Eva had gotten to know Father Mancini fairly well over the last few years. The slightly-rotund, elderly man with soft gray eyes and a bald head had a way of making her feel safe. His gentle nature and broken Italian accent reminded her of her parents. The sense of peace and tranquility he instilled in her was the only reason she was able make such a confession.
“But the Bible says, Thou shall not kill,” he replied in earnest.
“How do you reconcile this with your actions?”
“Vampires are murderers. They don’t deserve to live. Besides, they are soulless creatures, so killing them isn’t technically a sin, is it?” Eva needed absolution, not only for the sins she’d already committed, but for what was certain to come.
The priest always remained a step ahead of her. “That is a good point. However, do you know without a doubt that the creature you call vampire possesses no soul? The Lord found virtue in all things. Even the wretched and the damned.” Father Mancini peered down at her through the grates of the confessional box. The man had a way about him. He helped her see things from his perspective without making her feel overtly guilty of sin.
“You’re right, Father. I don’t know for sure that all vampires are evil. But the great majority of them deserve to be punished for what they have done.” Eva pushed a strand of her hair behind her ears, and forced the image of her deceased parents out of her mind.
The priest wrestled with something at his feet, pulled out a hymnal and opened it. He flipped through it until he came to the right page and read one of the scripture aloud to Eva.
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the down and his kingdom will have no end.
The Nicene Creed. She’d recited that same benediction a million times during her years at St. Mary’s Catholic School. Father Mancini didn’t need to explain further. She got the message loud and clear. Casting judgment on vampires wasn’t her call. “Is there anything else you feel the need to confess before I give you your penance?” His downcast stare like truth serum flowed in her veins.
“Well,” she answered. “There is one thing.” Eva slinked back into her chair. She felt almost dirty. Killing bloodsuckers was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to wrap her hands around a vampire in the raunchiest way possible. How in God’s name was she supposed to verbalize that to Father Mancini? The priest’s reassuring smile urged her to continue. “I’ve had impure thoughts about a man.” Eva murmured the words under her breath.
“How so, Miss Sambucco?” Father Mancini prodded, aware of the delicate nature of their conversation.
“I dream of having sex with him. Often,” Eva admitted begrudgingly.
Father Mancini hesitated, a bright-red flush colored his rounded cheeks. “And have you acted on any of these fantasies?”
“No. Not yet. But I am afraid that soon I will not be able to resist the temptation. What should I do?”
With a wry smile, the priest offered a suggestion. “Pray, my dear. Pray and ask the Lord for strength. You can start with five Hail Marys and two Our Fathers.”
“Thank you, Father. God bless you. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” Eva motioned with her right hand as she formed the sign of the cross over her chest and quickly exited the confessionary. Resisting Andreas Kristopolous would take a whole helluva lot of prayer.
Chapter Five
The Patriarch
Andreas made his way up the winding staircase with slow, deliberate steps. The sound of his heels reverberated across the ornately-decorated walls filled with the works of Picasso and Monet.
Twelve-foot ceilings fringed with Baroque-style crown molding and a blanket of polished cherry wood covered the floor from one end of the room to the other.
Ugh! This home is definitely a reflection of my father’s gaudy sense of style.
Andreas dreaded stepping foot across the threshold.
Nonetheless, he climbed the immense spiral staircase. Each step carefully orchestrated to announce his eminent arrival at the door to his father’s office. With his father’s keen vampire senses, he would hardly need to broadcast his presence.
Andreas arrived at the double doors and knocked hesitantly.
He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. He waited as the security camera stationed above the doors repositioned itself. Aristotle obsessed about the possible infiltration of his inner circle. But this was getting a bit ridiculous. A few seconds later, the security system deactivated, and his father buzzed him into the sanctity of the patriarch’s private quarters.
