She turned, but instead of walking back to the small inn where they had rooms, she went inside the church. It was straight and tiny, with no more than four or five rows of wooden benches. Candles of all sizes flickered and danced in their holders: red, white, gold, blue. They surrounded the dais, where the Nativity scene was arranged. A hint of scent—myrrh and frankinsence—hung in the air. The moon shone down through the small blue and white stained glass window, casting cool illumination beyond the circle of golden candlelight.
Everything was so damned blurry through her tears.
She loved him. She wanted to be with him. But she didn’t want to be destroyed.
It was self-preservation that kept her kneeling and hunched, there in the church, determined and stiff and agonized. Because if she turned back to Max…if he even touched her once more, she’d go with him. And she wouldn’t look back…until her heart was shattered again.
Max Denton might be the greatest vampire hunter living, he could be the most unselfish of men, sacrificing his life to protect others, the bravest, strongest, best person…but if he wasn’t capable of relationships or honesty with her, how could she be with him?
But, dammit, maybe Savina was selfish herself, for wanting even more from a man who gave so much. Who’d already given one love.
A warm, familiar hand came to rest on her shoulder. Damn. He was back. Her resolve was disintegrating rapidly. Am I expecting too much from a man who gives everything?
She rose, blinking tears, blind, sad—and yet desperate for him.
“Savina,” he said, taking her hands in his. His eyes were steady, dark, grave. “I love you.”
“I know that, Max—”
He kept talking, his voice firm and intense. “I can’t promise I won’t ever leave you again. There is so much out of my control, so much I can’t predict. But I can promise—and I do, here and now on this night…” He sank onto one knee, still holding her with his eyes, lifting her cold hands to kiss them. “I promise you, Savina Eleiasa, that I will never run away from you. No matter how much I love you. No matter how much you mean to me. I’ll never run from you—from us—again.”
And that, Savina realized, as she pulled him to his feet and slid into his arms—as she found home, safety, comfort—that was enough for her, for now. For tonight.
For this Christmas.
Epilogue
~ Journey ~
Four months later—April 1926
The Consilium
Rome
“IT’S TRUE. ISCARIOT has the amulet.”
The words weren’t exactly what Max wanted to hear, but he wasn’t surprised. Evil attracted and gained evil, just as the divine attracted and gained good, and that’s how it would always be.
“And your source is solid?” he asked. “You’ve been able to confirm this?”
Paolo, the Keeper of the Consilium and Bellitano’s right-hand man, nodded. “There’s no doubt. The amulet was obtained months ago—likely not long after the photograph of Lady Glennington appeared in the Times. There was much talk about it among the undead in New York and Chicago. In fact, it was the cause of significant in-fighting between Iscariot and Count Alvisi.”
“Who’s your source?”
“Sebastian Vioget, of course. As well as Alphonsus, who actually has more information because he is infiltrating the Tutela there.”
Max frowned. Alphonsus. He wasn’t certain how much he trusted the bastard. He’d given the man a chance to prove himself, and now he’d have to see how it worked out.
“It seems Alvisi is dead, thanks to an altercation at a place in Chicago called The Blood Club,” continued Paolo. “But Iscariot is alive—so to speak—and well.”
“And he has the amulet.”
“Yes.”
Iscariot with the amulet was bad enough, but Iscariot with the amulet in Chicago, where Macey lived, was terrifying on many levels.
Max set his jaw grimly. “I’m going to America. Chicago, to be exact. I have a friend there, an Irish bloke I knew from the war. He’ll give me a place to stay.”
Even as he made the announcement, Max’s insides were in turmoil. It wasn’t the thought of facing Nicholas Iscariot—armed with the amulet or not—that made him weak-kneed and nauseated.
It was seeing his daughter again….after fourteen years of silence.
The End
About Colleen Gleason
Colleen Gleason is an award-winning, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author known for the international bestselling Gardella Vampire Hunters series. With the short story IMMORTAL GLAMOUR, she is pleased to launch the Gotham Hollywood series--a contemporary spin-off of two of her most popular worlds that can be read as a standalone story.
www.colleengleason.com
Jameson by K.F. Breene
About Jameson
Darkness Series #9
Chapter 1
Jameson walked through the empty halls of the mansion, the hollowness pressing on him. Once upon a time the massive house was filled with warriors and naked people, idling or rushing depending on their schedules. They loitered on the couches or strategized around the tables, planning their nights and their species’ survival. And while, during much of the year, their people still had those duties, everything slowed down for the holidays until the place was nearly a standstill of smiling people. That, or empty, like now.
He peered into the vast kitchens. The two cooks, leaning against the stainless steel counter, glanced up. Then pushed to standing.
“Are you hungry, sir?” one of them asked.
“There are only a handful of people around,” Jameson said. “You can leave.”
One stared at him while the other, very slowly, reached for his apron strings.
“Are you sure, sir?” the cook that hesitated said. “Did you want a plate before we go?”
“I’m sure. Take off.” Jameson pulled back from the doorway.
“Thank you, sir! Merry Christmas!”
