Drake is unlike most Guardians because he's a killer. He
can only survive by feeding on human blood. He makes a
point to prey on criminals and those who deserve the fate
he bestows on them. However, the unthinkable happens in
Philadelphia which finds him relocated to Gabriel's new
territory. Drake no longer trusts himself to feed alone, so
when Gabriel disappears, Drake must pull it together to
figure out how to protect everyone without losing control
of his hunger.
Faith and Lily's journey begins with a refreshing vacation
to Europe and the trust of an impressionable young woman.
Faith's worst nightmare comes true when she becomes a
vampire fledgling and is forced to seek protection with the
European vampire by becoming his mistress. She travels to
the states with her lover only for him to ask her to seduce
the dark and dangerous Drake for information. The wheels of
destiny and inevitable danger will change them all forever.
This next book in the Guardians of the Night series is
spellbinding, fast-paced, and completely addictive. You
will not be able to put this book down and you cannot help
cheering for the good guys.
Drake is a Killer vampire.
Unlike the Guardians of the Night, Drake feeds on human
blood, choosing victims
who deserve to die. But still he works with the Guardians
to protect those humans who yet have some good in them.
When Gabriel, the leader of the Baltimore
Guardians, mysteriously disappears, Drake finds himself in
charge of a small band of inexperienced fledgling
vampires. When a delegation of European Killers arrives in
Baltimore looking for Gabriel, Drake must call on all the
savagery of his sordid past to keep the Guardians in line—
and to protect them from the ruthless
Killers.
Forced to confront a past he has
tried so hard to outrun, Drake risks losing his humanity.
His only hope is Faith, the French Seigneur’s concubine,
who desperately needs his help to rescue her human sister
from the Seigneur’s clutches. Then someone begins killing
the members of the European vampire delegation, and Drake
is the only suspect. Will Drake be saved by love, or will
he become a Killer without a conscience?
Excerpt
Prologue
From the moment he entered the meeting hall in Eli’s
mansion by the Delaware River, Drake knew this was going to
be one of those nights. All it had taken was one look at
the smug malice in Fletcher’s expression.. The pup was
going to make another attempt to get Drake tossed out of
the Guardians. It seemed to have become his pet project,
though so far all he’d managed to do was escalate the
tension between Drake and the others.
Anticipation made Drake’s fangs descend. He curled his lip
in silent threat, but Fletcher ignored him, and no one else
noticed. Drake stood in his usual place--a corner that left
a good six feet between him and the nearest Guardian. He
might be the Guardians’ ally, but never would he be
mistaken for a true member of their happy little family.
As usual, Fletch waited until the meeting was all but
adjourned before he pounced.
“I have another vampire kill I want to tell you about,”
Fletch said just as the other Guardians had started to rise
from their chairs.
All voices in the room died, and everyone took their seats
again as Fletcher strode to the middle of the room.
“Fletcher . . .” Eli said in a warning tone, looking up
from his traditional seat by the fireplace.
Drake ground his teeth. Eli might admonish Fletcher for
speaking, but he never seemed to stop him. And anything
Drake said would only increase the chance of violence.
“This one’s different, Eli,” Fletcher said. “You need to
know about it.”
And, Eli, damn him, didn’t argue. Drake pushed away from
the wall he’d been leaning against, standing up straight
and glaring at the son of a bitch who’d been making his
life miserable for months on end. His fangs had descended,
and he bared them for all to see. Maybe a little violence
was just what he needed.
“One of these days, puppy, you’re going to go too far,” he
warned. Fletcher wouldn’t be the first Guardian Drake had
ever killed, but he would be the first one Drake enjoyed
killing.
Fletcher boldly met his eyes, all but daring Drake to cross
the short distance between them and start something. Drake
itched to do just that, but doubted Eli would allow it. The
overwhelming power of Eli’s glamour would keep them apart
no matter how badly they wanted to beat the hell out of
each other. Of course, once they left the meeting, it would
be a different story. Fletch and some of his cronies had
jumped Drake once before. Perhaps it was time for Drake to
return the favor . . .
