Stormrise

by Knizley, Skye

  “You know,” she said after a time, “you’re right. If this were a real ritual, she wouldn’t have been killed at the bungalow and you’d expect to find some kind of altar or something. Or at least the missing organs.”

  Levac straightened and moved closer, lowering his voice. “Honestly…do you ever get a basic crime of passion? A run-of-the-mill murder?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t know what to do with it,” Raven replied. “I’m getting used to cases like this. Did you find anything else in our staged ritualistic crime scene?”

  Levac shrugged and turned back to the body.

  “Not really; same thing you did. She wasn’t killed here; she was killed in a similar manner to King and your buddy Boone or someone he was working with brought her here and left her for us to find.”

  Chewing her lip, Raven stepped over to the body and squatted, looking the girl over while she pondered.

  “Did you notice she hasn’t been dead quite as long as King?” she asked after a moment. “She was obviously in that house, where she was warm and exposed. There were flies all over the place in the house and nothing but blood left behind. Now here we have her body, and her skin isn’t grey and gone squishy, and her hair is still lustrous; she looks like she has only been dead for a few days.”

  “So she was killed after King,” Levac said. “So what? Is that important? Couldn’t Boone just be trying a new flavor of serial killing? Maybe he got tired of vanilla assassination.”

  “I don’t think so,” Raven said. “I don’t think he had anything to do with the murder. I think someone paid him to retrieve the body. I think someone else killed King and then killed Vicki here. I am certain that Vicki was King’s lover; her things were all over his apartment. Might be we're looking for a spurned boyfriend who hired Boone to come after me and maybe you.”

  “If he hired Boone to take you out, then we’re looking for a boyfriend with plenty of cash money to burn,” Levac said.

  Raven made a face. She was reaching out for the body again when the uniformed officer arrived, a Chicago forensics team in tow.

  “Excuse us, detective,” Ryan Finkel said, pushing past the officer. “I think we should take over from here before any of the evidence gets tainted.”

  “’Bout time you got here, Finkel,” Raven said. “Can you cough up a time of death for me as quickly as possible?”

  “That is Zhu’s department,” Finkel said. “I can tell you she is dead and isn’t going to get better, and the candles are probably made from poorly rendered animal fat, the kind you can get in Old Town. Everything else will have to wait for my report.”

  “Thanks, Finkel,” Raven replied. “We sort of figured those out on our own.”

  Before Finkel could provide additional sarcasm, Levac reached out and took Raven’s arm. “Come on, partner, let’s let the boys do their job; it’s getting late.

  Raven cursed and fished in her purse for her iPhone. “How late?”

  “I don’t know, about four, maybe? Why?” Levac asked.

  “’Cause I’ve got a date,” Raven said. “I still have to get home and change.”

  “A date?” Levac asked with mock surprise. “Like, with a man? A living, breathing guy?”

  “Oh, shut up, Levac.” Raven walked quickly toward the exit. “Remember, I hit what I aim at.”

  She closed the door behind her, not registering Levac’s gaze or the disappointment on his face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A cold, wintry evening had fallen by the time Raven arrived at Wildfire, a vampire-owned restaurant at the edge of Old Town. The restaurant was decorated like a 1940s dinner club, complete with a small brass band and a variety of singers. On most nights, only candles and alcohol lamps lit the club, giving the restaurant a feeling of being at the heart of a wartime blackout and making dinner a truly intimate and romantic experience. Which was why vampires chose it for their first date with a human; no one would see them enjoying a true claret, the blood thick and warm, looking like a fine red wine.

  Raven stepped through the doorway, her heels clicking on the floor. A hint of leg showed through the slit of her black dress and the gown whispered as she walked, hinting at the lingerie beneath. Her black-gloved hand touched the onyx choker around her neck as she looked for her date. She spotted Du Guerre seated at the bar and talking with the bartender, a fledgling vampire who showed the bloom of the recently fed. Francois had dressed in a classic black-and-white tuxedo, his blond hair pulled into a sleek ponytail that curled against his muscular neck. He had slipped a rose the color of Raven’s hair in his lapel and wore a black pinky ring with his family crest on his left hand. He looked like a tall, muscular James Bond and was so dreamily gorgeous he made Raven’s pulse quicken and her face flush.