Jameson gritted his teeth. Their people never used to celebrate Christmas, or any human holidays. Then Sasha strolled in and dragged a horde of humans behind her, popping out kids left and right, mingling magic, messing up their entire system…
Admittedly it was a good thing, since with Sasha and the humans came power and procreation, not to mention peace and survival, but in times like this, when he had nothing to do but wander through empty corridors in an attempt to avoid the family life of Christmas Eve, the way things used to be slapped him in the face.
His phone rang as he walked out the back door. He fished it out of his pocket and scanned the screen. Speak of the devil.
“Jameson,” he said into it.
“Hi. We have a job for you if you want it.” She paused for a moment. “This is Sasha, by the way.”
“I know. I read your name on my phone.”
“Oh, great, you can read. I wondered.” Jameson couldn’t help cracking a smile. “Right, so Tim has called in a favor,” she went on. Jameson’s hand tightened in irritation. “Don’t sulk. I can hear you sulking.”
He shifted his weight, waiting her out as the frigid night seeped through his jacket and scraped his skin. She knew he had no love for the shifters. Some of them, individually, were fine. He’d admit that. But as a whole, they couldn’t be trusted. He’d lost a parent proving exactly that.
“The shifter compound in the woods is being plagued by a few humans,” she said. “They’re sneaky. Tim thinks it has to do with that lab that caught Ann a few years ago.”
“We destroyed it,” Jameson said, walking again to keep his internal heat up. “Their records, the board of directors—everything attached to that lab is destroyed. I made sure of it.”
“I know. And we all know how thorough you are. But these guys seem like special ops, and they are taking things like hairbrushes or women’s products. Used women’s products.” She paused again. “Do you know what I mean by used women’s products?”
Jameson rolled his eyes. He incr
eased his perimeter check. “I do, yes. Just because they didn’t catch a hiker wandering too close, doesn’t mean they are dealing with special ops.”
“Female hikers, then? Needing to break into a cabin in search of a hairbrush and used tampon?”
“Hairbrushes go missing all the time. I find stray ones around the mansion constantly.”
“And the used stuff?”
Jameson bent to touch his hands to the ground, a strange divot catching his eye. His fingers touched springy grass, the shadows tricking him. Now Sasha had him jumping at ghosts.
He kept to the perimeter check, though. Just in case. “How could they possibly know those items went missing? Do you catalog all the tampons you use?”
“Of course not. But when I go to throw something away in the bathroom garbage—which is a small canister, by the way—and all the dirty ones have been picked out, leaving the rest of the trash behind, I get a wash of horror.”
Cold filtered through Jameson’s middle, and it wasn’t the weather. “It happened to you?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.”
The breath left Jameson in a relieved rush. He might lament the new lifestyle on sad, lonely days like the ornery bastard he was, but if anyone tried to harm Sasha in any way, he’d burn the world down to right the wrong.
“Calm down, killer,” she said in a light tone. “I swear, you males are all the same. Really touchy. And you breathe really loudly when you get worked up. I know I’ve mentioned that before, but you guys still do it. Take a lesson from the females, will ya?”
“Get on with it,” Jameson barked.
She laughed. “Right. So the shifters used me as a guinea pig to see if I would notice little things, like a hairbrush, underwear, and, finally, that. It wasn’t until that, specifically, that I got really freaked out. The other stuff, continually happening, made me start to wonder, but that… No. That’s just weird.”
“This happened to more than one female?”
“Yes. Two they are sure about, and the little odds and ends missing for the others.”
“Birth control?”
Sasha paused for a moment. “I’d have to ask. I’m not sure.”
“Condoms?”
“None of the men think anything is missing.”
“Males don’t notice those things as much, which is why they discount it when females do. Have the females noticed any condoms missing?”
“Not that I’ve heard. I can ask.”
“The males are trying to pay attention?”
“Jameson, they aren’t idiots.”
He prevented himself from sniffing in derision. Sasha would just make fun of him for one mistake or other that he’d had the misfortune of her witnessing.
He worked his way around to the front. Nothing seemed amiss.
“So Tim is thinking someone is getting intel on DNA and breeding capabilities?”
“See?” She sounded smug. “I told him that would be your first conclusion. He thought you’d immediately go to someone wanting female shifter habits and schedules.”
“Like he did, I assume.”
“Don’t be rude.” He could hear Sasha shifting. “So yeah, he thinks the hairbrushes are for DNA—the hair—and possibly fingerprints. Some of the shifters would show up in human databases because…well, they are technically human, as far as society is concerned. Some thought lost or dead, but still on the grid, unlike you guys. I don’t understand why they had to take the used period stuff, though. A look would tell them that the females have their periods like humans do.”
“They can compare the discharge of a human to a shifter, to see if the uterine lining is the same or different. They can see what it is made up of, and possibly start formulating ideas on incubators. If any of this is true, someone is looking into shifter breeding capabilities.”
“Wouldn’t they need a male for the other half of that?”
