“Then what is your intention?” she questioned.
He moved her in closer. “Like I said, to get to know you.” His body was lean, tight, and his muscles flexed when he moved his arms. “If I thought you were such a threat, you’d be dead already.” Small, loosened strands of his hair dangled, slightly touching her forehead.
Veronica suddenly felt infatuated with him. Concentrate, Veronica. He looked into her eyes, and she tried to look away. She felt her eyes drift to them and she wanted to rub her hands over his chest and up to his face.
Everything she knew about Deamhans disappeared from her mind. She left herself open to him, voluntarily pressing her face into his chest. She closed her eyes and opened her ears, hoping that he would exhale just once. He appeared different from her; not human. He became all she knew and all she wanted. No fear, no Deamhan, no Dark Sepulcher, and no search.
Yes. There was a search.
She blinked her eyes, refocusing back on reality and distancing herself from Remy’s orchestrated trance.
“You’re not scaring me.” Veronica’s lower lip quivered.
He chuckled slightly. “I’m not the one you should be scared of.” His grip began to wane. They stopped moving and she took a step back, free from his hypnotic restraint. He turned and walked away casually through the crowd. The rhythm of the music changed, and the dance floor started filling with people. She watched Remy sit on a bar stool and she glanced around, sensing her vulnerability while alone.
She followed him to the bar.
“I know how you Deamhan act.” She stood behind him. “And I know I can never trust a Deamhan.” Her mind reverted to the woman at the burnt home. Maybe he was working with her? Remy soon picked up on her thought.
“No.” Remy turned around and ordered a drink from the bartender. “I don’t have any minions.” He turned back to her. “If you want, you can be my first.”
Confused, she shook her head no.
The bartender returned, placing a glass in front of him.
“You’re right, you can never trust a Deamhan, researcher. I don’t even trust Deamhan.”
Veronica sat on an empty stool next to him. He continued to look forward and sipped the dark liquid from his cup.
He was a Ramanga or maybe a Lamia. Either way, he can’t be trusted.
“I’m not a Ramanga,” he replied to her thoughts. “But I am a Lamia.”
Lamia. They had no sharp teeth like the Ramanga, but fed from their victims by mouth. As long as I don’t kiss him.
“Do you always do that?” he asked her.
“Do what?”
“Let me give you some advice, researcher,” Remy said slowly, “if you plan to hide your thoughts, you shouldn’t think. You should just ‘do’.” He sipped his drink and he looked forward, observing a female waitress from across the bar staring back at them. Remy briefly waved at her and she nodded.
“You see her?” He nodded to the waitress. “She’ll be my first meal of the night.” He placed his cup up to his lips and before taking another sip he spoke again. “And the other human behind her, near the back standing alone. She’ll be my second.”
Veronica remained silent, still trying to figure out what Remy had in store for her. She wanted to make a run for the exit, just like the first time, but she didn’t want to show any fear.
“I’ve been hearing stories about a researcher in Minneapolis, searching for her researcher mother.” He sipped from his cup again, drinking the last drops. “A researcher who’s bold, stubborn and stupid. Your name fuels minion conversations.” His eyes drifted to the right at a man wearing a black hooded jacket sitting at the very end of the bar. “The Deamhan sent out their minions to spy on you, to figure out what your true agenda is.” He then looked to the left at another man sitting at the opposite end, talking to a woman. “They use their minions instead of just approaching you and asking you straight, like I’m doing.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re everywhere.” He looked over his shoulder at a short man wearing a black jacket and faded filthy black pants. The horribly dressed man stood near the dance floor, his brown eyes locked onto her. Remy turned back to order another drink.
Veronica slid off the stool and stood next to him. She immediately wanted to leave Dark Sepulcher, but Remy grabbed her wrist.
“Do you always run when you feel cornered?” Remy asked.
“Only if I have to,” Veronica replied in a shaky voice.