Aristotle stood behind his desk. He motioned for his son to take a seat one of the chairs across from him. “Come in, my son. I’ve been awaiting your arrival.” The older man remained stoic, his expression utterly blank. “Please, sit down.” Andreas hesitated before plopping down in a chair. He felt sweat pool at the base of his neck.
Damn if his father didn’t make him nervous as all hell.
“Father, I realize you must be upset about the attempted breakin to your office.” Andreas scrubbed a hand over his face as he tried to explain. “I assure you that Natasha and her team are doing everything possible to ensure Miravale stays as safe as Fort Knox.”
“As she should, my son. But I have not called you here to discuss our home security. We have another, more pressing matter to deal with.” His father’s vacant stare made Andreas all the more uncomfortable.
“What is it, Father?” Andreas squirmed nervously, tempted to jump out of his seat and shake the information out of the older man.
Aristotle Kristopolous was one of the oldest living pure bloods. Unlike so many of the vampires roaming the streets of New York City, and thousands of cities like it around the world, his father was born, not made. At one time, Aristotle had been the strongest, most powerful creature alive. He built this city from the ground up using his own blood, sweat, and tears. But after he’d lived through centuries of bloodshed and war, life began to take its toll on him.
Looking at Aristotle now, he seemed old and frail. It wasn’t until after the death of Andreas’s mother, Christine, some fifteen years earlier, that his physical appearance started to change. His father lost his will to rule, and the baton had been inevitably passed down to Andreas, his sole heir.
On the outside, his father’s body projected a frail, lifeless facade. But his mind remained keen enough to second guess every decision his son made. It was a bone of contention between the two men and the reason why their meeting had Andreas on edge.
“Let’s talk about Natasha for a moment. Do you trust her implicitly?” Aristotle’s subtle question undermined his confidence in their head of security and put Andreas on the defensive.
Andreas expected the patriarch to berate him. But he hadn’t anticipated the attack on Natasha. “Father, Natasha has worked for our organization for over a hundred years. First, as the personal guard to a member of the coven’s board of trustees and for the last twenty five years, as our family’s head of security. “I would put my life in her hands.” Andreas inched closer to Aristotle, careful to balance respect for his father with the understated challenge fighting toward the surface. “What makes you question her loyalty, after all this time?”
“Yes, son. You are right. Natasha is a valuable asset.” The older man raised his hands in defeat and conceded the point to his son. “But lately, I am hearing rumblings about the Russians. Reports of security officers getting a bit rough with patrons at your night club, particularly those that are human. Last week, another employee of Russian descent, beat up his girlfriend and nearly bled her to death after a lover’s quarrel. She, too, was human.” Andreas gaped, his mouth hung wide-open. He couldn’t believe one of his own would put his hand on a female. Unspeakable.
After a stunned moment, he shook off his surprise.
“I will agree that we have had a few complaints about the security staff at The Crypt. All were newly turned of Russian descent.
Unfortunately, I have not heard about the domestic dispute you
speak of. But what does all of this have to do with Natasha?” Aristotle peered down at his offspring, disappointed in his inability to connect the dots. “Andreas, as you know, Natasha is well-connected in the Russian community in Brighton Beach and the area surrounding Coney Island. Not only is she a role model for young vampires, but she is also known for helping recent immigrants get accustomed to life here in New York City.”
Andreas nodded his head in agreement. “Indeed. Natasha is very generous when it comes to her Russian compatriots, both with her time and money. But why does this make you question her loyalty to the coven?”
“It doesn’t. Not necessarily. Nonetheless, it is in our best interest to keep an eye on the situation,” his father recommended. “If nothing else, stay informed about what is happening in the Russian community. I am having the one who abused his human companion brought before the board of trustees. We’ll let the pure bloods decide his fate. You may know the accused, a man by the name of Ivan Olshanskey?”
Andreas’ mind wandered to Olshanskey. A constant fixture stationed at the main entrance to the club. He didn’t want to accept it as truth. But if Natasha had prior knowledge of the bouncer’s violent abuse of his girlfriend and purposely kept the information from him, there’d be hell to pay. The thought of Natasha’s betrayal left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Finally, Andreas sighed. “Yes, I’m acquainted with Mr.
