by Jenna Black
But even with her eyes averted, he could see the color in her cheeks. No, she didn’t object to seeing him without his shirt. The idea set off a corresponding stir in his groin. He had to get out of the room before he made a too-visible statement of his sexual preferences.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, heading toward the bathroom once more. “When I get out, you and I are going to have a talk about respecting each others’ boundaries.”
“I can hardly wait!” Hannah called after him.
5
JULES STAYED IN THE shower longer than usual, hoping the steam would clear his mind. Fat chance!
What a fool he’d made of himself! He’d thought he was well beyond the point in his life where mere words could hurt him. But the thought that the way he dressed might make people think he was gay … okay, so maybe he was a little homophobic. What did it say about him that the idea of being mistaken for a gay man could stir such a sense of horror in his gut?
He snorted. He couldn’t even count the number of girlfriends he’d had in his life, and not one of them had seemed to question his virility. And it wasn’t like he got a hard-on when he looked at other men. But the poison Ian had poured into his veins long ago never seemed to disappear from his system.
Maybe when Ian died at his hands he could finally put the past behind him and go on with his life. After all, if he actually survived this little field trip he had quite a lot of life left to live.
He was disturbed enough by his memories that he actually nicked his cheek when shaving, something he almost never did. Though the nick healed immediately, he decided to leave a goatee-shaped area of fuzz around his mouth. He leaned forward and peered at his reflection in the mirror. The auburn fuzz gave him a scruffy look that made his fingers itch for the razor, but he resisted the urge.
Ignoring Hannah’s crack about his “perfume,” he splashed some aftershave on his cheeks, then dried his hair. Gel gave the fine strands some body, but he couldn’t find his hair spray. What had Hannah done with it? He leaned his fists on the counter and fumed at the thought of her pawing through his things. But he wasn’t about to make a fuss about the missing hair spray—he could only imagine what she’d have to say about that.
The flyaway hair went with the scruffy semi-beard, so he supposed he didn’t look too bad in an unkempt, blue-collar sort of way. Of course, the tailored wool trousers and Armani jacket he’d chosen didn’t go with the look. Daring Hannah to tease him, he boldly strode into the room and dug through his suitcase until he found his lone pair of jeans, then retreated to the bathroom once more before she had a chance to comment.
When he emerged again, he stood still while she gave him a visual inspection from head to toe. Color warmed her cheeks again, and she touched her tongue to her upper lip in what he felt sure was an unconscious gesture.
“Not bad,” she said, the hoarseness in her voice giving evidence of her true opinion.
He couldn’t help smiling. It had been too long since he’d had a woman. But Courtney’s death last year had hit him hard, and his conscience hadn’t let him bring a woman to his bed since. He refused to let another mortal woman come to harm because of her association with him. True, he hadn’t loved Courtney, but there’d been an emotional connection between them. When they’d made love, it was more than just sex. It was hard to settle for less now. Which meant he’d been celibate for a frighteningly long time.
Which, in turn, meant that Hannah’s obvious attraction to him held a great deal more appeal than it should.
“I’m glad you approve,” he said dryly, breaking the awkward moment.
“Yeah, well, you’ve got quite a wardrobe to choose from in there.” She jerked her finger toward the closet. “What’s the deal? Oh, and by the way, I snooped in your cooler too.”
He’d left the cooler—loaded with bottles of blood—on the floor of the closet under a huge bath towel he’d brought from home. He’d have put the blood in the mini-fridge, but he’d been afraid a maid might ignore the do-not-disturb sign on the door and try to restock the bar. Probably paranoia, and eventually he’d have to risk it. There was only so long he could keep the blood fresh in the cooler.
“For future reference,” Hannah said, “when a neat-freak leaves a towel lying around in a heap, it makes us nosy types really, really suspicious.”
He sighed. “Leave it alone, Hannah.”
“Gray only feeds twice a week, and you’re a lot older than he is, so I’m guessing you don’t have to feed as often. There’s a hell of a lot of blood in that cooler.”