Fletch bared his own fangs in response. “No, Killer. This
time, you’re the one who’s gone too far.” He reached into
his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of
newspaper, partially unfolding it to display a
photograph. “Recognize him?” he asked, moving closer so
that Drake could get a good look.
Almost against his will, Drake’s gaze locked on the
photograph. As usual with newspaper photos, it was grainy
and indistinct. The face was that of a youngish black man,
smiling at the camera. Drake didn’t recognize the face, but
the guy must have been one of his kills. This was
Fletcher’s usual MO in his quest to make trouble for Drake:
show the Guardians photos of the victims and families,
reminding them that although Drake only killed scumbags,
those scumbags were still human beings.
If Drake had killed the man, surely he should recognize the
picture. But no memory stirred. When had Drake become so
inured to his kills that he couldn’t even recognize the
face of a recent victim?
Fletcher must have read his hesitation and the reason
behind it, for his face twisted in disgust and he
snorted. “You’re as likely to recognize him as a mortal is
to recognize the cow his steak came from.”
“Fletcher . . .” Eli said again, his voice a little sharper.
Fletcher’s eyes bored into Drake’s. “Give me one more
minute, Eli,” he said, unfolding the newspaper all the
way. “This story’s got a hell of a punch line.”
The headline that was revealed when Fletcher unfolded the
newspaper struck Drake like a fist in the face.
Undercover Cop Found Slain in Alley
Shock and dismay stole his voice, and he could do nothing
but stand there and stare at the picture of the smiling
mortal, and at the damning headline.
“Should I tell you about his widow and their kids?”
Fletcher asked.
A denial wanted to crawl up Drake’s throat, but the truth
was he had no idea if he was guilty or not. For a long,
long time, he’d been at peace with his nature. He couldn’t
help his need to kill, but he could appease his conscience
by killing people the world was better off without. He’d
never considered the possibility of an undercover cop.
The silence in the room was an oppressive weight. Not even
Drake’s few allies among the Guardians could come to his
defense this time.
Was Fletcher telling the truth?
“I don’t recognize him,” Drake said, but his voice sounded
shaky, not his own. “You’re just making this up, trying to
stir up trouble.”
“Like hell I am! I saw you kill him. And now I have proof
positive that you’re no different than the filthy, soulless
Killers we destroy.”
Drake was the Guardians’ one exception to the rule that any
vampire who was addicted to the kill had to die. Well,
except for Gabriel, Eli’s son, but that was because Gabriel
didn’t live in Philadelphia, in their territory. From the
condemning silence that still draped the room, he suspected
that exception wouldn’t apply much longer.
“That’s enough, Fletcher,” Eli said, breaking the
silence. “You’ve made your point. The meeting is adjourned.
Drake, I’d like you to stay behind.”
Drake nodded, but didn’t look in Eli’s direction. He didn’t
even consider making a run for it. Even if he somehow
escaped the assembled Guardians, he couldn’t escape Eli’s
glamour. Besides, he didn’t really think Eli was going to
kill him, though he knew that’s what Fletcher and many of
the other Guardians expected.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Gray James, the only
other member of the Guardians ever to have fed on a kill,
clapped him on the shoulder, a hint of moral support that.
Gray had been forced into his single kill by his maker, but
had managed to avoid becoming addicted. When Drake had been
changed, more than a century ago, his maker hadn’t forced
him to kill--he’d just neglected to mention that Drake had
any choice in the matter.
Of course, given just who Drake had been before he’d been
turned, he hadn’t been as troubled by the killing as
perhaps he should have been.
After Gray made the first move, a handful of the other
Guardians made their own silent demonstrations of support.
But most of them either ignored him or regarded him with
undisguised loathing.
