by L. A. Banks
Marlene nodded. “I know, baby . . . you love him.” She sighed with final defeat lacing her breath. “Be careful when you go out and have a good time, while it lasts.”
Without another word of protest, Marlene turned, left the bathroom, and was gone.
“He’s fully immersed in the Neteru, Mr. Chairman,” the counselor said, pacing before the Vampire Council. “He’s not rational! We have sent the edict to our families topside that there will be no attacks, but my concern is Rivera’s ability to complete the Neteru-delivery mission when it is time. He is compromised, and he will not be able to part with her.”
“Are you blind? Surely this is part of his strategy, Counselor Vlak, to totally seduce her, gain her trust, throw off her team’s guard . . . He enters their compound at will, escorts her openly, even in front of the Covenant team that cannot contain him. He grows strong, not weak!” The chairman’s fist landed on the table and came away with blood, momentarily stopping the argument. “We are watching vampire history in the making!”
The counselor spun on the chairman and folded his arms over his chest. “But he has not properly fed! He will be in no condition to address the Brazilian breach! Right now, given our heavy collateral damage from the civil war and the Amanthra incursion—fighting two major battles on two fronts simultaneously, Carlos Rivera is the strongest master vampire we’ve got topside, and he’s . . . he’s . . . The man has been decimated!”
For a moment, silence crackled in the room. Soon the murmur of dissent filtered among the seated council members. The chairman’s eyes narrowed on the counselor.
“Could it be,” the chairman offered in a lethal tone, his voice escalating with every word as he slowly stood, “that he is not feeding because he’s been filled with Neteru?” The chairman knocked over his goblet and sent blood splashing to the floor. “Would you drink from mere human if you could have that as a nightly option?”
“He eats venison in the woods like a damned werewolf. A disgrace!”
Seething, the chairman reached out a bony hand, his claws extending as the fury swept the counselor close enough to him to snatch out his heart. Breathing heavily from the sudden burst of rage, he petted the terror-stricken counselor’s chest. His voice became a sinister whisper. “In front of her to gain her trust. He cannot risk her believing an innocent died at his hands to inspire doubt in her. And he guards her every night from the moment the sun goes down, until dawn . . . when would he have time to bring down a kill?”
The chairman pushed the counselor away, and in relief, the counselor covered his heart with his hand.
“Rivera seduces her every night, at his own risk,” the chairman said. “Her blood is a toxin to his system when not ripe—and he hasn’t even flushed it with a human feed. He did this for the empire. A true blood sacrifice of merit.”
Garnering calm, he walked behind the table, rounded it, and came to stand before the counselor, bearing fangs. He allowed his voice to dip to a threatening whisper followed by a hiss. “Now you find his soul, and you never speak ill of the master vampire who is so shrewd I wish he were my own son. Are we clear?”
“Wow,” she said, laughing as she walked past the compound light barrier up the road to Carlos’s car. “I thought you sold it years ago, and traded it in for the black Mercedes?”
“Yeah, well, what can I say? I sorta resurrected her from memory. I shoulda kept her and never got the sedan. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He tried to seem casual, as though Damali’s words didn’t affect him. He watched her with sudden pride while she walked around the blood-red Chevy that used to be his heart. Although Damali had replaced his once-favorite girl on four wheels, he still had a warm spot for his old speed demon. Yeah . . . but the old girl couldn’t hold a candle to his boo.
Damali was standing there all-fine, matching his car, in a red halter top that had rips in it like claw tears, her smooth belly exposed. Her long, gorgeous legs were sliding out from beneath a black leather mini, with her baby Isis dagger peeking out at the thigh as though her legs were flashing a hint of fang. Girlfriend was working a pair of strappy black stilettos to the bone that tied up her calf. He let his gaze travel up her legs. Damn, every time he saw her, she did something to him.
She had her hair swept up off her neck just like he liked it. Tonight she wore ruby teardrop earrings, had lost the silver and had gone to platinum settings just for him. Blood-red nails, toes, and have mercy, her mouth. She’d done something different with her eyes, too. They had a real smoky charcoal effect that made her look all-vamp.