“We can smell a human’s fear easily,” he whispered. “Your scent is so strong that I can taste it.” His warm breath roasted her skin and it awed her. “Kei has his eyes on you.” Remy watched the bartender place another drink on the counter in front of him. “And you don’t want Kei to have eyes on you.” He sipped from his drink again. He wiped his mouth with a small napkin, and he stood up from his stool. “But you have nothing to fear. They’re just minions.” He waved them off.
She felt him searching her thoughts again, seeing through her fake impression of fearlessness. With her hidden layer now exposed—she had every right to feel threatened. If Kei was this powerful then the Deamhan in the city had to know their place. But no Deamhan was untouchable in Veronica’s eyes, not even Lucius.
“But I can protect you,” he whispered to her. “We can protect you. All you have to do is ask.” Remy’s eyes briskly turned to a female Deamhan watching Veronica and himself from behind the bar. Veronica looked in his direction. The dark haired female didn’t turn away.
The staring war between Remy and the dark haired female lasted for a few seconds more before Veronica decided to jump in.
“Who is that?”
“A friend.” He quickly looked at Veronica before turning his attention back to the female. He nodded and tilted his head to the side. Veronica watched quietly. Sometimes the Deamhan communicated by reading each other’s thoughts. Maybe that’s what they were doing.
Remy nodded again and turned his attention back to Veronica. “I know a human that can help you.”
“And why should I believe you?” Veronica’s eyes focused on him.
“You shouldn’t,” he answered. “But if you’re feeling interested, he lives in a sanctuary out of town called Blind Bluff Manor.”
A human living in a sanctuary? It was unheard of. She couldn’t imagine why a human would want to live in a sanctuary with Deamhan unless they were a minion. She continued to look at him in a bewildered gaze.
“You’ve heard of Blind Bluff Manor?” he asked.
Again she didn’t respond.
He sighed and slightly shook his head. “They don’t teach them like they used to in The Brotherhood anymore.” He repeated the name of the sanctuary in an attempt to make her understand. “His name is Nathan Tiernan, and he has a sanctuary called Blind Bluff Manor.”
“I’m not some inexperienced human that’ll fall for your lies,” Veronica replied. “There has never been a human who’s owned a sanctuary.”
“They really don’t teach you researchers like they used to.” He chuckled. “Back in my day, researchers were more stealthy, smarter, and harder to kill. Now, anyone can be a researcher.”
“I’m not a researcher,” Veronica insisted.
“Of course not.” He slid off the bar stool and walked past her.
“I don’t trust your kind. All you Deamhan do is lie.”
“True.” He continued to walk through the crowd. Not wanting to be left alone, Veronica followed him. Remy stopped and turned back around. “But what I told you about Nathan Tiernan is true. He can help you.” He raised his hand slowly and gracefully swiped her cheek. “And you need all the help you can get.” Veronica noticed the minion Remy pointed to earlier slowly raise himself up from his stool with a blank stare.
Remy tilted his head to sniff the air. “I love that smell.” He turned his head to look over his shoulder. “The smell of fear.”
The minion raced toward the exit with Remy continuing to walk in a calm pace after h
im. The other two minions were now gone from the seats. Veronica ran after Remy out the front entrance. He was quick, and she’d almost lost sight of him until she saw him down the street, turning the corner.
She called out after him, running as fast as her legs could carry her. She passed the patrons standing along the wall, still waiting to get into Dark Sepulcher. She turned the corner and stopped. She saw him standing over one of the minions in the club. The minion kneeled on the pavement with his arms lifted in the air in fear.
The minion clasped his hands together and tears began to stream down his face. His mumbled speech about his wife and two kids fell on deaf ears. He pleaded his case and upon seeing Veronica, he turned to her, crying that he wasn’t there to harm her, only to watch. He explained that his master was stronger than Remy and if any harm came to him, his master would avenge him. Still Remy didn’t budge. He placed both of his hands on the man’s shoulders and remained quiet, only smiling while the man continued his defense.
