“I’m no one’s pet,” the traitorous bitch drawled as she strolled into the room, and Emma wished she had something to throw at her. Baldwin clearly felt the same way. He stiffened in surprise and took an aggressive step forward, closing ranks with Duncan’s other vamps who were all bristling with anger, ready to defend Duncan. Emma stayed where she was, still and quiet, not wanting to draw any attention to herself for fear she’d be hustled right out of the room. She wanted to see and hear what was going on!
Her heart squeezed at the obvious grief in Duncan’s voice when he tried to talk Phoebe out of what he clearly considered a suicide mission. Emma didn’t know anything about vampire power, but she figured Phoebe had to die either way. She’d tried to burn them all alive, after all. Duncan wasn’t trying to save Phoebe; he was trying to save the others. He didn’t seem worried at all for himself, just sad and resigned to what he had to do.
And then suddenly everything changed. Emma’s skin prickled with energy, every hair on her body standing up as a whirlwind appeared out of nowhere and filled the huge room. Ceramic vases filled with greenery toppled over, breaking against the marble floor. Dirt and leaves were sucked up by the wind and sent spinning against the walls and windows like hail. Phoebe was staring at Duncan as if she’d never seen him before, as if he was her worst nightmare come true. He was still talking to Phoebe, but Emma couldn’t hear what they were saying above the noise. She heard Max Grafton scream, though, saw him rolling across the floor like a shrieking tumbleweed until he crashed into a cluster of big clay pots.
Wanting to hear what they were saying, Emma sidled a little closer, slipping behind and between clusters of plants until she was nearly even with where Duncan stood staring at Phoebe.
“Emma,” Duncan called suddenly.
She froze, certain he knew she’d moved closer, that she was no longer safely hidden behind Baldwin’s bulk.
“Remember your promise,” he said, and Emma puffed out a dismissive breath. Like she was going to run away if things went south. What was he thinking? But she no sooner had the thought, than everything changed again. Silence fell over the room like a thick blanket, and Emma crouched down, hiding.
“Ladies first,” Duncan said, his voice thick with a mockery Emma had never heard from him before.
Electricity tingled along Emma’s nerves, much stronger that what she’d felt only moments before. That had been like static electricity on a dry summer day; this was a live wire skimming along her nerves. She shuddered and closed her eyes in pain, clenching her jaw against the urge to groan. When she opened them again, Phoebe was still standing opposite Duncan, but there was a resigned set to her shoulders, a weariness in the way she held herself despite her defiant gaze.
Duncan barely moved, standing cool and calm as always, his legs braced slightly apart, his weight on the balls of his feet. He raised his arm to chest height, and his fingers curled into his palm as if holding something there. He blinked lazily and the pressure in the room began to grow, slowly at first, then building as if all the air was being sucked out at once. Emma began to pant as her lungs worked overtime trying to collect enough oxygen. A weight crushed her chest, and she leaned back against the wall, suddenly weak and lightheaded, but determined to stay, to witness Phoebe’s execution. She blinked, bewildered, as Duncan stabbed his hand outward, and then Phoebe screamed in agony. The vampires who’d come into the room with Phoebe began to fall like flies, collapsing where they stood without a single sound. Not far from Emma, Max Grafton grunted, and she stiffened to attention. While she’d been watching the action and trying to breathe, Grafton had woken enough to pull himself behind one of the few chairs in the room. He was hunkered down like a nasty troll, looking pale and sweaty, pressing a hand against his ribs as if they were injured. Emma hoped his ribs were broken. She hoped he’d push too hard and one of them would puncture his lung and he’d die of asphyxiation while everyone was too busy to notice. Except her.
Lost in images of Max Grafton’s imminent death, Emma glanced over and saw Phoebe had curled into a ball on the floor. She was still screaming, but weaker now, fading quickly until she literally began falling apart. Duncan stared at her crumbling form dispassionately as he took a single step backward. A flash of movement brought Emma’s gaze back to Grafton, and she screamed as he brought up a gun and shot Duncan in the back.