It would have been nice to be able to pick Damali up at the door, but her guardians were just not having it. He smiled. Just like old times. Beep twice. Meet me. This was nuts.
“She’s beautiful,” Damali said, as she ran her hand gently down the door, but careful not to mess up the brilliant wax job. “Would’ja look at the rims on her . . . twenty-twos, wires, damn, Carlos. She’s all that.”
Damali looked at him with a wide, mischievous smile. He had to laugh.
“But how do you see over the engine to drive this thing? You got chrome coming out of the hood sittin’ up higher than the driver, brother.” She laughed and bent over to peer down, which gave him a nice view. “And the exhaust pipes look like they belong on Rider’s Harley.”
“You shouldn’t make fun of a man’s car, girl. It ain’t right. And I don’t need to see over the engine.” He gave her a sexy smile and winked. “I drive her like—”
She held up her hand, laughing harder. “Do not say it.”
He smiled broadly and shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t gonna say, ‘I drive her like I drive you.’ D, all I was gonna say was, ‘I sense the road—got skillz. Can drive her with my eyes closed.’ ”
“Uhmmm, hmmm. Yeah, aw’ight,” she said, going around the vehicle one more time with a bright smile. “She is pretty. I love this car,” she said, her hand trailing over the black leather seats as she walked around the convertible. “I’m not making fun of it.” Then she laughed and shook her head. “Of course I like it. Always did.”
She liked the car, but was also fucking with him. She knew the sound of her voice, and the way she allowed her fingers to trail over the chrome grille as she went by, the way she let her fingers hover over the custom, iridescent crimson paint job, was giving him a hard-on. But he was glad she liked the car. He should have thought of it earlier, would have been the perfect place to take her . . . he’d fantasized so much about it when he was a kid.
She glanced at him. “So, you wanna take her for a whirl?”
“Rhetorical question, right?” He smiled and opened the door, watching how she slid against the leather, the friction hiking up her skirt to expose more thigh and blade. Damn.
“Where are we going?”
That question made him get serious and focus. “Need to take you ’round the way for a bit. Then we can chill. Cool?”
“All right,” she said, but her smile faded.
He could see the wheels in her mind turning as she gazed at the horizon. He revved the motor without needing to turn the ignition key. He put on “Choppa Style,” loud, letting the bass throb through him so he didn’t have to talk to her just yet. He bopped with the refrain in the music. Oh, yeah, it was on now . . . and we ready.
This was something that she would never understand. Before he went to Brazil solo, he had to get a few things straight, handle some business. A week ago, a couple of lower-level males had pushed up on him, in the fucking street, when he was with his woman, no less. The only reason they’d backed down is because he and Damali had stood united. That could never happen again. Motherfuckers betta recognize, and she shouldn’t even need to grip her blade when she was with him. The fact that she did, still didn’t sit right with him. He was her weapon—and if that wasn’t clearly established, she wasn’t going anywhere on tour. Period. He was just glad she hadn’t siphoned that info from his brain . . . and he was too glad
that she hadn’t picked up anything in the news yet.
Yeah, he had to make a run, then deal with Brazil before girlfriend found out. The Covenant and Marlene had given their word that they’d let him handle whatever was over there alone. The fact that she hadn’t gotten hip was evidence enough that she wasn’t completely back . . . then again, he did have to admit he’d had a role in keeping her a little blind. He didn’t feel guilty in the least about that bit of sleight of hand while her mind was wide open; he was not allowing his woman to go on some damned hunt. That was out. Her crazy hunting days were over. If something needed to be iced, that was his job. She just needed to stay safe.
Not to mention, it was bad enough that the council had put an offlimits marker on him, as though he needed their protection like some weak vamp human-helper. They’d even put a temporary one on Damali, like he couldn’t protect her! Vlak probably loved that shit . . .
