“You’re pacing.”
Haven stood still long enough to look at Char. “So are you.”
He was wearing a suit, an expensive, well-tailored suit Char had picked out for him. She’d suggested the shoes, the shirt, and the tie as well. Haven didn’t mind her choices since he didn’t care much about clothes. Char didn’t care much about clothes either, but she looked good in what she was wearing. For once she wasn’t in black, but a floaty blue and white print dress. The spaghetti straps showed off her buff shoulders and arms. He would have liked the skirt to be shorter, to show off her legs. He guessed a certain amount of modesty was suitable for a wedding.
The room was full of roses, lilies, and orchids arranged in tall crystal vases. The floor was shining white marble; the walls were hung with palest pink watered-silk drapes. A fountain burbled gently in the center of the room. It was all very tasteful, feminine, and romantic, Haven supposed. This wasn’t even the wedding chapel but a reception area. The chapel was through an arched doorway on the other side of the reception room. The staff was discreetly out of sight since welcoming them, and hopefully wouldn’t reappear until the happy couple put in an appearance.
“Are we early or are they late?” he asked. “Think we should have picked them up at their hotel?”
“I’m nervous,” she said, and went back to pacing.
Haven wasn’t sure she’d heard his questions. Char was definitely distracted. So was he, but he made himself stay still. “Me too.”
“You what?”
“Nervous.”
“Why?”
Haven wasn’t prepared to tell her yet. Not here. Way too public. And he had to be very careful in how he told his Enforcer lover what he knew and how he knew it.
He glanced toward a side table, where bottles chilled in ice buckets. “Maybe we should break into the champagne.”
“Jebel!”
He expected the reaction, and chuckled. “If you’re hungry, there’s a cake too.”
He’d thought about telling Char about Martina when she first woke up. But the look in her eyes was haunted when she opened them. She told him she’d had daymares before he could ask what was wrong. Then she’d grabbed him and made love to him and he hadn’t minded that a bit. It distracted both of them, and left no time for conversation before they had to get dressed for the wedding.
“Isn’t this place a little too classy?” Haven asked. “For Santini.”
“Definitely too classy for Santini, but not for Della. Were you expecting them to be married by an Elvis impersonator?”
“Yeah.”
“She wanted to get married at the Venetian,” Char told him. “The thought of that much opulence scared Santini to death. They compromised on a nice wedding chapel.”
“Della runs a homeless shelter. I didn’t expect she’d want anything fancy.”
“You don’t know Della. Not the Della I knew back in Seattle. Back when we shared a nest with—” Char shook her head.
She didn’t have to say it, and he didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking. Who. Jimmy Bluecorn. The sacred, the beloved, the vampire who’d made her. Haven almost growled at the thought, both with jealousy and the lingering perception that it was wrong to make anyone a vampire. Char had been a volunteer, he reminded himself. Vampire laws allowed a vampire to take whoever they wanted without asking permission, but apparently the sacred Jimmy Bluecorn wasn’t that kind of a guy. He was so perfect and blessed of memory that Char wasn’t over him yet. And vampire laws stated that once you were made into a vampire, you severed all ties with your bloodparent. Char had issues ’cause she still had the hots for good old Jimmy.
“It’s hero worship,” she said, picking up on Haven’s resentment. “Don’t you ever think it’s any more than that.”
“That’s bullshit,” he answered, but he smiled when he said it.
Char appreciated the effort it took Jebel to make light of something he saw as a threat to their relationship. Which was ironic, because she was well aware of how ambivalent he remained about being involved with a vampire. She had her problems, he had his. “We make it work,” she said, discovering that they were staring into each other’s eyes and wondering how long this had been going on.
He nodded. “I don’t know how.”
Desire sang between them. “That’s how.” Lust sent heat through her, set her fangs aching, but she made herself turn away. She felt his disappointment, and said, “A wedding chapel isn’t the place for what we have in mind.”
“If the bride and groom are going to be late—”
“Snogging in the chapel is not a good way to fill in the time.”
“Snogging? What the hell’s—”
“It’s a British term.”
“You want to do it on the altar?”
Char couldn’t repress a laugh at the images this suggestion invoked. “You are not that kinky, Jebel. I am,” she added, and felt her rough man’s grin of disbelief. “But you like to think I’m a lady.”
“I know you’re a lady.”
She walked across the reception area and peered into the chapel. “Besides, there isn’t an altar.”
She could tell there was something on his mind besides sex. He was concerned, and it went deeper than nerves about being best man at a wedding. Her concern went deeper than being the maid of honor.
As for that, Char found it odd that Della had asked her since they’d never exactly been close. What was even odder was that a companion had survived the death of her vampire lover and recovered enough sanity and self to fall in love with another mortal. Who knew such a thing could happen? There was nothing in the Laws of the Blood that forbade this union. Of course, the Laws were written for and by vampires. Since companions and slaves existed only in relation to their masters, very little attention was paid to the mortal members of the underneath world.
