

  Dante tugged her up against his side, hugging her tightly. “Take us to the train station,” he told Isaac.

  “Where are we
headed?” Kyler asked.

  “We’re going to put the wolves off our scent,” he said calmly, then settled back in the seat to watch the passing traffic cruise by in ribbons of headlights and red taillights.

  * * *

  His sister put up her long legs on the end of his office desk. She wore supple black leather boots that stretched from her heels to her thighs, and her short black skirt probably exposed things he hadn’t seen for centuries. Dark sunglasses masked her brown eyes here inside the underground headquarters for the Order of the Stake. Black leather gloves didn’t allow her to wear the ruby crest ring she normally sported.

  “What’s kickin’, bro?” she asked.

  King lifted a brow at that. He hadn’t seen Margot in decades, yet when they did come together it felt as if no time had passed, and only yesterday they’d been wearing medieval velvets with gold ruffs and struggling against the Protestants in the bloody wars.

  “What have you been up to, Margot?”

  “It’s Bunny now. Been Bunny for a long time.”

  “Didn’t Rook call you that—when? Last century?”

  She nodded, which set her long, coal-black hair spilling over a shoulder. “He still around? Not that I care.”

  She cared. She and Rook had a love/hate thing going on. Had ever since—well, it must have been the seventeenth century, surely.

  “He’s living with a witch. Happily,” King added. And then he sighed and flexed his fingers, which he’d been curling in and out of fists since returning to the office from Kyler’s home. “What do you need?”

  “Nothing. Never anything. You know that. The question is, what’s eating you? You’re a stressed-up mess. Girl troubles?”

  He chuckled because the idea was so preposterous. He never let a woman get the upper hand with him. And romance? That was a dangerous road he rarely traveled.

  “I’ve come from staring down Dante D’Arcangelo.” Margot had known the man. She always hit men hard and fast and was the one to walk away whistling.

  “Oooh, I remember that pretty man. Long dark hair and a Bohemian thing going on?”