Emma was on the move. All around her vampires were racing to Duncan’s side. Miguel was shouting orders, placing himself between Duncan and what was left of Phoebe’s vampires as he searched for the enemy. But Emma already knew who the enemy was. Grafton still had his gun up, still aimed at Duncan, his finger compressing for a second shot as Duncan collapsed to his knees. Emma brought up her own gun and fired without thinking, three shots, tightly grouped, just like at the range. One, two, three, and Grafton went down. Emma raced over and kicked his gun away, dropping to her knees next to him. She stared at the grimace on his face, at the blood on his chest and bubbling from his mouth, and she froze, not quite believing what she’d done.
She blinked, then whispered, “Duncan,” and spun around clumsily.
“Emma,” Miguel called. “Get over here.”
She was there before he snarled the last word, tears filling her eyes as she saw Duncan lying on the floor, eyes closed, blood pooling beneath him. “Is he dead?” she asked, her voice catching on a sob.
“No,” Miguel said shortly. “But he needs blood.”
She looked up in confusion. “Blood?”
The dark-haired vamp gave her an impatient look. “Christ,” he swore. “He’s a vampire. He’s wounded. He needs blood.”
“Oh! Of course,” she shook her head at her own stupidity. She handed someone her gun and began stripping off her jacket. “Do you have something—”
Miguel was already handing her a knife—a short, fat switchblade with a fancy handle, which he snapped out and handed to her grip first.
“Be careful,” he warned. “It’s sharp.”
Emma stared at the blade, then shook her head, handing it back to him. “You do it,” she said, holding out her wrist. “I don’t think— Ow!” She gave Miguel a dirty look. “A little warning would be nice, dude,” she muttered, but quickly eased Duncan’s head onto her lap and held her bloody wrist to his mouth. Did she need to rub it over his lips? Or maybe stroke his throat to get him to— Yikes!
Duncan latched onto her wrist, his fangs sinking into the flesh. It hurt, but only briefly as the euphoric in his bite did its magic and Emma began to feel . . . wonderful. Duncan’s hands came up to hold her wrist in place, and she leaned her upper body over his, needing to get closer to him, but also wanting to conceal the obvious signs of her growing desire. She only hoped Duncan would stop before too long, otherwise, she was going to—
“Emma.”
She opened her eyes to find Duncan gazing up at her. He was no longer sucking at her wrist, but the heat in his eyes told her he was aware of her arousal and returned it in spades. He licked her wrist slowly and thoroughly, the coagulant in his saliva sealing the wound while the feel of his tongue against her skin did nothing to cool her hunger for him.
He gave her a half smile, then reached up and brushed his knuckles over her cheek.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, holding on to him tightly.
“No,” he murmured. “I have too much to live for.”
“My lord,” Miguel said, reaching out to place a hand on Duncan’s shoulder.
“Right.”Duncan put Emma gently aside and accepted the hand-up his lieutenant offered, while Baldwin lifted Emma to her feet and began wrapping her arm in one of the ever-present white handkerchiefs. They were no sooner on their feet than Miguel was hustling them out of the house to the waiting SUVs.
“Ari,” Miguel called. “You drive. Baldwin will go with you. We’ll clean up here, my lord,” he added to Duncan, “and follow in the other truck.”
Duncan paused on the front steps long enough for Emma to catch up. He too
k her hand as she emerged from the house, then he slid into the backseat of the SUV and pulled her in with him.
Two minutes later, they were racing through the night, heading back to the house in D.C.
“What happens now?” Emma asked, anxiously. “I mean what about all those other people, and—” She shuddered slightly. “—Grafton’s body?”
They didn’t need to worry about Phoebe’s body or those of her vampires. They were already just so much dust on the floor. No one would even notice it amidst the wreckage from the fight between Phoebe and Duncan. Emma still didn’t understand how that worked, but those questions could wait. On the other hand, Grafton’s body needed to be taken care of now.
“Duncan?” she said, when he didn’t answer.
“One moment,” he replied, and Emma realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was on his Bluetooth to someone, probably one of the vamps who’d stayed back at Grafton’s. He turned, pulling her against him more tightly, tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder. “Rest, Emmaline. Everything is taken care of, you’ll see. This is nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”
“So I’m not going to jail for killing a senator?” she asked drowsily, thinking it must be blood loss that was making her so tired.