There weren’t many Laws specifically aimed at Nighthawks, either. The Laws that applied to all vampires applied to those who enforced the Laws as well. Only, there were traditions among Enforcers, unwritten Laws, codes of behavior. She wasn’t sure if she’d violated the codes last day, or if something else was going on. She hoped her dilemma was as simple as being rude for not having introduced herself to the Enforcer of the City when he saved her from burning to a crisp inside her own daymare.
It probably wasn’t that simple, of course. The situations the psychically gifted got themselves into were rarely simple. Instead of coincidences, her kind had to deal with synchronicity. People met for reasons, complex, obscure, and dangerous. It was all very—
“Fraught,” she muttered, and wondered why she’d chosen that word as a finger of ice ran up her spine.
“What?” Jebel asked.
“Nothing.”
Even as she answered him, she almost forgot Jebel’s presence. Her mind filled with the image of the Nighthawk she’d met above Las Vegas—inside her head—wherever. Inside both their dreams was the appropriate site where they’d met, she supposed, though it had felt very much as though they were out in the real daylight world. The connection was almost too complex to comprehend, too big to take in. The magic involved had been draining, and exhilarating.
She’d woken up so hungry she’d very nearly drained Jebel of every drop of blood in him. She hadn’t bitten him, had she? Surely she’d remember that. And he’d have mentioned it. She was still horny even though Jebel never failed to satisfy her physical needs. Most of them.
“I’m going to have to bite you soon,” she said. She turned back to him. His expression was neutral, but at least the look in his eyes was curious rather than wary.
“You’re hungry,” he said. He nodded. “I understand.” He gestured toward the chapel. “Marry me first.”
To her shock, Char realized Jebel Haven was completely serious. “We can’t. Don’t—”
“Until death do we part.”
“Until rebirth do we part,” she countered. Was he calling her bluff somehow? Putt
ing another obstacle in the way between his veins and her needs? He sounded, looked, and felt dead serious.
“Why not get married?” he asked. “It’s not against the Laws, is it?”
“Birth certificates,” she said. “Blood tests.”
“Can be gotten around.”
“Outstanding warrants,” Char reminded him. “Yours.”
“I have fake IDs.”
“Wouldn’t that make it a fake marriage?”
“Not if we mean it.”
This left Char with her mouth hanging open, and feeling like warm butter was flowing through her veins. It melted her. Even though some small part of her protested that she was a stern, fearsome creature of the night and such sloppy emotions should be alien, she couldn’t help but smile at the mortal who had once filled her full of shotgun pellets. He’d thought she was a murderous werewolf at the time. She’d been under orders to kill him.
“To think it’s come to this,” she said, and started toward him.
But the door opened before she reached Jebel, and they both turned at the sound. The bride and groom had not arrived. A vampire stood in the doorway instead, a tall, broad-shouldered male, dark-haired, dressed in black, wearing sunglasses.
Char gasped. “You!” she said, with embarrassing shrillness in her tone.
Jebel picked up on her distress and reached inside his jacket. Of course, Jebel was wearing a weapon to a wedding. Her mortal was still a shoot-first-why-bother-with-questions sort of man.
The vampire noticed, and moved.
Char put herself between Jebel and the newcomer. She saw a flash of claw, heard a gun being drawn. “Don’t!” she ordered both of them.
Both stopped at the crack of power in her voice. Tense stillness settled over the room. Who are you? What are you doing here? She screamed the thoughts at the vampire—the Nighthawk.
The other vampire—slowly—held a hand up, a conciliatory gesture. His claws were retracted. “I’m here for—”
“Geoff?” Della’s voice cut across the other Nighthawk’s words. They all turned their attention to the newly arrived bride, who stood between Santini and Baker in the entrance. Della was smiling as she peered curiously at the newcomer. “Geoff?” she repeated.
At first Geoff Sterling didn’t recognize the mortal woman dressed in bridal satin and lace, but her voice was very familiar. He took off the sunglasses to get a better look. He noted that the bride was not wearing white, but silver. Silver seemed appropriate. She’d prefer platinum, he thought, and then remembered who she was. Della. Krystalle’s companion. But Krystalle was long dead. Why was Della still alive if her mistress was dead? And what was she doing in a Las Vegas wedding chapel? Okay, that was obvious. But what was Della’s connection to the other Nighthawk? He cast a quick glance at the Nighthawk—the one wearing the floaty blue and white dress. A vampire bridal attendant? It was all very confusing.
There were three mortal men in the room. Their hostile looks told him they knew what he was, and were not happy about it. None of them were companions, or even slaves. Geoff made himself smile. Better to make peace now, and ask questions later.
He held his hands out to Della. He said, “I didn’t want to miss your wedding.”
“Who is he?” the mortal behind him spoke, voice rough, deep, and very suspicious.
“I have n—” the Nighthawk began.
“I’m from the old nest in Seattle,” Geoff cut in over the suspicion.
“He was Jimmy Bluecorn’s companion after you,” Della explained to the other vampire.
For some reason the tension in the room only grew at this information. Geoff ignored it, and added, “And I’m here to give the bride away.”
Chapter 8
“WAS YOUR, UH, friend, really going to try to shoot me?” Geoff asked Charlotte McCairn.
