by Scott, K. M.
He’d tried to be different with his vampires, but the scars left by his choices ensured that even when he was near them there was a distance that arose from simply being him. More of that penance for what he’d done.
Saint covered his eyes with his forearm and cursed the ability of vampires to remember. How much easier his existence would be if he could forget.
Forget them.
This place.
What he’d done all those years ago that had made him into the creature he was today.
Forget her.
Three
Solenne struggled to keep her anger in check, but Saint’s words repeated in a vicious loop inside her head as she lay in bed waiting for the last remnants of daytime to relinquish their hold on the world outside. Over and over, his words were like knives that cut fresh wounds.
Human females to feed from.
In only minutes, she’d be forced out into the early night to find him a woman to take blood from. And likely have sex with. Right in her own house. A human woman over her.
The insult wasn’t lost on her, a proud vampire female.
Reluctantly, she slid from the bed and mumbled, “No surprise your own vampires feel no urgency to help their sire.”
A quick shower and she was ready to begin her night.
Pimp for Saint.
Then spy on the local Archon.
Solenne studied the face in the mirror as she dried the last of her hair. Young in the vampire world since her siring in 1921, she was still blessed with the looks of a woman of twenty-four, as she always would be. Blue-green eyes stared back at her as her mind drifted back to that night when Teagan introduced her to a world so completely different from the one he found her in. A world battered and broken after the war, France offered little, but what Teagan promised when he offered to make her a vampire gave her hope.
Teagan. The thought of him all those years ago made a tiny smile creep onto her face. What a charmer he’d been! She would have given him the moon and stars if he’d asked. The loss of her sire at the vengeful hands of one working for those bastard Archons made tears well in her eyes, erasing the sweet memory too quickly.
She’d make them pay for what they’d done.
Wiping her eyes, she took a deep breath. Teagan was gone, and she no longer had a sire. No longer had the protection he provided. Sure, she hadn’t needed it in years, and it had been a decade since she’d seen him last, but if she’d ever needed his care, he’d have been there for her.
Instead of Teagan, she had his surly brother under her roof who still blamed her all these years later for the rift between him and her sire. And who planned on punishing her while she worked to keep him safe.
As she set off into the French countryside, she tried to put everything about Saint out of her mind. She was helping the Sons because they were the only ones in their world who had a chance at stopping the Archons. If that meant she had to tolerate Saint to honor his brother and end the Archon takeover, then that’s what she’d do.
But it didn’t mean she’d make it easy on him.
Solenne made her way along the dirt path that led to the village inn determined she’d find exactly what she needed there. Creeping along the side of the stone building, she saw just what she’d come for outside near the garbage cans.
Petite, with enough cleavage showing for any man, one of the inn’s maids would be perfect. Solenne watched her, evaluating her appearance. Appealing enough with her dark hair and a decent body, she would probably be acceptable to Saint, even though she was no real beauty. Too short, if you ask me.
“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” she asked as she appeared beside the woman.
“Oui, Madame,” the maid answered nervously as she looked around, obviously wondering where her new companion had come from.
“Parlez-vous l’anglais?”
Nodding her head, the woman said, “Oui, Madame.”
“Perfect.”
Focusing her gaze on the maid’s eyes, Solenne set about hypnotizing her. When she was finished, she took the woman’s hand in hers and together they returned to the house. Sounds from the sitting room told her Saint was already awake for the night. She led his female to him but stopped short at the sight of him. Wearing only pants that sat low on his hips as he stood making a fire in the fireplace, he looked incredible.
Flustered by the vision in front of her, she turned to the woman and fighting a stab of jealousy she knew was foolish, mumbled, “What’s your name?”
Staring blankly, eyes glazed over, she answered, “Marie.”
“Marie, stay here.”
The woman nodded, and Solenne walked toward Saint. Standing with his arms crossed over his muscular chest, he wore the look of complete smugness on his face.
With tremendous effort, Solenne kept her eyes trained on his face and not on the perfect set of abs just below his forearms that narrowed to a perfect edge just above his pants. Or what stood just below the top of those pants. She’d forgotten how incredibly exquisite his body was and silently cursed his obsession for working out.
Couldn’t have a pot belly. Of course not.
He looked so good she had to fight the urge to reach out and run her fingertips over the chiseled flesh that led to the top of his gym pants. His effect on her unnerved her, a fact she saw he knew by the glint in his eyes as he looked down at her.
“As you ordered, Saint. Willing and not a redhead.”
The words tasted like ash in her mouth. That she’d been reduced to taking orders from a man who hated her was bad enough, but orders for the human women she was to bring him was almost too much to bear.
Almost. She was stronger than this, though. There was no way he’d ever see how much she hated this.
“I’m impressed, Solenne. I thought you’d give me a hard time.”
What she wanted to give him was a strong slap across the face.
“I’ll leave that up to other women. Ones who possess free will, unlike Marie there.”