  Du Guerre looked up when Raven approached; he favored her with his tummy-melting smile and slid off his stool, acknowledging the bartender’s “See you later, sir,” with the barest nod.

  Du Guerre extended his hand to take Raven’s, raising it to his lips for a tender kiss. “You look radiant, Ravenel my dear. Truly elegant; the color of night suits you.”

  Raven blushed and continued to hold the vampire’s hand, her gloved thumb brushing across his fingers. “Thank you,” she replied, trying to force the blush from her face. “I couldn’t resist this dress when you said we had a table here.”

  Du Guerre nodded. “We do indeed have a table. It is ready and waiting for us.”

  With that, Du Guerre turned and offered his arm, guiding Raven to a semi-private table with a clear view of the stage and the moon rising over the city. He helped Raven sit before taking the chair opposite, unbuttoning his jacket as he did. Raven couldn’t help glancing at the broad muscles displayed beneath his thin tuxedo shirt, her heartbeat speeding up as a variety of emotions danced across her heart.

  “I have taken the liberty of ordering wine for dinner,” Du Guerre said, pouring two glasses. “Nothing too fancy, a white from my family’s own vineyard. I hope it will be to your liking.”

  Raven sipped the wine and found it to be delicious. She inclined her head in approval and sipped again before putting the glass aside, her eyes never leaving Du Guerre’s face.

  The couple enjoyed a delectable, well-prepared meal of steak and seafood, rarely talking in favor of listening to the band and a talented singer who took the stage after their meal was placed. Communication progressed through fingers entwined across the table and the occasional warm smile shared in the candlelight.

  “Thank you,” Du Guerre said once the dishes had been cleared and the band had stepped down for a short intermission.

  “What for, Francois?” Raven asked.

  “For having dinner with me,” Du Guerre replied. “Twice you have graciously accepted my invitation though you know so little about me. Thank you.”

  Raven looked down and smiled, feeling her pale skin flush. “Well, I know my mother trusts you, and that means something. Besides, a woman has to eat and you have great taste. Why pass up such good company and wonderful food?”

  Du Guerre laughed, a rich musical baritone that reached out and caressed over Raven, causing goose bumps to wash over her skin and dance on her spine.

  “True,” he said, “though I hope there is more to sharing my company than food and eye candy. I find you truly intriguing. A dhampyr of House Valentina, yet also a police detective? You seem to balance the two neatly, from what I have seen. I am impressed, Ravenel. Most of us can barely exist in one world and would die straddling two.”

  Raven pulled her hands back and folded her arms. “It isn’t always easy. Sometimes my worlds collide and the results are not pretty. I take my duty to the law very seriously, just as seriously as my ties to my family. Having to decide between the two has made my life difficult on more than one occasion.”

  Du Guerre nodded, listening while running one long finger around the top of his wine glass, making it sing. “I can see where that could be complicated. Our kind tends to flaunt human laws in f
avor of our own traditions. As a detective, those lines must blur on occasion. When they do, which do you choose?”

  Raven looked away. “It depends on the situation. I'd rather not discuss it.”

  Du Guerre stopped playing with the glass and returned his eyes to studying Raven’s face. “I am sorry, Ravenel,” he said after a moment. “I did not mean to pry. I am simply curious how one manages to balance humanity with…with us. It seems we lose much that makes us human when we are Embraced, and there are so few pure blood these days.”

  Raven reached out and took Du Guerre’s hand in hers, quietly sympathizing with him.

  Du Guerre smiled and rubbed his thumb over Raven’s hand before leaning close, his eyes twinkling. “Would you like to go dancing?”

  Raven smiled and replied, “I haven’t been dancing since I was a teenager. I’d love to!”

  The vampire stood and bowed with a flourish, using the gesture to toss a small pile of cash onto the table to cover the evening’s meal.

