by Jenna Black
What the fuck had he gotten himself into? He’d made Jezebel with only one purpose in mind—to use her as a weapon against Eli. Never had he imagined she might become a weapon against himself!
He’d barely begun to absorb the idea that she could feel his feedings and his anger. But what had just happened upstairs was even more unsettling.
It had started out as merely an uncomfortable ache in the center of his chest. Puzzling, but not enough to distract him from his anger. Then, when her voice had broken and her memories came flooding in, it felt like a booted foot had kicked him in the sternum. Worse, he’d seen her in his mind’s eye, a hollow-eyed little girl standing beside an open grave. Blond hair pulled back into a severe pigtail that looked painfully tight. Body almost stick-thin, with an unhealthy pallor to her skin and hollow cheeks.
And he’d heard the whispers and muttering from behind, from the family that was supposed to love and cherish her. She’d held her chin high, and not a single tear had escaped, but the pain of that moment …
He swallowed hard. He’d absorbed many a mortal memory during a kill. But as he limited his kills to the morally repugnant, and as he always forced the confession to bring the ugliness to the surface, all he’d ever felt was greed, and lust, and self-pity, and madness. Never had he felt the kind of … desolation … he’d sensed in little Jezebel’s core.
He tried to reel himself back in, shove those aching memories away. He had enough painful memories himself—he didn’t need someone else’s!
But there was no denying the realization that had struck him when for a brief moment in time he’d stood in Jezebel’s shoes. He was not the only person ever to be reviled by the only family they had simply because of an accident of birth. Not that he’d ever truly thought he was, but he’d always felt that way. Always felt like a foreigner, an alien, always “other.”
And now by a quirk of dumb luck or fate, his life was bound up with someone who, despite a very different life, had felt very much the same.
Gabriel ground his teeth and shook his head. What the hell did it matter if her sob story resembled his? Through him, she’d been reborn to a new life, a life where she could shove it all behind her and start fresh. That option wasn’t open to him. No, his only option was to punish the man who’d made him what he was today. For though his outright hatred of his father had started on the day Eli sliced his face with a sword, the fury had been building ever since he’d been old enough to realize his own father thought him an abomination before God.
Sucking in a deep breath of cool night air, tinged with the ever-present stinks of city life, Gabriel stiffened his spine and his resolve. What had happened tonight meant nothing. Jezebel’s pain was her own concern, and if he had to tread delicately around her to avoid another dose of it, well, as he’d said, he’d had five centuries to learn self-control.
His business for tonight was not concluded, not by a long shot. Now he knew how Eli planned to kill him. But he had not the patience to wait until the sainted Founder built his trap.
A slow smile spread over his face. Eli wasn’t the only one who knew how to set a trap.
Dismissing everything but his single-minded purpose, he rose from the steps and headed out into the night.
GABRIEL SLID THROUGH THE shadows, following Hannah at a discreet distance.
Locating her had been easy, since Jezebel knew her address. Getting her away from Jules, who apparently lived with her, had proven a little more challenging. He supposed he could have approached her even with Jules at her side, but he preferred to talk to her alone rather than dealing with Jules’s hot temper and protective instincts.
Now, he’d gotten lucky, and she’d left her lover at home as she walked the city streets. He didn’t know where she was going, but she walked with purpose. Was someone waiting for her? And would that someone become impatient if she didn’t show up on time?
He decided he’d let her have her rendezvous, and then approach her on her way home. But she hadn’t gone more than two blocks from her home before her purposeful strides altered. She paused to look over her shoulder.
Gabriel wrapped himself in a cloak of glamour, and her eyes slid right by him without noticing him. A furrow appeared between her brows. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she could sense him, but even if he hadn’t been masking his psychic signature, she was a very young fledgling, as young as Jezebel, and there was no way she could sense him at this distance.
