A dark-haired man stepped into view. He was short of stature, but trim and fit, older than Vincent by ten or more years. And he appeared to be a man of means, his clothes better than most, his face pale and almost delicate-looking, his hair and beard clean and neatly cut.
“Who are you?” Vincent asked again.
“I am the one who saved your life. So tell me, how did you come to these unfortunate circumstances?”
“We were on our way home from Abilene when those men attacked us.”
“Abilene,” the stranger repeated. “That’s a cattle town.”
Vincent started to nod, then froze when the movement set his head to pounding. He swallowed the nausea and said, “We work on a ranch in Texas.”
“Do you know the men who attacked you? Or why they wanted you dead?”
“No. I imagine they were common thieves, after our horses and money.”
“Possibly. Sleep now. We will have much to discuss when you wake.”
Vincent started to protest that he wasn’t a child to be coddled into sleep, but before he could utter a single word, his eyelids grew heavy and blackness descended.
The next time he woke, the pain was gone. More than gone. He felt better than he had since starting the cattle drive weeks before. How long had he been asleep?
He sat up and stared around. It was nighttime again, and the fire was still burning. It might have been the same campsite or not. One looked pretty much looked like the other. His gear was piled to the left, John’s next to it, but . . . he didn’t see his brother.
“Good evening, Vincent.”
He twisted around, watching as the same dark-haired man strolled into the firelight. He strained to remember, but didn’t recall giving the man his name.
“Are you feeling better?” the man asked.
Vincent studied him before answering. Who was this man? Some Good Samaritan who came upon the two brothers and decided to help? That was unusual enough that Vincent was wary of the stranger. He didn’t look like a priest or a brother whose job it was to help the unfortunate. On the other hand, he couldn’t deny that the man had helped him, had gone so far as to remain nearby while Vincent regained his senses.
“I am better. Thank you. May I have your name?”
“I am Enrique Fernandez del Solar.”
“And how do you know my name, Mr. del Solar?”
“I know a great many things, some of which you will learn over time.”
Vincent jumped to his feet, abruptly aware that he could do so. He didn’t simply feel better, he was completely healed. How long had he been out? He rubbed a hand over his chest, shoving aside the bloody remains of his shirt, and found nothing but the shiny, pale skin of a fading scar. It was as if he’d been shot months ago, rather than . . . He abruptly recalled getting shot, the piercing pain when the bullet hit his chest. Hell, he should be dead, not wondering how he’d healed so quickly. He shouldn’t have healed at all!
Fear seized him, not for himself, but for John. He searched the campsite, staring into the darkness beyond the fire, discovering that he was able to see far more than he should have.
“Where’s my brother?” he demanded. “What have you done to us?”
“Ah. As to what I’ve done to you, I’ve changed you forever. Made you better.”
Vincent spun around and strode across the campsite to face down Enrique. “What does that mean?” he growled.
“I’ve made you Vampire,” Enrique said, seeming unperturbed by Vincent’s threatening demeanor, even though Vincent was both taller and more muscular than he was.
“Vampire?” Vincent scoffed. “Are you mad? Vampires only exist in stories made up to scare misbehaving children.”
Enrique smiled placidly. “We’re quite real, boy. And you’re one of us now.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No? Try this.”
Without warning, Enrique slashed out with a knife, faster than Vincent could follow, faster than he would have thought possible, slicing deeply into Vincent’s bicep through his shirtsleeve. It bled instantly and profusely, soaking through the torn fabric, but then it simply . . . stopped. Muscle and skin were shifting beneath his disbelieving eyes, knitting themselves together with a searing heat that was not altogether unpleasant. He ripped the shreds of cloth away and rubbed a hand over the nearly-healed wound. It was sore, but no more than that.
Vincent swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he raised his eyes to stare at Enrique . . . at the vampire. Just thinking such a word made him feel foolish, but it also frightened him like nothing ever had before. He’d been made into a monster, an unnatural creature who killed other humans and drank their blood to survive.
“Oh, don’t be foolish,” Enrique chided him, as if reading his thoughts. “You don’t need to kill the humans you feed from. In fact, I will teach you the ways to make it quite pleasurable. For both of you.”
“Both of us? You mean my brother? Where is he?”
“Ah. I’m afraid . . . the transference is a taxing thing. Very hard on a body. And your brother was grievously wounded.”
“Where is he?” Vincent asked again as a sick knowledge rolled through his gut.
“He didn’t make it, Vincent. I’m sorry. He’s dead.”
Vincent didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He spun away and walked into the darkness beyond the campfire. He needed to be alone with his grief, and his guilt. His brother was dead and it was his fault. He’d been the one who insisted they join the cattle drive. John hadn’t wanted to go, but he hadn’t want Vincent to go alone. And now he was dead. He’d never go back and become an animal doctor for their father. And their mother . . . ¡Dios mio! Their mother! How could he tell his mother that her youngest son was dead? She would die of grief. And she would never forgive him.