  “Allow me to escort you to another location, my dear,” he said. “I know a tango salon not far from here that I believe you will enjoy as much as I do.”

  Stifling a giggle, Raven took the offered hand and followed Du Guerre out into the night. The two walked arm in arm along the cobbled sidewalk of Old Town, mingling with other passerby out to enjoy a wintry night in the gothic part of the city. Since Valentina had taken over as Mistress of the City, Old Town had flourished. She had decided to let the preternatural world shine, albeit in very specific and limited ways, and the result was a gothic-themed tourist attraction that both enriched and protected the vampires, lycans and mages who made the city their home. Those who obeyed the rules prospered in the darkness. Those who didn’t were soon banished by the others or destroyed by Valentina’s guard.

  It wasn’t long before Du Guerre guided Raven into another building from which soft yet aggressive music was filtering. The salon inside was filled with well-dressed people from all walks of life enjoying an evening of drinking and dancing. A large band was playing from a stage in the corner and tables were placed all around the wide dance floor. Most of them were occupied by jackets and purses, however, as the customers were on the dance floor enjoying the music and each other.

  “You know,” Raven said, taking a seat at an empty table, “I've walked past here a hundred times and never realized what this was.”

  “That is hardly surprising,” Du Guerre replied. “By day it is a dance studio. I believe Diana teaches ballet to elementary and teenage girls. Come, let us join the others.”

  Raven looked at the people on the dance floor who were enjoying an enthusiastic East Coast Swing.

  “I’m not sure I can do that,” she said. “I only ever did a little Macarena!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Ravenel! Of course you can,” Du Guerre said.

  Without another word, he took Raven’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. He guided her to an open area and began dancing, holding Raven’s hand.

  “It is an easy dance,” he said just loud enough for Raven to hear. “Watch my feet and just follow along.”

  Raven watched for a few moments, quickly picking up the six-count step. When she was ready, she jumped in, the slit in her dress allowing her to move to the beat while showing off her long legs and the lingerie she wore beneath the gown. By the time the song ended and a new one began, Raven was having the time of her life, her difficult case and the attempt on her life all but forgotten.

  Near the end of the evening, Raven found herself clutched in Du Guerre’s strong arms as the two of them danced a slow and sensuous tango. She looked up into his eyes, drinking in the love and desire she saw in them, her own heart returning his feelings in equal measure.

  As the dance neared its crescendo, Du Guerre let Raven fall backwards across his arm, her leg rising to lock behind his thigh, her hair falling to brush the floor. Du Guerre carried her like this across the dance floor before snapping her against his broad chest; his strong hand supporting her back and pulling her into a hungry kiss that dazzled onlookers and left Raven breathless.

  The kiss ended as the last strains of music faded away into applause by the rest of the salon’s patrons. When Raven opened her eyes, it was to see Du Guerre looking down at her, his expression hungry for her, yet tender.

  “Thank you,” he said in a hushed tone. “I haven’t felt this alive in a more than a hundred years.”

  “You’re welcome, love,” Raven panted with a smile, her skin trembling where Du Guerre held her.

  Before she could say anything else, Du Guerre was guiding her back to the table they had chosen. He was offering Raven a chair when she stopped him.

  “Can we go?” she asked with a hand on his arm.

  Du Guerre looked down at Raven and nodded. “Of course, Ravenel. Where would you like to go?”

  Raven licked her lips, making her red lipstick glisten in the light. “Where do you think?” she purred.

  Du Guerre smiled and extended a hand, escorting Raven out into the cold night. Du Guerre phoned for his limousine and the couple stood together, kissing softly in the shadow of the entrance until the polished limousine arrived.

  Du Guerre’s driver was very discrete, keeping the tinted partition closed and the limousine’s speed low. In the passenger compartment, Raven and Du Guerre kissed like teenagers hiding under the bleachers at homecoming, their panting almost feral as they devoured one another, Raven’s tongue plunging into Francois’ mouth, her fingers teasing his piercings through the thin fabric of his shirt.