An almost imperceptible wince marred his expression for just a second, and Solenne knew her words had hit their mark. The look of satisfaction that had been in his dark eyes when she’d approached him was gone now, and he quickly directed his attention toward Marie.
“At least she’s not a redhead,” he said in a flat voice.
Solenne fingered the ends of her own hair at his second snide comment about its color and forced a smile onto her face. “Have some class and keep your activity to your bedroom, Saint. And please clean up any mess you make. My job here is to keep you safe, not to be your maid.”
Before he could answer, likely with a painful barb, she turned on her heels to head to her second distasteful chore for the evening. As she walked past Marie, she yelled back, “I’ll be home before dawn.”
Never had she wanted to escape her home more than on this night. Even hanging out with those sterile Archons would be better than being subjected to knowing Saint was feeding and making love to some human female in her own house. Looking up, she watched a falling star streak across the sky. Whispering into the darkness, she wished on it. “Let me be strong enough to endure this.”
There were only two Archons for all of France—one for Paris and one located in Avignon for the rest of the country. As was the case in other countries where there were so few Archons, both French Archons’ offices were a bureaucratic mess, inundated with far too many cases for just two officials to handle. What made the judicial system in the vampire world almost ineffective worked to Solenne’s advantage. Eager for any help, the Avignon Archon willingly took her up on her offer of assistance without a thorough background check that may have revealed her true identity. A well-crafted lie about her sire and she was in, able to spy on the very vampires she sought to bring down.
She’d chosen this particular Archon not only because of the ease of worming her way into his circle but also because he was one of the most influential Archons. Far more interested in power than meting out justice for
the many petty offenses his office was forced to handle, Marc Verrater made certain he knew the most important goings-on in their world. And he had a penchant for bragging, a reflection of his own self-importance and a habit that had been helpful to Solenne in her job as spy so far.
In minutes, she’d travelled the distance between her home in Valence and the Archon’s office in Avignon and was ready to do as she did each time she was forced to spend time with Verrater.
Grin and bear it, knowing she may some night hear something the Sons could use.
Compared to the beautiful old city of Avignon, with its stone fountains and medieval fortress walls, the Archon’s offices were nothing less than spartan. Bright white walls and white tiled floors made the place seem more like a hospital than the vampire version of a regional courthouse.
Solenne reported in with his assistant, a plain female named Rochelle who Solenne was sure was the most boring vampire she’d ever met. A pretentious know-it-all, she droned on continually about subjects no one cared about and routinely made mention of how Avignon was famous for being the place of a second home for the Pope in addition to Rome in the Middle Ages. Her act as the local tourist board was boring the first time. Succeeding times made those who came in contact with Rochelle almost universally grow to despise her.
“Good evening, Rochelle,” Solenne said, hoping the officious woman didn’t take the pleasantry as an invitation to a conversation.
“Lena, how are you tonight? I hear we’re in for exceptionally cool weather this week. Terribly odd considering our location. Do you know the average temperature in Avignon in late February is nearly fifteen degrees Celsius?”
Solenne fought back the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s nice. Is Marc in?”
Bobbing her head up and down, Rochelle pointed in the direction of his office and began to ramble. “Yes, yes. He just got in. Told me he has some big news. I bet it’s about the one who’s marked now. I hope he gets some recognition if he’s instrumental in getting him. I think Mr. Verrater deserves some. He does so much for the vampires in this country and never gets even a pat on the back. Don’t you think?”
God, she was insufferable!
Coming up for air, she took a gulp from her can of diet soda and continued. “He told me when anyone showed up to send them in immediately.”
Solenne flashed her a phony smile and walked toward the Archon’s office thankful for a reprieve from Rochelle’s blathering on. One knock on his door and he was eagerly urging her to come in.
Marc Verrater sat behind an all-glass desk, the kind that screamed minimalist design and a total lack of history or style. The Archon looked nothing like the sterile vampire he was required by law to be, however. His dark hair was cut short, and its color seemed to draw attention to his dark blue eyes. Solenne had never seen anyone—vampire, human, or anything else—with eyes like his. Untainted by any color but the darkest blue, they were mesmerizing even without the effect of a hypnotizing chant.
His body had surprised her the first night she met him. She’d expected him to be like the other Archons she’d encountered, thin and almost sickly looking, but Marc was nothing like that. Nearly as well-built as Saint, he looked physically every bit as powerful as he truly was in their world.
“Lena, come in. Did you see Rochelle on the way in?”
“Yes, sir. Did you want to see me?”
“I do. I’m very thankful for your help. You know, this is a very important time for us.”
“Us, sir?”
Leaning forward, he let a sly smile form. “Vampires. It’s a very important time to be a vampire. And as an Archon, I have an opportunity to make our world an infinitely better place for all of us.”
Especially you and your fellow Archons, I’m sure.
Marc continued on to explain the history of the Archons, how they’d always held a venerated position among their fellow vampires because of the important job they performed keeping order in the vampire world. All of this she’d heard before, but if she ever wanted to find out any secrets to help the Sons defeat these bastards, she had to suffer through his boring history lesson.