After the last Guardian was gone, Drake waited for Eli to
pass judgment, every instinct in his body telling him he
wouldn’t like that judgment one bit. At least the room
hadn’t gone cold like it did when Eli was really, really
pissed.
“Did you do it?” Eli finally asked, his voice carefully
neutral.
Drake sighed heavily, but it did nothing to relieve his
tension. All these years, he’d convinced himself that he
was a Killer with a conscience, that he was somehow better,
more worthy of life than other Killers. Had he been lying
to himself all along? “I don’t know. I don’t recognize him,
but that doesn’t necessarily mean I didn’t kill him.” He
scrubbed a hand through his hair. Just how much did Fletch
hate him, anyway? Enough to lie about this?
Probably. In Fletcher’s black-and-white view of the world,
all Killers were evil and had to be destroyed. If making up
a story like this was the only way to get Drake killed, or
at least kicked out of the city, then he might feel it was
his duty.
But even if this was a lie, the very fact that it was
possible was highly . . . disturbing.
“Sit down,” Eli said.
Drake didn’t like the tone of Eli’s voice, or the look on
his face. He had a sneaking suspicion that Fletcher was
going to get his wish.
He tried to shrug it off. He’d allowed himself to become
complacent during the decades he’d worked for Eli. But he,
more than anyone, should have known that nothing ever lasts.
“Gabriel’s been after me for months to come to Baltimore,”
Drake said, staying on his feet. That was a slight
exaggeration. Gabriel, a fellow Killer and a born vampire
of immense power, had invited Drake to join his fledgling
Guardian organization in his home city of Baltimore, but
the invitation had only been offered once. Still, Drake was
certain he’d be welcome there. Of course, it would mean
working for an unstable hard-ass with a cruel streak a mile
wide. Somehow, he didn’t think Gabriel would make quite the
benevolent leader that Eli did.
“I see,” Eli replied. The fact that he didn’t insist Drake
sit down as ordered suggested he was already letting
go. “And you’d like to take him up on his offer?”
Drake gritted his teeth. No, he didn’t want to.
Philadelphia had been his adopted home for more than a
century, and though the Guardians had never accepted him,
he’d felt . . . comfortable here. Working for Gabriel would
be anything but comfortable. Hell, Drake wasn’t even sure
he’d manage to live very long with Gabriel as a boss.
However, if he was going to be kicked out anyway, he might
as well salvage what little dignity he could manage.
“You don’t really need me in Philadelphia anymore,” he
said, forcing the words out. Now that Eli had learned how
to create an avatar, an illusory version of himself that
was capable of leaving the grounds of his mansion even
though he couldn’t leave in body, he was no longer so badly
in need of Drake’s strength. Guardians would forever be the
underdogs against Killers, whose strength, both psychic and
physical, was significantly greater. But Eli was one hell
of an ace in the hole.
Another long and uncomfortable silence draped the room.
Drake couldn’t help hoping that Eli would ask him to stay,
but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t.
“It might be best for all involved if you joined Gabriel in
Baltimore,” Eli said softly. “I’m sure that if you really
did kill this man, it was under the assumption that he was
just another criminal. And as you know, I’m in no position
to throw stones. But I’m not sure that Fletcher and his
friends won’t eventually take things into their own hands
if you stay.”
Drake’s anger spiked. “Don’t play games with me, Eli! We
both know that if you ordered him to behave, he would. If
you want me gone, be man enough to say it.”
Eli merely raised one gray eyebrow and regarded him with
mild condescension. “If I wanted you gone, I’d say so. And
I don’t know where you get the idea that my authority is so
unshakeable it could survive anything. Provoke him enough,
and Fletcher will risk the consequences of disobeying me.
If you have an offer from Gabriel, I think it will be
better for everyone if you take it.”
Drake still thought Eli was being a hypocrite, but the man
was more than a thousand years old. Once he took a stance,
there was no budging him.