“No. They’d need a human female that was willing to have unprotected sex. With how much time shifters spend in bars, I’d assume the intel team have all they need from the males. Females aren’t as gullible there, either.”
“Well my goodness, Jameson, you are certainly showering my sex in compliments. Has the Scrooge in you finally withered away?”
Jameson let himself into the front door, ignoring her. He didn’t want a reputation for being easily baited, like Charles had gotten. “Where do I fit into all this?”
“Like I said, Tim called in a favor. Stefan wants you to head out to the compound and check out the shifters’ surveillance and equipment. Where they are lacking. Tim is fully prepared to buy whatever you suggest. He’s more than a little on edge about all this. That lab made us all realize that hiding from humans is becoming harder as technology gets better.”
“If he’d amped up his technology when we did, he wouldn’t be having this problem.”
“Please don’t gloat when you meet his beta,” she said dryly.
Jameson scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Where and when?”
“Are you coming for Christmas Eve dinner?”
“You know the answer.”
“Then now. As far as where, you know the answer.”
“Where do I meet my contact, I meant.”
“Just show up at the compound. She’ll find you.”
She’ll?
Jameson had heard a new shifter from out of town had risen in the ranks and newly taken the beta spot, but he hadn’t heard it was a female. That was surprising. While females could be just as, or more, ruthless than their male counterparts, usually they weren’t as strong or large. Female hyenas were the exception within the sexes, but even then, a larger predator would still win out.
“Is this a mate of Tim’s?” he asked, hating to walk into a situation with which he was unfamiliar, no matter how possibly trivial.
“No. Tim’s woman, at the moment, is human. She doesn’t know he’s a shifter. He’s an idiot, I know. I’ve told him a million times.”
Jameson bet that went over well.
“You are coming for Christmas, though,” Sasha said in a firm voice. “And you have to stay all day. It’s family time. No exceptions.”
“Yeah.” Jameson let himself into his room.
“Okay. Good. See you tomorrow.”
Jameson tapped the phone off without saying goodbye, something Sasha hadn’t browbeaten into him yet, and chose some warmer clothes that he could still move in. After grabbing a backpack of tools, and strapping on his weapons, he headed out.
An hour later he drove off the road halfway down the hill from the compound, then turned and reversed into a dense canopy of trees. Branches slid against his paint, making him wince, until he was far enough in to provide adequate cover. Once out, he covered his hood with a camouflage sheet and threw a few more loose branches on top. Someone patrolling should see it, but a normal passerby would probably miss the vehicle.
This was the first test.
Hiking up the hill, he stayed off the roads and kept his eyes down, looking for tracks. Fairly soon he came across an animal print—a paw belonging to a great cat. Maybe a larger male mountain lion, but probably something a little bigger.
He changed course now, finding a few more animal prints of different sizes and shapes, some belonging to wolves, one to a creature he couldn’t identify, but smaller in size. And finally, what he’d been looking for.
He crouched down beside the boot tread, measuring it with his hand before snapping a picture. Judging by the impression and size, it was a male. He didn’t smell anything, which made sense because the print was on the older side, a few days, maybe a week. With the ground half frozen and no snow having fallen in the last few weeks, evidence of this person’s snooping was as clear as day.
He progressed, following the tracks easily until they were a little closer to the compound. Near a tree, they disappeared, but it wasn’t hard to deduce where they went.
Jameson followed, noticing missing bark and bent twigs until he ide
ntified a sort of perch. There he found signs of unconscious boredom—a spot in a branch picked away, a worn area where a boot tread rubbed repeatedly as the wearer bobbed his knee, and a couple scraps of a protein bar.
He lowered himself quietly, paying attention to his surroundings, and continued on his way, finding another set of tread. Larger, deeper, this was a bigger male or a giant female, with much better training. He lost the trail a couple times, only finding traces a little later. A strange smell greeted his nose, almost flowery. Like the flowers in the area, but too strong, not in the right location, and mixed with alcohol.
A scent disguise, probably.
Jameson stopped following the tracks and just let his nose guide him, taking him to the edge of the south side of the compound where scores in the trees still lingered after more than three years. It was in this area that Sasha and the shifters battled Andris, one of Jameson’s kind questing for power. The shifters had proven themselves good in a skirmish at that time.
A flash of pain made him move on, the memory of losing his father still cutting deep even after all these years.
The trail took him between two bungalows where the tracks deepened and the smell strengthened, not more than hours old, making a couple things clear: he was not dealing with a hiker, and he was dealing with more than one person. He bet each person made return trips, but he couldn’t be certain about that with the lack of evidence. Judging by their similar boot tread, however, he bet the style boot was the same, like a uniform. They were probably working together, and they were probably working for a larger establishment.
Not good things.
He continued on, through some bushes and into the backdoor of a smaller cabin. The tread was lost in the hard wood, but the smell was not. He followed it in a beeline to one of two rooms, a large space with a deep purple bed made with precision. Each item on the shiny dresser top was straight and aligned, one space missing in between a comb and a bottle of fragrance.
Alphas for the Holidays Page 47