Carlos kept his gaze fastened to the road, allowing the Chevy’s speed to kick up with his rage. “Get Low” came on, building his confidence as the music got louder, the bass got stronger, words said what he needed to hear, All skit skit, mo’fucker, Aw skit skit got-damn. The music became his pulse. Lil’ Jon and the East Side Boyz’ lyrics were his theme. The bastard who stole his club was his.
Over in Brazil, whatever he was tracking might not honor that council mark. Most likely it wouldn’t. He needed to know that if something jumped off, he could handle it. This was personal and very primal. The kinda shit women didn’t understand. Even lower levels over there were off da chain, just like in the human realms. You didn’t fuck with the South American dealers without serious heat and a squad.
Yeah, he was coming into his own, as power from the throne continued to take hold of him, but it bothered him to no end that it had taken this long to build up some immunity to Damali’s blood. If he was a lower level, and wasn’t getting a nightly dose, who knows? But it was working in his system the way the antidote to snake bite did. Needed a little venom in the cure.
Each time he bit her, he could actually feel his system absorb all of her passion, then take a jolt from the light within her as it threaded through his system and battled with it in his veins, temporarily weakening him, almost burning his insides—only to make him stronger when he came out of the bite. She woulda scorched the insides of a second-generation brother, slow heat implosion. Damn, she was awesome. Everything about the way she’d been designed was a lethal weapon . . . her eyes, her scent, the feel of her skin, her voice—even her blood, and it was designed to lure a master and slay him. And the Covenant and the council said ease up. Let his system regulate. Were they nuts? How?
With power came certain privileges. The thought almost made him smile. He glimpsed her from the corner of his eye. Hopefully her system was building a tolerance, too, because he damned sure needed to bite her every night at this point.
Carlos let his breath out hard and tried to push the nagging concerns to the back of his mind. He pumped the volume till he couldn’t even hear the traffic around him. “Damn,” by Bonecrusher, worked.
Vibrations from the speakers nearly rocked the Chevy off the road. It didn’t make sense that first night. He had been so blitzed that he couldn’t even seal her wounds as he pulled out. Had sent the girl home all raggedy in the throat. He shook his head. That was some un-smooth, virgin vamp bullshit that still embarrassed him. Her people did not need to see that. He didn’t blame them for the way they were acting. If it was his daughter . . . perish the thought. He changed the cut and blasted Nellie. Who you came wit? Yeah . . . shake your tail feather.
As a master vampire, as soon as the tip of the incisor was out, the punctures in her neck should have vanished. But messing with a Neteru, it took three freaking nights to master that nearly impossible level of concentration with her in his arms. Now he was about to go do something really crazy. But no leftover, second-generation wannabe from before Nuit took this region was gonna take his club! Oh, hell no. Bastard bought that shit from the DEA on auction, and had renamed it? Without asking him? No respect.
Protocol demanded that when a new master stepped up, everything got realigned, and if you wanted something you had to earn it and get it ceded. But this motherfucker, Nitro, just did a power grab? Carlos could feel the wind rushing by them, and Damali’s body become tense. He needed to make a visit to New York, Miami, Jamaica, St. Lucia, Toronto, Peru, and Brazil. Hot spots. Had to get his main jaun, LA, on lock. Do a couple of shakedowns, then word would be out. Control would be reestablished.
“Baby, aren’t you going a little fast?” Damali said, her tone strident and loud to compete with the bass thumping from the speakers.
Carlos looked down at the dashboard and read the speedometer: 110 mph. This was nothing. “I’m cool.”
“Uh . . . baby? What’s on your mind?”
He shrugged, bopping to the music while he kept his eyes straight ahead. “Nothing. Just wanna get a drink. See a few people. Then, we can go somewhere alone.” He wasn’t looking at her as he yelled over the music. He could feel her clutching her seat belt and the blood draining from her knuckles. “Where we’re going,” he said slowly as the Chevy sped up and bounced when it hit a seam in the road, “you gotta follow my lead to the letter.”
She reached out and turned down the volume.
“Carlos, where are we going? For real.”