Olshanskey. He’s a security officer at The Crypt. I’m surprised he’d get involved in something like this.”
Aristotle’s smile broke through. It was an act of mercy before he delivered the final blow. “I understand your concern. It is only fair I let you know now. I am making a recommendation to the coven’s board of trustees asking Olshanskey be deported and any future offensives punished severely, especially from those under your employ.”
“Agreed.” Andreas bowed his head in a submissive gesture.
Aristotle made it clear that negotiating the point would be futile.
“Andreas.” The father placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “You are the leader of this coven. You do not want this situation to get out of hand.”
“Of course, Father,” he acknowledged as he brushed past the old man on his way out the door. “Once again, thank you for telling me how to do my job.”
Just what he needed. Another wench to worry about, on top of the one who’d already been driving him insane. Women would surely be the death of him.
****
Andreas hopped back into his silver Porsche Carrera and headed toward to the expressway on the trip back into the city. He couldn’t help but mull over everything his father had said. No matter how much he hated to admit it, there was something strange about how Natasha dealt with the other Russian employees at the club. Coupled with the revelation about Ivan, Andreas’s interest had peaked in the worst sort of way.
His stomach twisted in knots at the thought of the two bouncers accused of accosting his human patrons. Even worse, Natasha had pretty much written off the incident as a misunderstanding. This after she gained a reputation for having no tolerance for other employees who didn’t follow the rules. The Crypt had an iron-clad policy about employees who fraternized with humans on company premises. It was strictly prohibited.
Andreas pulled into The Crypt’s underground parking structure, his fingers white from their tight grip on the steering wheel.
How could he have allowed such a complete disregard for his authority? His father had been right after all, and that fact made him boiling inside.
I’ve got to handle Natasha before things get out of control.
But first, I’d better feed. I need all the strength I can muster in order to confront her.
Chapter Six
The Subway Rendezvous
It neared eleven o’clock on a Friday night in New York City.
87th Street still bustled with people. Horns blared and lights glared as nighttime came to life. Andreas headed to the subway station below in search of sustenance. The last train would soon arrive at the station as club hoppers made their way above ground. It would give him the perfect opportunity to find someone to satisfy his hunger, if only temporarily.
He descended the steps, the far-off whistle of the train reverberated against the concrete walls as it made its way toward the platform. A crowd of men and women dressed like they’d stepped out of an episode of Sex In The City sashayed past in search of God knows what.
Andreas’s alert gaze searched the barrage of people who walked by in silk shirts and expensive designer jeans. He needed sustenance something fierce. So he picked out a willing volunteer in the crowd. She wore an emerald green halter dress and black patent leather heels. The slender column of her neck, exposed and pulsating.
Her carotid artery was visible. It made his mouth water and his fangs to protrude involuntarily.
Her flowing brown hair and eyes speckled with shards of green immediately captured his attention. She was the perfect little morsel to satisfy his hunger. The closer he got to her, the more Andreas’s need to feed gnawed at him.
When she made eye contact, his power of persuasion put her under a spell. Within seconds, she stood in front of him and begged for whatever Andreas offered.
“Good evening, beautiful.” Andreas’s smooth drawl flowed over the woman a second before he placed a delicate kiss to the inside of her wrist. Andreas sucked in a deep inhalation of air, as he took in his prey’s scent as he often did. The rich aroma of ginger and spice hit him. It somehow caused him to cringe. The sensation akin to raking one’s nail along a chalkboard.
“Hey yourself, sexy.” The woman looked hungry, eager for a man’s attention. “Any plans for the evening? My friends and I are going clubbing, if you’d like to join us.”
“I’m so sorry. I mistook you for someone else.” Andreas shook his head in apology as he averted her gaze. “If you’ll please excuse me.”