He groaned out loud, his legs giving way beneath him as he collapsed on the cold desert ground. Tears spilled in a flood down his cheeks and he buried his face in his arms. Better to die than to face his parents with this terrible loss, with his failure. The grief built up in him until he thought it would tear open his chest, until the pressure was so great that he threw his head back and howled.
“I am sorry, Vincent,” Enrique said from behind him.
Vincent leapt to his feet, spinning to face the stranger, the man who claimed not to be a man at all. “Let me die,” he demanded. “I want to die with my brother.”
The man gave him a pitying look. “Don’t be foolish, boy. You’re grieving now, but you’ll soon see this for the gift it is.”
“I didn’t ask for your gift,” he hissed back at him.
“It was the only way to save your life.”
“You should have let me die with my brother.”
Enrique tsked impatiently. “Enough of this foolishness. You’ll thank me someday, but for now, you must simply survive. And that means finding a place to rest before daylight. Come.”
“Where’s my brother’s body? I want to bury him.”
“It’s gone. I did try to save him, you know,” he added waspishly. “You should thank me.”
Vincent only glared at him distrustfully.
Enrique sighed. “When a vampire dies, he turns to dust. Your brother was already Vampire when he died. There’s nothing to bury.”
Vincent groaned again. Could this get any worse? What would happen to his brother’s soul? Would God understand that it had not been John’s choice to be made unholy?
“Come,” Enrique snapped again. “Sunrise is almost upon us.”
“Sunrise?” Vincent repeated numbly, feeling as though he was in a dream, a nightmare.
“Your first lesson, boy. You want to be dust like your brother? Then stay here and wait for the sun to rise. If you want to live, then come with me.”
; Not bothering with whether Vincent followed him or not, Enrique walked back to the campfire and began adjusting the saddle on a brown horse that Vincent had never seen before. It was standing placidly next to his own black gelding, but John’s chestnut was nowhere to be seen.
“My brother’s horse,” he said distractedly, still having trouble thinking straight.
“The bandits took it. Yours ran, but I managed to round it up for you. I’m leaving now. You can follow or not.”
Vincent watched in a daze as Enrique mounted his horse and rode away into the night. He could hear the clopping of the animal’s hooves, the chiming of the buckles as clearly as if he stood only feet away. He thought about what the vampire had told him, that the clean light of the sun would burn him to dust if he lingered. And he tried to find the energy to care.
Did he want to die? Or did he want to live?
He stared at the campfire, like the one he’d so recently shared with his brother, John. How they’d laughed about the cattle drive and imagined their futures. A future the bandits had stolen from them. Enrique hadn’t done that. He’d made a choice for them that he had no right to make, but he hadn’t caused any of this. No, that blame belonged to the men who’d attacked them in the first place.
And in that moment, Vincent decided. He’d live long enough to avenge his brother’s death. At least that long. And then he’d decide what came after.
Mexico, present day
“And did you?” Lana asked somberly. “Did you ever find the men who attacked you?”
“They were already dead. Enrique had come upon them as they ran from our campsite and killed them all.”
“But he said—”
“Yeah. He said they stole John’s horse and let me assume they escaped. He wanted me alive for his own reasons, so he said whatever he thought would work.”
“He’s your boss?”
“In a manner of speaking. He’s the Lord of Mexico. Different thing altogether.”
“Do you like him?”
“Hate the fucker, to be honest. But he’s the guy in charge, so I try to get along.”
Lana let out a sharp laugh. “You don’t seem like a guy who gets along.”
Vincent turned and gave her a crooked grin which amped his already high levels of gorgeousness to somewhere in the stratosphere.
“Are you saying I’m not a team player, Lana?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “No, I’m saying you don’t strike me as the kind of guy who’ll kiss ass to climb the corporate ladder.”
Vincent’s grin disappeared and his face went hard, his eyes cold. “You don’t know much about vampires if you think I got where I am by kissing ass. I climbed the corporate ladder by killing anyone who stood in my way.”
“Hey,” Lana objected, pretending her blood hadn’t frozen in her veins when he looked at her like that. “I said you didn’t seem like the type, remember? Relax, tough guy.”
The tension in the cab ratcheted down a few turns, and she felt her blood begin to flow again.
“Touchy subject,” he muttered.
“Obviously.” Deciding a change of subject was in order, Lana said, “So what does your trip planner have in store for us tonight? Where are we stopping?”
“Somewhere around Durango. I haven’t done much business in that area, so we’ll have to check it out.”
“No Marisol waiting to greet you tonight?”
“I’m afraid not. But Durango’s a big town. I’d rather not go into the town itself, but there are bound to be smaller communities within a few miles. Just enough for a motel, and a cantina or two.”