“Don’t kill him,” Veronica pleaded.
“Shhh,” he ordered. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
She watched while his hands rubbed the side of the minion’s face.
“Are you reading his thoughts?”
“They’re blurred,” he answered. “Blocked.” He increased his grip and the minion began to gasp for air. “But I guess that’s expected when you serve Kei.”
“What are you doing?” Veronica stood next to him. “You’re killing him!” Even if she wanted to, even if she was able to, she couldn’t force Remy to stop. She had no power to stop him. Remy’s face filled with the thrill of this hunt and his smirk added to his haunting stare. He fed off of it; his dark aphrodisiac.
And his nature.
“I can smell Kei’s scent all over this one.” Remy wrinkled his nose in disgust.
The man frantically shook his head no. “Please . . .”
“Remy, please don’t,” Veronica pleaded.
Remy quickly turned to face her and he snapped. “This minion belongs to Kei. If he could, he’d kill you without a thought. Now, why would you beg for his life?”
Veronica opened her mouth but found her voice muted. She slowly moved back from him. His eyes turned from brown to a murky black. The veins underneath his skin began to pulsate.
Remy placed his hands around the man’s neck, lifting him to his feet. The man screamed, and Remy placed his mouth over his. Veronica watched him sucking and gurgling while the man began to shake in his grasp. There was a moment when Remy pulled back and a small trail of blood dripped from the victim’s mouth. He then went back in sucking the essence; the life force from his victim. The minion’s body went limp and his bloodshot eyes remained open, staring into the heavens.
Veronica covered her mouth to hold in her screams.
It ended quickly. Remy released his grip and the minion’s body fell to the pavement.
Remy’s feet staggered and he placed his hands on a parking meter nearby for support. “Woah.” He licked his lips ecstatically. “Always a rush.” He turned to Veronica.
She stepped back again, not knowing what to do. She had just watched a Deamhan feed on an innocent human being. She had to do something.
“He’s far from innocent.” Remy stood up straight. His skin now glowed and his body looked healthy; anew. “He’s killed plenty of humans for Kei. He’s burned sanctuaries; he’s tricked Deamhan to their deaths. Yes, he’s far from innocent. Don’t cry for the minion, Veronica. He wouldn’t cry for you.”
She didn’t know if Deamhan avenged their minions. She prayed that the dead male lying on the pavement was just one of many minions Kei had to spare. Now, there was no turning off her fear. She was scared for her life.
Remy straightened his leather jacket. “Kei may be the most powerful Deamhan in the city, but he’s not the oldest.” He placed his hands in the pocket of his jeans and he turned to walk back to the club. Before turning the corner he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Nathan Tiernan. Blind Bluff Manor.” He snickered. “Perhaps I’ll see you there?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Veronica jerked awake to the sound of continuous banging on the front door of her apartment. Sweat dripped from her forehead and her eyes adjusted to the sun’s rays illuminating her living room. The pounding continued, and she lifted herself from the couch with a sharp pain scurrying down her back.
“Veronica, are you there?” a familiar voice uttered from other side of the door.
Veronica hurried over to the door, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She flattened her disheveled hair and unlatched the lock on the door. Sean stormed in carrying two briefcases.
“Sean?” Veronica closed the door behind him.
He set the two briefcases on the floor in a loud thud.
“Oh my God.” Surprised to see him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I did.” Sean gently kissed the top of her head.
“How long were you out there?” Veronica felt the dryness in her mouth as she spoke. She buried her face into his chest.
“Just a couple of minutes.” His medium sized frame towered over her. Veronica noticed his dark slacks and his short sleeve shirt and his brown hair with blond highlights. His appearance was different from the last time she saw him. He looked more mature.
“When did you arrive in Minneapolis?”
“About an hour ago,” he answered. “I know, I know. You told me to not come, but you didn’t answer my phone call. I thought something was wrong.”
“I told you I was going to Dark Sepulcher.”