She resumed walking, but her stride had lost some of its confidence, and her shoulders were tight and twitchy. He followed for another block and a half, still keeping his distance, until she turned down a narrow alley that ran behind a row of shops. He paused and eyed the mouth of the alley suspiciously. What on earth could she be doing in there?
Gabriel peeked around the corner, still hiding behind his glamour, and saw Hannah standing in the middle of the alley, her arms akimbo, a look of studied concentration on her face. No question about it, something had tweaked her suspicions. He wondered what.
Finally, she shook her head. “Gabe, if you want to talk to me, just come talk to me. This stalker shit is getting on my nerves.”
It was all he could do to suppress a gasp of surprise. Not only had she known she was being followed, she’d known who was following her! And yet, clearly she couldn’t see him. Her eyes darted back and forth across the mouth of the alley without focusing on him. The woman had uncanny instincts.
Hannah leaned her back against the brick wall of one of the shops, feigning a casual pose. But her eyes were too wary, her posture was too stiff. Gabriel smiled faintly. She was leaning against the wall so he couldn’t sneak up behind her.
But considering the strength of his glamour, he had no difficulty sneaking up in front of her. When he let up on the glamour, he was standing about two feet from her.
She must have been startled, but she hid it well, folding her arms across her chest and giving him a bland smile. “Hiya,” she said. “Long time no see.”
He returned her smile, though he doubted the expression reached his eyes. “Did you miss me?”
She sighed heavily. “What do you want, Gabe?” She looked him straight in the eye, challenging him, unafraid of his glamour.
For you to stop calling me “Gabe,” he thought. But he was quite certain saying so would have the exact opposite of the desired effect.
“I presume you are aware of the calling card I left for my dear father,” he said instead.
Hannah shuddered, though she visibly tried to suppress it, and her eyes slid away from his. “Yeah,” she said softly. There was a hint of hoarseness to her voice. Apparently she hadn’t thought much of his gift. “Very thoughtful of you.”
He braced his hands against the brick wall on either side of her head, taking a step closer so that he crowded into her space. She tried to shrink away from him, but the wall at her back kept her right where he wanted her.
With palpable reluctance, she raised her eyes back to his. He heard the sudden speeding of her heart, practically felt her desire to put some distance between them.
He transfixed her with his gaze, not with any glamour, but merely with the intensity of his hatred. “I intend to enjoy my time here to its fullest extent,” he said. “As I’m sure you know, I released Jules from his promise to tell me everything he knows about the Guardians.”
He had extracted that promise from Jules in exchange for his help in tracking down and destroying Jules’s maker. He’d known from the moment Jules made the promise that he didn’t intend to keep it, and he’d looked forward to dragging every last drop of information from the Guardian’s throat when the time came. But despite being an arrogant, annoying prick, Jules was not of the distasteful caliber of Gabriel’s preferred prey. Besides, Gabriel had found Jez, and realized he had an even better way to gain the intelligence he needed to bring his father to his knees.
“Thanks,” Hannah said, forcing the word out through clenched teeth. “That was very … decent of yo
u.”
He grinned down at her. “I thought so myself. But now. I have a favor to ask you.”
She eyed him warily. “Um, I don’t want to piss you off or anything, but we’re kind of on opposite sides here. I don’t think I’m the best person to ask a favor of.”
Still smiling, he lowered his fangs, leaning a little bit closer into her. “Perhaps ‘ask’ wasn’t the right word.”
He could smell the fear on her, and he saw her swallow hard, but she had more bravado than anyone he’d ever met before in his long life. Despite her fear, she forced a smile, flashing her own set of fangs.
“You know,” she said with false perkiness, “I’ve got some of those now myself. Cool, huh?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, but couldn’t suppress a chuckle. She was just so adorable! Though he sincerely doubted she would appreciate the term.
He forced the amusement away, wiping every trace of emotion from his face. He could see that it worked by the way her eyes widened.
“I would like you to keep me informed of whatever plans Eli has for me,” he said.
Hannah raised her chin and shook her head. “Huh-uh. Not going to happen, Gabe.”