“So it’s especially helpful that you’re here to assist Rochelle with the backlog of cases.”
Solenne smiled as warmly as she could muster, hoping to encourage him to continue speaking and possibly give up something useful.
“Anything I can do, sir. She said you had something you wanted to discuss?”
Leaning back in his office chair, he folded his hands behind his head. “Did you hear about the Romanian?”
She’d overheard the jubilation when the news of Vasilije’s death had first come in, and now as the Archon spoke of it, her throat felt like she’d swallowed sand. The man sitting in front of her couldn’t contain his pleasure at the death of a fellow vampire. Every fiber in her being called out to her conscience to attack the son-of-a-bitch and refresh his memory about the illustrious history of respect Archons spoke of so often.
“Yes, great news, sir,” she croaked out.
“It truly was. It pains me, as a vampire, to admit that there are outlaw factions in our world hell-bent on hurting all of us. That he had to be eliminated is a tremendous sorrow to our kind, but necessary if we are to continue to thrive as a community.”
“So true, sir.”
As the Archon lectured on the idea of community and how each and every vampire needed to be ever vigilant to ensure their world was protected, Solenne sat listening as if a true believer in the cause, almost expecting at any minute Marc Verrater to refer to the vampire world as the Fatherland or something equally as Nazi-like.
“We believe in the greatness of our kind, Solenne. I can see you do too. It’s written all over your face.”
If she could have, she would have breathed a sigh of relief. There had been times when she’d been sure her utter disgust for the people around her was telegraphed as clear as day by her expression. That Marc thought of her as a kindred spirit in what the Archons were attempting meant she’d be all the more useful to the Sons. Maybe now was the time to probe him.
“May I ask, sir, what of his vampires? I believe he’d sired many.”
A sickening look settled into the Archon’s features. “Quite true. He’d been a libertine for certain. Siring all those vampires.”
Marc lurched out of his chair and began pacing. “As of now, his vampires are of no interest to us. They can’t be held accountable for his crimes. Until we determine there is a need to focus on them, they may live in peace.”
Solenne wondered what crimes Vasilije was accused of. True, he could be a motherfucker. She’d seen that firsthand in his overbearing treatment of Teagan. That he’d allowed him to move to the States and relinquished control stunned her when she found out. And there were many female vampires who considered him little more than a playboy—a manipulative bastard ruled by his cock. However, none of these character traits added up reached the level of crimes against their kind.
And what had Saint done? Was his transgression simply siring many vampires like Vasilije?
Marc continued his pacing behind her, and Solenne craned her neck to face him as she pressed on in her questioning. “Do you think his death will be a sufficient warning to others?”
Shaking his head, he stopped behind her and grinned a sadistic smile. “No, we don’t believe it will. There are others who have followed the same path as the Romanian. They too must be rooted out if we are to protect and care for our world.”
Knowing the answer to her next question, she asked it anyway, needing Marc to believe in her ignorance. “Has there been someone else chosen?”
There was every possibility that he’d find her question too much for a mere temporary helper like herself to ask. Equally possible was the chance that he’d grow suspicious at her increased interest in the workings of the Archons.
But she had to risk it.
Whatever concerns she had about overstepping her bounds were quickly dismissed by the smile tha
t practically lit up the Archon’s face. “Yes, another has been chosen. Another who has spent his life dishonoring what it means to be vampire. One named Declan Collins. His assassin has already been arranged and soon he will be just as the Romanian.”
The pleasure he found in announcing the impending death of yet another fellow vampire was clear in his voice. It made Solenne’s stomach turn, and the taste of bile filled her mouth.
“Already? Has he tracked him down yet?”
Marc leaned in next to her ear. “She, you mean.”
“She, sir? Isn’t Declan a male name?”
Solenne’s question was met with a deep chuckle. “The assassin is a woman. Just as with the Romanian, a female will bring this Declan’s time on Earth to an end. It seems only fitting, I believe.”
“Yes, sir,” was all she could manage to get out before she felt his mouth on her neck, his fangs sinking into her.
As the Archon pulled greedily on her vein, his hands travelled over her breasts, painfully squeezing her nipples through her clothes, as was his habit every time. Solenne struggled to think of anything but what she would have to endure, occupying her mind with the question of who the woman was who’d taken on the job of killing Saint. Was it someone who knew him? Who could hate him so much as to want to see him dead?
Four
“Solenne, can you find a woman who doesn’t smell like she’s been deep fried in animal fat tonight?”
Closing the door to the refrigerator, Solenne turned to see Saint standing at the kitchen’s center island. Shirtless. Again.
“Saint, do you own any shirts or do you need me to pick some up for you?”
Smirking, he raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Have we become a prude?”
Pushing past him, she sat down at the table and popped a grape into her mouth. “Don’t you concern yourself with me, but dial back the Cro-Magnon act, can you?”