What was the point of fighting it? Hannah was going to chew his ears off until he told her what she wanted to know. Besides, she’d no doubt already reached the logical conclusion.
“I’m not going back to Philadelphia,” he said.
“Ever?”
His throat tightened. “Ever.” But of course, she’d want an explanation, so he couldn’t just leave it at that. “I’ve disobeyed a direct order from Eli. There’s a good chance that if I go back to Philly, he’ll kill me.”
Hannah gasped. “No way!” She looked horrified. “You’re not serious, are you?”
He nodded tightly.
“Geez, I knew the guy was a weirdo, but I thought he was a weirdo with a heart of gold.”
His hackles rose to hear the Founder so insulted, but he answered mildly enough. “Eli does have a heart of gold. But he’s learned his lesson after what happened with the Banger. It’s damn hard for a Guardian to stay on the straight and narrow on his own. I’ll do it, of course. I’d stake myself out in the sunlight before I’d let myself go rogue. But I can’t blame Eli for distrusting my motives after the way I’ve acted lately.”
“Well, I have no trouble blaming him! And I don’t want Carolyn or even Gray having anything to do with the sicko.”
She was grabbing for the phone as she spoke, outrage pouring from her in waves. Jules crossed the distance between them and wrested the phone from her hand.
“Settle down,” he said, hanging up the phone. “Carolyn and Gray know perfectly well what Eli’s like. Believe me, if you’d ever met him, you’d know in a heartbeat he isn’t someone you want to fuck with.”
Hannah sat heavily on the edge of the bed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, I just lost the last hint of respect I ever had for the guy. Which wasn’t much in the first place.”
How could he expect her to understand Eli? Hell, he couldn’t really claim to understand the man himself. What he did understand was that Eli was a good man who considered his cause more important than any individual. Everyone was expendable. And that was as it should be.
“Let’s agree to disagree on this, okay? We have more important things to talk about right now. Did you learn anything today?”
Hannah’s fierce glower turned into a smug smile. “Only Ian Squires’s address and phone number. Will that do?” She held up a little pad of paper with the hotel’s logo on it, under which she had written the address and phone number in surprisingly tidy script.
His mouth dropped open. Though he probably should have known better, he hadn’t truly expected her to have much luck. How had she gotten the newspaper to give out Ian’s unlisted number? He closed his mouth with an audible click. “All right. I’m impressed,” he admitted grudgingly.
“I’ll try not to gloat. But one weird thing—when I called the house at nine this morning, someone actually answered the phone.”
He’d thought he was getting used to being shocked by Hannah, but obviously he’d been dead wrong. “You called the house? Are you insane? No, wait.” He held up both hands. “That goes without saying.”
“So is this Squires guy old enough to be up and about at nine in the morning?”
Jules shook his head. “He’s only been vampire a few years longer than me. He must have a mortal working for him.” No surprise there—Ian had been an aspiring snob when Jules had known him. He probably had a houseful of servants by now, just because he could. Did
this mortal have any idea what he was working for? Jules knew from long experience that it was relatively easy to pull the wool over most mortals’ eyes, as long as they weren’t too terribly smart. Courtney had been his girlfriend for six months and had never guessed there was anything unusual about him.
“So, what’s our next step, Professor Van Helsing?”
“My next step is to check out that house and confirm there’s a vampire living there.”
“Isn’t that kind of a stupid way of going about it? I mean, isn’t his vamp-dar stronger than yours?”
“Vamp-dar?” Being with Hannah could make his head ache.
“Yeah, you know—the way you guys can sense each other. Kind of like gay-dar.” Hannah paused, “Vampire radar,” she said slowly. “Get it?”
Yes, his head was definitely starting to pound. “It takes a conscious effort for us to sense each other. Unless he’s sitting in his house concentrating on surveillance, he won’t know I’m there.”
“Uh-huh. And if you were him, what would you be doing if you’d set up a trap for a fellow vampire?”