They hadn’t been formally introduced, but he knew her name. Jimmy had talked about her. Now that the wedding was over and they were back in the reception room for cake and champagne, Geoff finally had the chance to talk to Charlotte. They were on the opposite side of the room from the mortals, near the building entrance. Geoff noticed that Charlotte made sure that she was between him and the others. He admired her protective instincts. He’d heard a lot of good things about her.
In his early days as Jimmy Bluecorn’s companion, Geoff had been jealous of the woman he’d replaced. That she’d gone on to be a vampire he knew, of course. He hadn’t known she’d also made the transition to Nighthawk. Not being in the Enforcer loop, there was a lot he didn’t need or want to know. He did want to know about Charlotte, and her motley group of mortals.
“He wouldn’t have tried to shoot you,” she answered Geoff’s question after she took a sip of champagne. “The bullet wound wouldn’t have killed you, of course, but the considerable pain from the explosive charge would have slowed you down.”
She sounded quite pleased at the knowledge that a mortal was capable of inflicting pain on a vampire.
“How did he know what I am? Why would he want to shoot me?”
“Instinct,” she replied. “To protect me.”
“He belongs to you.” Not a question.
“Yes.” Said with pride. And the unspoken assertion that she belonged to the mortal as well. With the threat that she protected what was hers underlying everything else.
This was not possible. It was not right. He gestured toward the table, where the mortals gathered around the wedding cake. The bride and groom had their heads together, oblivious of everyone else. Charlotte’s mortal and the large African-American male were carefully watching him and Charlotte. The black man was openly hostile. The man who was a lover if not a companion didn’t look friendly, but there was a wait-and-see attitude about him. Vampires obviously didn’t scare him.
“He doesn’t have a chance against me,” Geoff said.
Charlotte’s smile was full of confidence. “But he doesn’t know that.”
Maybe it would be best to move on to something else. “Your friends,” he began. “Aren’t there Laws—”
“Are you the Enforcer of the City?”
She had a tight shield around her thoughts, but nerves underlay her sharp tone.
“Of course not,” he answered. “I’m not from around here.”
“But you are an Enforcer.”
He deliberately kept very calm. “I’m a Nighthawk. Just like you. You’re not the Enforcer of the City, either. Are you?”
“That’s irrelevant,” she said. But she was thinking, If I’m not, and you’re not, then who is?
Does it matter?
Of course it matters! She was sure it mattered. If there were two other Nighthawks in town, surely the Enforcer of the City was going to notice something different in the psychic makeup of the area. And surely the Enforcer was going to want to know why, and come looking. Char decided that maybe it would be best if she came up with an innocuous explanation and presented it to the Enforcer first. “We’re supposed to contact the Enforcer when we enter their territory,” she reminded the other Nighthawk. “I’m here on vacation myself.”
“You need to practice that line some more,” Geoff answered. He took a sip of champagne. “Me, I’m here on business.”
“What kind of business?” she immediately wanted to know.
“You have a suspicious nature.”
“I am an Enforcer.”
“I’m not.”
Char blinked, and took a few deep breaths. She’d been trained as an Enforcer by Marguerite of Portland. She worked for Istvan, the Enforcer they called in for the really dangerous jobs. While she was more a researcher than a field op, and had bent a few Laws herself in keeping Haven rather than killing him, she was still a member of the Enforcer organization. All right, she was bending custom if not the Law now by not mentioning her presence to Las Vegas’s official Enforcer. But bending wasn’t the same as breaking the Law.
“You’re hyperventilating,” Sterling said. He was smiling quite cheerfully. “Does th
e idea of a non-Enforcer Nighthawk upset you that much?”
She waved her hand at him, and looked around almost nervously. “Shhh. You shouldn’t talk about that. You shouldn’t admit to it.” Her nerves turned into an angry glare. “In fact, you shouldn’t be. Who made you? Why haven’t you—?”
“Long story,” he cut her off. “My story.”
“It isn’t allowed.”
“It’s a free country. I don’t have to go into the family business if I don’t want to.”
“Free—? How can you say we’re free? We have obligations.” Char realized she was sputtering with indignation, and hated the way Geoff Sterling simply stood there and looked at her. “Stop being so condescending.”
“I haven’t said a thing.”
“Your eyes were laughing.”
He put a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
“I might,” she threatened.
A flicker of fire in his eyes reminded her they were vampires. “Do you really want to hurt me?” The challenge was there, under the mock hurt in his voice. He took a small step closer to her. “Of course, a bit of mutual hunting might be fun.”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t mean—”
“You did. The Heart of the Hunter is the greatest prize. Isn’t that how the saying goes? Hasn’t the Council decreed that all Nighthawks must serve them? Isn’t it a killing offense not to comply?” He glanced toward Jebel and the rest of the mortals. Whether it was a threat against her friends, or a reminder of the irregularities in her own life, she wasn’t sure. “You going to report me?”
She was glad he didn’t ask if she was going to hunt him. As far as she knew, no Nighthawk had ever killed another Nighthawk. She wasn’t even sure it could be done, and she’d researched everything she could about vampires. A dhamphir could do it. Istvan, the Enforcer’s Enforcer, was a dhamphir. If she reported Geoff Sterling’s existence to Istvan—
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