“Oh, I think it is,” he argued, reaching out to her with his glamour, forcing her eyes to lock with his. “Here’s the deal. You tell me anything they have planned for me. If you don’t, I’ll have to ask Jules. And him, I won’t ask nicely, if you get my drift.”
The blood drained from her face. If he’d actually intended to carry out his threat, he might have felt a hint of remorse. But of course, he didn’t need Jules or Hannah to provide him the information. All he was doing was feeding them information they could use to try to “trap” him.
Because he knew that however frightened Hannah might be for herself or even for Jules, she would never betray the Guardians.
She drew in a deep breath, sweat beading her brow. Her voice when she spoke shook slightly. “I’m not going to betray my friends to you. I just can’t do that.”
He had to give her an excuse to pretend to give in, a reason for her to hope he might believe her.
He flashed her another one of his cold smiles. “Tell you what—I’ll sweeten the deal for you, take out some of the sting. Tell me what I want to know, and I will promise not to kill any of your Guardians while I’m here. As I believe I’ve made quite clear, my quarrel is with Eli himself, not the Guardians.”
Of course, he’d also told them before he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who got between him and his revenge.
Hannah pretended to think it over, puckering her brow as she cast suspicious glances up at his face. She was a terrible actress, and even if he hadn’t known her well enough to guess she wouldn’t give in, he would have read her expression easily.
“You’re not planning to kill anyone?” she asked. “So, what, you’re telling me you now like puppy dogs and long walks on the beach?”
Once again, she surprised a laugh out of him. Her little quips had made him laugh more often than he could remember laughing in the last century. He sucked in a quick breath and forced the amusement away. Laughing didn’t do much for his hard-ass image!
“I find betrayal … distasteful,” he said. Certainly true, although it had nothing to do with his current promise. “And betrayal unto death inexcusable. I would not ask that of you.” He put a slight emphasis on the last word, suggesting he’d be perfectly happy to ask it of someone else. Like Jules.
She shook her head. “So now you’re being considerate of my feelings?” she asked incredulously. “Have you had a personality transplant recently?”
This time, he didn’t even try to suppress his grin. “All right. I’ll cut the bullshit. The truth is, you’re not a weakling, and I’m not a moron. There is no threat I could make that would cause you to betray your people if you thought the betrayal would cost lives.” Actually, there was no threat he could issue that would make her betray them at all, but he thought this made a fairly decent cover story. He let the grin fade. “And so I offer you a trade you can live with. You help keep me alive by warning me about any plans that might lead to my death. And I refrain from killing anyone. Or dragging the information out of your beloved maker, who caused me a great deal of inconvenience when he insisted on invading my city.”
Hannah bit her lip, her face a mask of worry. She might talk tough, but he suspected she wouldn’t much like the idea of baiting the trap to get him killed.
“I’ll be generous,” he said. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours to think it over. Meet me here when those forty-eight hours are up. Alone, naturally. And if you’re not here, expect me to pay a call on Jules sometime in the near future. Are we clear?”
She nodded, looking miserable. “Crystal.”
He let his arms drop back to his sides but didn’t give her any more space. She looked reluctant to brush by him, but she didn’t have much choice if she wanted to get out of here.
He heard the hammering of her pulse as she slipped away and headed out of the alley at a pace just short of a run.
5
“CAMILLE HÉBERT,” THE MAÎTRE de Paris mused, his back turned to the room. He stood before a window that faced the Place de la Concorde—within view of her hotel.
Not having been offered a seat, Camille stood straight and proud as recognition prickled at the back of her mind. She knew that voice, but without a face to put with it, she couldn’t place it.
A chandelier with dimly glowing bulbs provided the only light in the room and left the Maître cloaked in shadow where he stood. Louis XV antiques decorated the elegant and sophisticated drawing room, and the walls rivaled the Louvre in the density of masterpieces.