She had a point, but it didn’t much matter. “I don’t have a lot of options. My first step has to be to locate him. I’ll worry about what to do when I find him later.”
“Or what to do when he finds you,” Hannah retorted. She popped up from her seat on the bed and crossed the room to flip open her suitcase.
When she pulled out a gun and a box of bullets, he realized she meant to come along on his hunt. That led to two more realizations—one, that he couldn’t allow it. And two, there was nothing he could say to persuade her to stay put.
She turned to him. “You’ll be happy to know I actually know how to use this now, so—”
Her words trailed off when she met his eyes and he trapped her with his glamour.
DRAKE HAD DONE A great many distasteful things in his life, but going to visit with the Master of Baltimore ranked pretty high on the list. Eli had told him almost nothing about her, except that she was very powerful and territorial. Eli’d also said she would honor their agreement and not kill Drake for having the audacity to trespass in her territory, but he found himself less than thrilled by the prospect of facing her.
He’d arrived in Baltimore just before dawn, and had immediately called Camille to announce his presence, as Eli had instructed. It had been too close to sunup for them to meet, but she’d asked him to call on her at his earliest convenience. His earliest convenience, of course, was the moment the sun set.
Leaving his rental car parked at the hotel, he made his way around the tourist-packed Inner Harbor toward Federal Hill, the wealthy historic neighborhood where Camille lived. He’d barely set foot out of Philadelphia in the last century. On any other occasion, he would have enjoyed the new and different surroundings.
A wide pedestrian walkway allowed him to take the scenic route along the water, but though he tried to drink in the atmosphere, he failed miserably. There was just no getting around the fact that he didn’t want to be here.
Past the bustling, highly commercialized harbor lay Federal Hill, where restored historic houses abounded, homes that spoke of old money and power. Drake paused to reach out with his senses, wondering how many of these elegant homes were vampire lairs. He immediately sensed a pair of vampires not very far away. At a guess, he’d say he was sensing Camille and some unknown other, for her house was less than three blocks from here in the correct direction. Other than that, the area was vampire-free. He supposed that was a good thing. The only thing worse than meeting with Camille would be meeting with Camille and her cadre of fledgling Killers.
Drake walked the last three blocks quickly, ready to face whatever was to come because he was tired of thinking about it.
Even if he hadn’t known the address, and even if he hadn’t sensed the presence of vampires, he would have known which house belonged to the Master of Baltimore. Surrounded by the ubiquitous brick row houses, this house was about three times the size of any around it. The arched entryway was actually flanked with granite columns. The place gave the impression of a palace—exactly the kind of home a master vampire would choose for herself to showcase her importance.
He paused again on the doorstep, checking to see if any more vampires had made an appearance, but there were still only two in the house, along with a single mortal. Unfortunately, he now sensed another vampire about a block from here. Could that be Jules?
Drake took a step away from the door, meaning to check out the vampire at his back, but the door suddenly opened. A mortal stood in the doorway, looking Drake up and down.
“Good evening,” the mortal—a butler, apparently—said. “You are expected.”
So much for checking out the stray. Obviously, Camille was quite anxious to see him. “So I gathered.” He stepped over the threshold as though he called on master vampires on a regular basis.
“I’ll take your coat, sir,” the butler said.
“That’s all right. I’ll keep it.” Although he was no possible threat to Camille, he had no idea who the second vampire was, and he didn’t want to give up any possible intimidation factor. His black leather jacket, matched with his black leather pants, lent him a menacing aura that often made others uncomfortable.
The butler made a disapproving face, then led Drake down a carpeted hallway to a huge living room that looked like something out of Versailles. It even had a gilt ceiling.
Ostentation was obviously Camille’s middle name.
An intricate—or busy, depending on your tastes—Persian rug draped the dark hardwood floor, and the room was furnished in genuine Louis XV antiques, with the exception of a single chair that looked more like an early-twentieth-century piece. Dark, brooding oil paintings in ornate gold frames lined the walls, and a crystal chandelier that no doubt had originally held candles lit the room.