He glanced at her, taking his eyes off the road to study her thighs. He smiled when she gripped the dashboard and almost shrieked. The mild terror the ride produced within her, plus the adrenaline, and his own rage, not to mention the way she looked and the way she smelled was making him crazy, not just a little irrational. The speed was exhilarating. The night was perfect. Maybe, later, he could convince her to sit on his lap while he did 220? He chuckled.
“All right. I’ll slow down. Just wanna go see my old club. Brings back memories.”
Damali glared at him. “Your old club was seized by the DEA, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for folks to know you’re alive . . . I mean, you know, around.”
Her concern for him warmed his heart, but she just didn’t understand. “Yeah, true. But they sold it at auction. Heard a guy in my territory picked it up, and—”
“Is it a vamp club, Carlos?” She sat back in her seat as the wind whipped her face. She pushed a loose lock back up into her ponytail, then crossed her arms over her chest.
“Baby, don’t act like this. It’s about power. Absolute control of my zones so that no matter where you are, there won’t be no shit. Feel me?” He looked at her hard, and then looked back at the road, dodging slower-moving vehicles. There was a motorcycle cop up ahead. Carlos blinded them to his eyes as they blew past him. “When you go on tour, when you’re out in the street, I don’t want no bullshit. If lower levels are trying me, I need to get this locked down, now.”
The fact that she didn’t answer him, grated him. On one hand, he was glad that she wasn’t being her normally stubborn self. But if she didn’t challenge his need to make a stand, then her gut instinct was registering something he didn’t like. Her confidence in his ability to protect her was not as firm as it should be. That, also, could never happen again.
When he pulled up to the curb, he yanked a pair of black shades out of his leather suit breast pocket and put them on. He smoothed down his burnt-gold silk shirt, tucking it firmly into his pants, and steadied himself for the inevitable—drama when he walked in with the Neteru. He studied the change to his marquis. Club Vengeance was now Club Eternity . . . Yeah, we’ll see, when I smoke that motherfucker who owns it.
Carlos, don’t start nothing in here. Please. Damali noted the tension in his body as he put his arm around her waist, and pulled her in tight. This mess was prehistoric! She watched male vampires in line puff up a little as they took a step forward, then thought better of it, ran a testosterone sensory check over Carlos, backed up, nodded, then let him through, bypassing the long line outside.
Lower-level, third-
and fourth-generation females snarled under their breaths at her, but gave Carlos seductive smiles that she did not appreciate. Cleavage was everywhere, some of it real, some of it plastic. Some of her stage outfits weren’t as daring as what some of these women were wearing. Damali almost felt dowdy in comparison.
But an eerie defensiveness entered her as Carlos escorted her to the bar, his gaze roving over what was once his. She could feel his rage building the deeper they walked into the club. Every nuance, every change within his environment sent a jolt through him. His grip tightened on her waist as he glanced up at the VIP booth and what had once been his office.
She could feel it in her bones, like a summer rain coming. Her man was outnumbered, and all she had on her was the baby Isis, her short blade.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, his head jerked around and he pinned her with a hard stare. His gaze was so intense that it nearly burned her. She could see red flickering behind his dark shades. The warning in his eyes was implicit—Don’t ever doubt me like that! Not here! He pulled away from her and offered her a seat, running his tongue over his incisors and breathing slowly through his nose.
She touched his arm gently. He looked down at her hand and nodded. She let her breath out very slowly. Okay, she had to learn the nuances of vampire culture fast and on her feet. But, then again, it wasn’t all that different from life as she knew it on the streets. Primal. Alpha males in full force. Any hint of weakness was quickly sniffed out, any sign of disrespect swiftly dealt with. She sighed. She’d rather be making love.
“Later,” he muttered, his gaze slowly going around the club.
Damali opened her mouth and closed it. Okay, he was definitely getting stronger, because she hadn’t even mind locked with him that time.
“Chivas, just a hint of color,” he told the bartender, “top shelf. How old is it?”
“Two days,” the bartender said, smiling, bringing him a bottle to inspect. “Got same day if you want it?”