Duncan chuckled. “No, you are most certainly not going to jail. What would I do without you?”
Emma yawned, then frowned, wondering if he’d done something to make her sleep.
“It’s the adrenaline,” Duncan said, reading her with his usual accuracy. “It’s a rush, but when it crashes, it crashes hard, and so do you.”
“Mmmm,” she said, snuggling against his broad chest. She felt Duncan’s lips as he kissed the top of her head, and then her eyes closed and she slept.
Chapter Thirty
“What are you reading?”
Emma managed to keep herself from jumping in surprise. Duncan moved so quietly sometimes, it was as if he appeared from out of nowhere. He kissed her bare shoulder in apology and she knew she hadn’t managed to conceal her reaction after all.
Lying on her stomach on the bed with her laptop in front of her, she sneaked a peek through the heavy fall of her hair, watching as he settled next to her and sat cross-legged to work with his own laptop. As always, his presence created a strange pressure in her chest, like there was something inside that was too big to stay there. She recognized the feeling, even though she’d never experienced it before meeting Duncan. She was in love. Hopelessly, madly in love. But he was just so . . . wonderful. Not only his looks, though sitting there with his chest bare, blond hair hanging loose over his shoulders, and nothing but a pair of loose, gray sweatpants keeping him decent, he certainly looked scrumptious enough. But it was more than that. He was a good man in every way. And he was hers. She knew that for a fact. Duncan kept his emotions tightly in check most of the time, but not with her. He loved her. He told her so all the time, and he showed her in a million different ways.
She still had trouble believing it sometimes. She’d wake up and put her hand out, expecting to find the space next to her empty, expecting to discover it was all a dream. But he was always there, always ready. She smiled to herself.
“Emma?”
She blinked, startled out of her fantasies of stripping him naked and having her wicked way with him.
Duncan grinned knowingly at her. Not bothering to wait for her answer to his earlier question, he leaned over and scanned the screen of her laptop for himself. “Want ads?” He frowned. “You don’t need a job.”
“Of course I need a job. Even if I move in here—” His teeth closed gently on her shoulder in warning. “Even though I’m living here with you,” she amended, and he kissed the same spot he’d bitten. “I still have expenses.”
“You can work for me then,” he said, as if that settled the matter. And as far as he was concerned, it probably did. He was so used to making all the decisions, giving orders and having everyone snap to. But Emma wasn’t one of his vampires, and she wasn’t a charity case, either.
“And what exactly would I do?” she asked skeptically.
Duncan shrugged. “The same thing you did for that limp dick congressman you worked for.”
Emma snickered at his description of Guy Coffer and asked, “You get a lot of constituent complaints from vampireland?”
“No. But I am the representative of vampireland to the American government, and most of that business takes place during the day. You could be my daytime face in the halls of Congress.”
Emma turned her head sharply to regard him. “Seriously?”
“Of course.Why not?”
Emma considered it. Why not indeed? She was certainly qualified to do something like that, and wouldn’t it chafe Sharon Coffer’s ass to see Emma roaming the marbled halls of the Capitol again? She smiled to herself and Duncan chuckled.
“That’s a very sinister smile you have there, Emmaline.”
“I’ll take the job.”
“Excellent,” Duncan said, absently skimming something on his laptop, probably one of the many daily reports he received from his various employees, everyone from that vampire builder Alaric to Jackson Hissong and Miguel. “We can discuss . . . well, hello there!”
Emma actually looked over to see if someone had walked into their room, then realized he was reacting to something on his computer screen. “What is it?” she asked, stretching up and trying to read over his arm.
“Tammy Dietrich is back,” he said, leaning forward to read more closely.
Emma sat up. “How do you know?”
He indicated the report on his screen. “I’ve had someone watching her office. She showed up there early this morning, looking very furtive. Big hat and sun glasses, but it was definitely her. Apparently she heard about Max’s untimely death and decided it was safe to come home.”