At one end of the room, Camille sat in a high-backed chair, her legs crossed at the knees as she regarded him with undisguised curiosity.
She was a handsome woman, if not exactly pretty. It looked like she’d been in her mid-thirties when she’d been bitten. Despite flawless makeup, there were tiny crows feet at the corners of her eyes. Her hair was long and platinum blonde, and she wore it loose about her shoulders—beautiful, really, though Drake thought the color chemically altered. Her eyebrows were a distinctly darker shade of blonde, almost brown. An expensive-looking dress of midnight-blue silk clung to her alluring curves, displaying an enticing expanse of décolletage while the hemline stopped a couple inches above her knees. Drake resisted the urge to stare at her legs.
The other vampire was in many ways Camille’s exact opposite. Where she sat tall and straight in her chair, he slouched and draped one leg over his chair’s arm. Where her hair was classic and tidy, his was short and spiky, with the spikes sticking every which way. An ugly scar marred what would otherwise have been a handsome face. To Drake’s chagrin, the other vampire also wore a black leather jacket. So much for intimidation.
“So,” Camille said, her voice silky and just a tad sly. “You’re Eli’s exception to the rule.”
He wondered how much Eli had told her about him. Apparently, more than he’d told Drake about her.
“Please do come in,” she said, beckoning with her hand.
He obeyed the summons and gave her a respectful bow. No doubt she was old enough to appreciate the gesture that had once been the only acceptable way for a gentleman to greet a lady.
“Yes, I work with Eli,” he said, acknowledging only part of her greeting.
She smiled at him then gestured toward the sullen-looking young vampire who slouched in the incongruous twentieth-century chair. “This is my son, Gabriel.”
Drake did his best to hide his surprise and revulsion. The woman had made her own son into a vampire? And a Killer, at that! “Pleased to meet you,” he said, and hoped he sounded more pleased than he was.
Gabriel grunted but didn’t bother to make a more formal greeting. He didn’t
even move his leg off the arm of his chair.
Currents of power rippled the air as mother and son regarded him with very different expressions—hers of curiosity, his of unbridled resentment. Drake decided he’d had enough posturing for now, so he took a seat without waiting to be invited. Gabriel’s expression darkened even more, but Camille merely arched a brow and let it go.
“So,” she said, “you are here to retrieve Eli’s prodigal son.”
For whatever reason, Gabriel’s lip twitched in a snarl. Drake caught the lightning-quick repressive glance Camille shot Gabriel’s way. It seemed clear Camille and her son were not in agreement on how to handle the trespassers.
“That’s right,” Drake answered. “I’ll remove him from your territory as soon as inhumanly possible.”
The corners of her mouth curled upward at his joke. “Have you located him yet?”
Drake shook his head. “Not yet. As you know, I’ve only just arrived. But I know the kind of hotel that would appeal to him, so I doubt it will take me more than a night or two to find him.”
“If he succeeds in killing my fledgling before you find him, then you are not to remove him from Baltimore. While there are times that Ian tries my patience, if anyone’s going to kill him, it will be me.”
“Or me,” Gabriel put in with another snarl.
Apparently, the pup didn’t like anyone. Which was probably just as well, because it was hard to imagine anyone liking him.
Camille ignored his interruption. “Are we clear on that?”
“We’re clear.” Drake wasn’t sure how he’d live with himself if he abandoned Jules to this unpleasant duo once he’d taken on the task of saving him, but he wasn’t going to put the entire society of Guardians at risk to protect him.
“I’m glad to hear it. Now, it’s best you start your search as soon as possible, so I won’t keep you. Gabriel will see you to the door.”
Oh, shit, Drake thought as Gabriel’s eyes lit with pleasure at the prospect. It seemed he was about to be given a small demonstration of what might happen to him if he didn’t toe the line. If Gabriel was Camille’s son, then he must be old indeed, despite his baby face, which meant Drake would be no match for him. But there was nothing for it, so Drake shrugged slightly and took his leave, following Gabriel out of the room.