He gave her a grin that said he knew what she was thinking. But since she was thinking it would be nice to have a room to herself tonight, she figured if he really did know her thoughts, he wouldn’t be grinning like that. Whatever their motel accommodations, though, she doubted he’d be lonely. As long as the town was big enough, there’d be plenty of women waiting to welcome him to their blood supply . . . and their beds. Not that she cared either way. If he wanted to be a man slut, that was his business, not hers.
“You want me to find a place and call ahead?” she asked.
“Call if you want, but it’s not necessary this time of year.”
Lana shrugged. Fine with her. She’d rather set eyes on a motel before committing anyway.
They rode in silence for a while, Vincent’s attitude noticeably cooler than it had been. She’d obviously offended him with the kiss-ass remark, and maybe she’d done that on purpose. She’d needed to gain some emotional distance after hearing the story about his brother dying. She didn’t want to feel sympathy for Vincent, didn’t want to feel anything other than a businesslike . . . courtesy. Yeah, that’s what it was. Two people doing business together, who would go their separate ways in the end.
“Does Enrique live in Hermosillo, too?” she asked, and immediately wondered why the hell she’d said anything. What happened to the idea of courteous silence?
“Enrique lives wherever he wants. He has places all over Mexico.”
“Including Hermosillo?” she asked, pushing the subject now, because it was so obvious that he didn’t want her to.
Vincent glanced at her briefly, then said, “He hasn’t been to Hermosillo in a very long time, which is why I live there.”
“So where does Enrique live?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious. Why? You think I’m going to attack Enrique and take him down?” She laughed, then had an idea. “Wait, if I did kill him, would that make me your boss? Didn’t you say that’s how one advances up the ranks among vampires?”
Vincent didn’t pretend to hide his disdain for that idea. “Yeah, right. You’d last all of three minutes before a real vampire removed you from office.”
“Spoilsport.”
He snorted dismissively. “You learn to deal with reality very quickly when you’re a vampire.”
Lana thought about that, thought about a young Vincent waking up to find his world torn apart.
“Did it hurt when you became a vampire?” she asked him quietly.
“I don’t remember much of the actual process. It hurt like hell when I woke up the first time, though.”
“What about the first time you . . . you know, drank blood. Was that weird?”
Vincent shot her a suspicious look. “What’s with the fifty questions? You writing a tell-all or something?”
“Just making conversation. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“Good. I think it’s my turn anyway. You owe me some answers.”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Ask away.”
“When did you lose your virginity?”
Lana gasped loudly and turned to stare at him in disbelief, which only made him laugh. “I’m not telling you that,” she said.
“Okay, how about this?” he said, still laughing. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Lana considered whether to answer or not. If she admitted she didn’t, would he try to seduce her? Not because he was attracted to her necessarily, but simply because that was what he did. On the other hand, if she lied and told him she had a boyfriend, he might consider it a challenge. She sighed, wishing she’d never agreed to this stupid question and answer game in the first place. She’d have been better off with a book.
“No boyfriend,” she said at last.
“Never?”
“I didn’t say that,” she snapped. “I’ve had a few. They didn’t last.”
“Hmm.”
“What hmmm?”
“I was just thinking it must be hard to be in a relationship when you travel so much of the time.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyone serious?”
>
“Only one.”
“Who was he?”
“Someone who turned out to be a player, like all the rest of you.”
“You have a very low opinion of the male half of the species, querida.”
She didn’t say anything to that, because it was true. They rode in silence a while longer, until he asked, “How do you know Raphael?”
“I don’t. I told you, I deal with Cyn. You probably know she does some investigative work. Sometimes she needs someone checked out in my neck of the woods, and she calls me. It’s faster, plus I get the impression that Raphael likes her to stay close to home.”
“That’s an understatement. Vampires are possessive as a matter of course. But when you consider the extra aggression and territorial instincts a vampire lord has, I’m surprised she’s not kept in a basement. A very nice basement, but a basement nonetheless.”
“She doesn’t strike me as a woman who’d put up with that.”
“I think you’re right. I’ve never met her, only seen her across the room. Her rep is pretty serious, though.”
“I’d like to meet her in person someday. We’ve only spoken on the phone.”
“Which bring us back to the task at hand. Why does Raphael want us to find Xuan Ignacio?”
“You know everything I do. Did you ask Enrique if he knew Xuan?”
“Not a chance. You know that territorial instinct I was talking about? Well, let’s just say Enrique would not be thrilled to discover his lieutenant is on an errand for Raphael.”
“You’re Enrique’s lieutenant? I didn’t know that. That’s high up the ladder, isn’t it?”
“Only Enrique is higher.”
“So if you think Enrique’s an asshole, do the other vampires think you are, too?”
His grin finally returned as he said, “I sure as hell hope not.”
“Michael seems to like you.”
“Michael is mine. He’s pretty much hard-wired to like me.”
“Yours? You mean you made him a vampire?”
Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8) Page 10