  When they arrived at the high rise, Du Guerre carried Raven to the elevator, his lips never leaving hers. Throughout the ride Raven stayed pressed against Francois, one gloved hand stroking over his skin. Moments later they reached the penthouse suite and Francois’ plush bedroom. Raven hardly noticed the room’s sumptuous appointments as he laid her on his bed, his strong hands peeling her dress away as if the fine satin were paper. He tossed the shredded cloth aside, admiring the expensive and tasteful lingerie that covered Raven, from the lace-cup demi bra that caressed and lifted her breasts to the sapphire garter belt that trailed across her pale skin, the thin matching panty that artfully framed her sex and finally to the black stockings that caressed her thighs and raced down to her stiletto heels. His eyes glowed green in the semi darkness and his fangs extended in response to his pleasure; he tore off his own clothes and tossed the remains aside, apparently not caring that he had destroyed an antique. He stood before the scarlet-haired goddess on his bed, his pale skin glistening in the soft light, his glistening manhood standing out proudly.

  Her own eyes taking on a catlike glow, Raven sat up and reached out to caress her gloved hands over Du Guerre’s precious member, stroking it and eliciting a gasp from him that made her shiver.

  “Ravenel,” he growled, “are you certain this is what you wish?”

  “I was never more certain, Francois,” Raven wrapped her hands around him. “I want this. I want you!”

  Without another word, the vampire pushed Raven back onto the bed and climbed atop her, his lips seeking hers in a long and passion-filled kiss, his hand reaching down first to tease over Raven’s treasure then to tear her panty off in a single motion.

  Raven moaned into Du Guerre’s mouth, her tongue teasing over his fangs. Du Guerre ended the kiss, his fingers gently, but insistently pressing into the gorgeous woman’s folds. Raven watched, her eyes half closed in pleasure as he raised his hand and licked her honey from his fingers before returning to the main course.

  II

  Dawn rose and the morning sun streaming through the windows of Francois Du Guerre’s bedroom window startled Raven awake. She immediately rolled over to see that Du Guerre had long since retired for the day. She ran her hand over the spot where he had been lying and sniffed his pillow, inhaling his strong scent. After a few minutes, she slipped from the bed and tiptoed down the hallway wearing nothing but a satisfied smile and the bracelet Du Guerre had g
iven her. In the bathroom she found a bouquet of roses, a note, and another beautiful outfit. Raven smiled and savored the scent from one of the roses before reading the note that was propped against the side of the silver vase.

  Thank you for an amazing evening, my Ravenel. I look forward to seeing you again soon.

  Francois Du Guerre

  Raven held the note to her chest for a moment, almost giddy with excitement. Then, biting her lip to keep from shivering, she placed the note next to the vase and picked up the outfit the vampire had left for her.

  Wow, she thought, holding up the red silk blouse. He has amazing taste.

  An hour later, Raven left the penthouse dressed in Du Guerre’s latest gift. The red silk blouse, black skin-tight leather pants and matching jacket fit her like they were made for her and matched her pumps perfectly. She smiled at the limo driver who was already waiting for her outside the apartment. He took her to pick up the Shelby on the way to the station house, his banter sweet and polite as befit Raven’s position in the vampire hierarchy. When she arrived, most of the department was quiet and tranquil as the grave. Only the night shift was still on duty and most of them were out patrolling the city’s streets or working their own cases.

  Raven found a stack of reports on her desk, including an update of the initial report on King’s autopsy, a full report on the crime scene, and Dr. Zhu’s initial report on Victoria’s autopsy. She started with the update on King and had to read the amended report twice to make sure she was reading what she thought she was.

  Shards of gelatin embedded in his spine, ribs and what's left of his stomach? she thought. What the hell is that from? What kind of weapon is made from gelatin?

  She had just picked up Victoria’s autopsy report when Levac entered, a box of donuts under his arm. He dropped the donuts on his desk and whistled at Raven’s outfit.

  “You’re a little overdressed for the squad room, aren’t you?” he asked, admiring her figure.