Emma suppressed a flutter of fear. “What’s the latest from the police on that? Max’s death, I mean.”
“They’re calling it a home invasion gone bad, with Grafton shot and killed defending his family.”
“The police are buying that?”
Duncan snorted derisively. “None of Max’s heirs want the authorities digging too deeply into old Max’s extracurricular activities, and especially not his finances. They’ve decided to let him die a hero.”
“Bastard,” Emma said, pretending it was only anger making her stomach clench.
Duncan wasn’t fooled, of course. He gave her a searching look and said, “You did the right thing, Emma.”
“I know that. He was trying to kill you. And he did kill Lacey.”
“And yet his death bothers you.”
Emma frowned. “Not that he’s dead, it’s just—”
“It’s all right, Emmaline. Killing a man should never be easy.” He studied her face as if trying to decide something. “I could take it away, you know. Make you forget.”
Emma stared at him. He expected her to reject the idea outright. She could tell by the careful way he’d suggested it, by the way he was looking at her right now, waiting for her to blow up at him. But she didn’t. She hated herself for it, but she seriously considered letting him take the whole thing away—the misplaced guilt, the fear that there was something wrong with her that she could kill a man in cold blood like that, even if he did deserve it.
“I might take you up on that someday,” she said finally. “But not yet.”
Duncan smiled in relief, his eyes going that warm brown that made him appear so human. “Whenever you’re ready.”
His phone rang, which was unexpected. It was Sunday evening and he’d decided that Sundays would be theirs alone. Miguel and the others had been told not to bother him unless it was something urgent. Emma frowned, but Duncan grinned, then leaned over and picked up his cell phone without even checking caller ID.
“Sire,” he said, his tone a mixture of warmth and respect. “We are well,” he continued, obviously answering the caller’s query. “No permanent house yet, but that’s coming
along. And everyone there?” He laughed, his body language relaxed and easy. Emma rarely saw Duncan like that, except with her.
“So soon?” he asked now. “Well, that’s true enough.” He listened a while longer, then said, “She’ll be coming with me.” He laughed again and added, “It should be interesting.”
Emma eyed him narrowly, since clearly he was now talking about her. And what would be so damn interesting?
“I look forward to it, Sire. Until then.”
He disconnected and threw the phone back onto the table.
“What was that about?” she demanded.
“That was Raphael.”
She already knew that. There was only one person Duncan called by the honorific Sire, because there was only one Sire, for Duncan anyway. “I know that,” she told him. “What was he calling about?” And what was so damned funny? she wanted to add, but didn’t.
“There’s a Vampire Council meeting in two weeks,” Duncan said, giving her a brilliant smile. “We’re going to California.”
Epilogue
Lucas Donlon, Vampire Lord, ruler of a slice of North America that the vampires called the Plains Territory, scanned the conference room from behind his sunglasses. He didn’t need the glasses. Their host for this meeting was Raphael, and unlike that lunatic Krystof, who’d hosted the last meeting of North America’s Vampire Council, Raphael would never have anything as gauche as fluorescent lighting in his conference room. But Lucas kept the glasses on anyway. It made it easier to keep his thoughts to himself, among other things. There were too many nosey vamps among his fellow vampire lords, and since they’d all sworn off dipping into each other’s minds, they were reduced to looking for visual clues. What a laugh riot that was.
And what a cheery group they were, too. Eight vampires ranged around a conference table that could easily have seated four times that many, because they didn’t trust one another enough to sit any closer. Or maybe it was that they had no desire to get any closer. They met once a year to discuss matters of mutual interest, but they were hardly friends. Actually, they weren’t friends at all. Lucas himself counted only one of those seated at this table as a friend, and that was Duncan. Some of the others were friendly antagonists, while one was an avowed enemy, and two were so new to the Council that Lucas had no opinion. Rajmund he at least knew from the vamp’s long service as lieutenant to the finally dead Krystof—now there was a vampire who’d needed to be put down. But the newest member of their august circle, Sophia, he’d never even heard of until she popped up as Lord of the Canadian Territories. Not that he gave a damn either way. As long as she kept to her borders, he’d keep to his.
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