As he walked along the tracks heading away from the train station, Andreas couldn’t help but think about the God damn huntress.
Eva. Each time she was near, the unique flora scent of gardenias surrounded him. He craved that smell and quite honestly, no other woman would do. He’d managed to feed off of five different women over the last week, but still he couldn’t bring himself to sleep with any of them. Thoughts of Eva inundated his head. “Those stinking gardenias will be the death of me.” Andreas cursed himself under his breath as he jumped off the subway platform and followed the trail along the train tracks.
Like most charming, charismatic vampires, Andreas had no problem finding dinner. He spotted a sweet, old homeless woman willing to make a blood donation. Her tattered grey overcoat and wide-brimmed hat covered the weathered features of her face. While her clothes looked worse for the wear, she was well-groomed and had recently bathed. All good news for a famished vampire. She smiled up at him, mesmerized by his impeccable gaze, and easily submitted to his demands. Andreas took his fill and left her intact, if not a bit lightheaded from loss of blood. Then he turned back toward the subway station. His sleek form moved stealthily in the darkness. The only sound, the tip-tap of Ferragamo loafers as his footsteps came into contact with the iron rails of the track.
“Mr. Kristopolous, what a surprise!” A voice called to him. Its shadow lurked all around him. “I never figured you for the public transportation type.”
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He recognized that voice. “Ms. Sambucco, how nice to see you again. I’ve just come from dinner. Had I known you’d be in the neighborhood, I would have extended an invitation.”
Eva snickered softly. “That’s very kind of you. But I’ve already eaten.” Her lilt voice dripped with sarcasm. She held her ground even as the vampire undressed her with his eyes.
“Oh, on the contrary, my darling,” Andreas replied. “There’s always room for dessert. And you happen to be the most delectable treat I’ve come across in a very long time.” Then Andreas approached her. Hi
s gait bold and self-assured.
With each step forward, she took another one back, until he had her trapped against the wall of the subway tunnel. He lifted his hand in slow motion to gently stroke her cheek with the pad of his finger. His coarse digits glided along her jawline as the huntress lowered her head to avoid his intense stare. She didn’t seem to care much for bloodsuckers. At least, not one hell bent on seduction.
“I should warn you, Mr. Kristopolous–” she began.
“Please, call me Andreas.” He couldn’t breathe with her so near. Eva tilted her head to the side and Andreas was rewarded with the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Long, luxurious eyelashes cast a sublime shadow over her angelic features, including a provocative glimpse of her ample bosom. His control teetered on the edge of collapse.
This is crazy. Take her now, while you’ve got the chance.
An internal battle raged inside Andreas as the animal fought for supremacy. Then Eva looked up at him, newfound courage reflected in her beautiful brown eyes. Her face flushed in an array of color. The sudden rush of blood to her cheeks started his own blood pumping. He growled with need.
Eva held her head high in blatant challenge. “Andreas. I advise you to back off. If you refuse, this will end badly. Very badly.
I’ll either drag you in to the authorities by the skin of your teeth or kill you. Your choice.”
Without warning, Andreas pressed his burning lips to hers, demanding an acknowledgement. Eva broke away. Her head thrashed from side to side in an effort to resist his bold intrusion. But Andreas wouldn’t be denied. He pinned her pliant curves more rigidly to the wall and locked both hands to her sides. It was either take what he needed or die trying.
Andreas’s stare bore into her. He pleaded for total surrender.
She blinked and her expression softened a bit. And he went for it with a kiss much more delicate than their first embrace. The pillowy-softness of his lips and the silky smoothness of his tongue, coaxed a response from her. Eva had no chance in hell of surviving the pure rapture of his kiss. Its sweet sensation, a stark contradiction to the way his firm, rigid body pressed against her. The hard length of his cock rubbed against her clitoris, and she moaned out loud. Before long, she kissed him back with a hunger he’d never experienced before.
Irresistible Nemesis Page 4