Two of the vampires who had escorted Camille to this meeting stood flanking the door, hands clasped behind their backs, eyes fixed forward. The other two—Brigitte and her male companion—had excused themselves as soon as they’d presented her.
“When last we met,” the Maître continued, “you went by the name Cromwell, did you not?”
Unease shivered over her skin. It was a given that there would be many vampires in Europe who’d either met her or heard of her. In fact, she expected the Seigneur to be one of them. The youngest Seigneur she’d ever heard of had been five hundred and fifty years old, so whoever held the post now most certainly had been around when Camille was the consort of the Maître de Paris. But she hadn’t been prepared to meet an old acquaintance just yet. If only she could place that voice, figure out whether he was friend or foe … Not that she would call any other vampire “friend,” but it would have been nice to know if this one actively meant her harm.
“That may well be,” she said, her voice showing none of her unease. “Have we met, then? I feel I recognize your voice, but perhaps this old woman’s memory is a little faulty.”
The Maitre chuckled. “Oh, we’ve met, Madame. We’ve met indeed.” Slowly, he turned around, letting the light play over his face, revealing first an awkwardly large ear, then a severe, angular cheekbone, an aquiline nose, and a pair of piercing, chilling blue eyes.
Camille’s eyes widened in shock, and it took all her considerable willpower not to take a step backward, for she had indeed met the Maître de Paris. And he was the absolute last person she wanted to face.
Bartolomeo di Cesare laughed, throwing his head back and his arms to the side. “God is good!” he crowed, then reined in his laughter and pierced her with his eyes.
“You recognize me, then, Madame?”
Oh, yes. She recognized him. How could she not? It was because of him that she and Eli and Gabriel had been forced to flee for their lives.
Well, technically she supposed it was because of Gabriel, and what Gabriel had done to him.
It seemed likely she was going to die before ever meeting the Seigneur. She didn’t imagine Bartolomeo would be inclined to forgiveness. But she would not abandon hope, not while any hint of it survived.
“Yes, Maître,” she said, her voice soft and, she
hoped, conciliatory. “I recognize you. And for whatever it’s worth, I did my best to convince Eli to hand him over to you. But Eli was my maker, and I could not defy him.”
It had been the most bitter argument they’d ever had. At least, until the day he’d changed his stripes and forced her to leave Philadelphia. They’d known from the moment that Camille became pregnant that Gabriel’s very existence would endanger them both. The Seigneurs had laid down a very clear law—no child born vampire was allowed to live. Camille had spent her entire pregnancy in reluctant hiding. And then, when Gabriel was born, Eli insisted on keeping him hidden, keeping him safe until he was an adult and no one could guess what he was.
And what did dear little Gabriel do once he came of age? He tangled with Bartolomeo di Cesare and committed the unpardonable sin of not finishing the job. He’d been “playing” with Bartolomeo when Bartolomeo’s maker had interrupted. Gabriel had been forced to flee into the daylight. At less than one hundred years old, he should have died. And because he didn’t, he revealed that he’d been born vampire, and the Seigneur ordered his death. To save the boy’s life, Eli had uprooted them all and dragged them to the New World. Taken them from their home, made them suffer months of misery aboard a ship full of sailors they had to keep alive if they didn’t wish to be lost at sea.
It was a nightmare she tried never to remember, and ever since, she’d cursed herself for going along. Just because Gabriel and Eli turned tail and ran didn’t mean she had to. But by that time, she’d been with Eli for four hundred years, and she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of being left behind.
Bartolomeo regarded her, arching his brows, the corners of his mouth turned downward. “So, you would have given me your own son?” he inquired.
She met his gaze. “He risked all our lives, when he … did what he did.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory and tried not to let her eyes drift downward despite a voyeur’s temptation. Had it grown back? Vampires could regenerate lost body parts, but Gabriel claimed that after cauterizing the wound with a hot iron, regeneration was impossible. Eli, typically, had neither confirmed nor denied Gabriel’s assertion.