He stared at her for a brief moment before replying. “I didn’t think you were going to go.”
“What do you mean you didn’t think I was going to go? You knew I was going to go.”
Sean pulled back from their friendly embrace. “Never mind, Veronica. I’m just glad that you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” Veronica laughed slightly. “Are you okay? I mean, you’re the one who flew all the way from San Diego because I didn’t answer your call.”
“Obviously I didn’t come just because of that.”
Veronica’s eyes zoomed at a tattoo on Sean’s left forearm. “When did you get that?” He looked at it and smiled. The tattoo as detailed as it looked, didn’t fit Sean’s personality. The last thing she thought he would do in his lifetime would be to get a tattoo of a cherub striking down a demon of Satan with a gleaming yellow electric bolt from the heavens.
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Sean!”—Veronica playfully slapped him on his shoulder—“I thought you were afraid of needles?”
“Who told you that?”
“You did silly,” Veronica said. “Doesn’t matter though.” She hugged him again. “Oh my God, I’m so happy you’re here.” She released him. “Wait. How were you able to leave San Diego this easily? Did The Brotherhood let you go?”
“Never said it was easy.” He looked away for a moment. “I’ll tell you later. So, what have you found out so far?”
Veronica sighed in exhaustion. “Where do I start?”
“How about with Dark Sepulcher?"
“I spoke with Lambert.”
“Lambert? The owner of Dark Sepulcher?” Sean’s mouth jumbled with excitement.
“Yeah and oh my God, Sean, there was a lot. There’s more going on in this city than I realized.” Her eyes drifted down to his suitcase. “What’s in there?”
Sean grabbed one of his suitcases. He popped the two notches and opened the lid. “I found some more paperwork in the library. I hope it helps.” He pulled out a stack of papers. “I wanted to show you this before you decided to go back to Dark Sepulcher.” He placed the papers on the table and leaned back on the couch, placing his hands over his forehead.
“Why didn’t you just fax them?” Veronica flipped through them.
“I didn’t have a safe landline.”
The papers were heavily marked, and most of th
e information was lined out. They were directly from The Brotherhood’s classified files.”
The first stack of stapled papers had the name “Lambert” written on the top in cursive handwriting. His date of birth, sired date, and the name of his sire was missing. The paperwork stated he was a Celt, born in Gaul, abandoned as an infant and raised as a mercenary for hire—a headhunter.
The second stack had the name “Alexis” typed in the upper right hand corner. Her real name was Alexandria and her date of birth was listed as 1757 on a plantation just outside of New York City, called York Plantation. Her sired was listed as “Lambert” and the date, August 6th, 1777 at the Battle of Oriskany.
Veronica found the information regarding Remy to be more interesting. The paper listed his date of birth as 1830 in Paris, France. It also listed the date he was sired; 1849, and his maker’s name, Julian of Endor. The information on the second page listed his human parents as Charles and Louise Durand and his younger sister, Marie Durand—all deceased during the 1848 Revolution.
“He’s about 150 years old.” She knew the expression that specified the amount of years a Deamhan lived after they were embraced. “Young” was never older than three hundred years.
Both Alexis and Lambert’s paperwork was incomplete which didn’t surprise Veronica, The Brotherhood mainly focused on Deamhan.
“You got them.” Veronica hugged Sean.
“Sorry it took a while,” Sean said. “I tried to steal everything that I could.”
“Sean . . . what about The Brotherhood?”
“I know the risks, Veronica. I don’t want what happened to Rick to happen to you.”
“Well I’m glad you’re here.” Veronica smiled warmly. She placed her hand on his shoulder and kissed him on his cheek. She skimmed through the remaining paperwork that wasn’t stapled. The jumbled phrases and words didn’t stick out to her. A few times she saw Lambert’s name but it was followed by more blacked out lines, blotching out details.
“They’re hiding something.” Veronica sighed. “This is worse than declassified U.S. documents.”
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