“Fine. I guess this is goodbye, then.” Drake did his best
to hide his pain under a stony façade.
Eli slowly rose from his seat. He had wiped all expression
from his face, an infuriating trick of his. “I suppose it
is.” He reached out his hand for Drake to shake.
Drake wanted to turn his back and get the hell out of there
immediately, but he forced himself to shake Eli’s hand.
Memories of other goodbyes hammered at the walls of his
mind, but he savagely forced them away. There was no one
better than he at keeping the past locked in the past where
it belonged.
Of course, Eli being Eli, he wouldn’t just shake hands and
then let Drake go. He held on when Drake tried to pull away.
“You’re still one of the good guys,” Eli said. “Even if you
killed this man. I hope you realize that.”
Drake wasn’t so sure. Once upon a time, he had most
assuredly not been one of the good guys. Maybe he’d never
really changed.
“Uh-huh,” Drake grunted, meeting Eli’s gaze once more.
Eli gave him a sad smile. “You’re too angry with me to talk
right now, I know, but if you ever need anything, you know
my number.” He finally released Drake’s hand.
Without another word, Drake turned his back and walked away.
Chapter 1
Drake had been living in Baltimore for almost a month, and
he still hadn’t fully moved into his new house. The place
had belonged to a fledgling Killer Gabriel had dispatched
when he’d taken over as Master of Baltimore, and no one had
set foot in it since its owner’s death. So far, Drake had
spent most of his time cleaning out the detritus of six
months’ neglect and repairing the worst of the damages. It
appeared the former occupant hadn’t been much of a
handyman. Or a housekeeper.
Tonight’s task was to get rid of the hideous peeling
wallpaper in the first floor bathroom. He’d feared he’d
have to steam it off--a tedious and time-consuming process--
but when he started pulling at one of the strips, it tore
easily away from the wall. Unfortunately, the wall beneath
the wallpaper was painted a dreadful shade of puke green.
Drake was beginning to hate this damn house.
He’d just torn off the last strip of wallpaper--along with
a big patch of the ugly green paint--when his doorbell
rang. He stuffed the wallpaper into the trash, then tried
to rinse some of the sticky, pasty mess off his hands as
the doorbell rang again, repeatedly. A quick psychic survey
told him there was a vampire on his doorstep. He hoped it
wasn’t Gabriel--he was feeling too surly right now to keep
his tongue under control, and Gabriel usually rubbed him
the wrong way within the first five minutes of any
conversation.
His hands were still sticky, and he would probably have to
use Lava soap to get all the paste off, but whoever was
ringing the bell didn’t seem eager to wait.
Drake exited the bathroom and headed for the front door,
realizing it couldn’t be Gabriel. If Gabriel wanted in this
badly, he would have used his telekinetic powers to unlock
the door. The doorbell was now accompanied by the sound of
a fist hammering against the wood.
“I’m coming!” Drake shouted as he hurried through the
living room, temper flaring for no good reason. He doubted
whoever was at the door could hear over the constant
ringing and banging.
He didn’t bother checking through the peephole, instead
flinging the door open as soon as he’d unlocked the last
lock.
The temper that had been simmering in his chest died down
instantly when he saw Jezebel, Gabriel’s fledgling and lady-
love, standing on his doorstep with red-rimmed eyes and
tear tracks on her cheeks. Now that she wasn’t pounding on
the door anymore, her arms were crossed over her chest and
her shoulders hunched in what looked like a defensive
position. She looked small, and miserable, and frightened,
and foreboding buzzed through Drake’s body. He quickly
stepped aside to let her in.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Jez stood in the foyer and shivered, her eyes
distant. “Gabriel’s missing.”
Drake frowned, then took her by the arm and guided her into
the living room. She didn’t seem capable of moving on her
own, her eyes still distant as if only a fraction of her
attention was focused in this room. He had to press down on
her shoulders to get her to sit on the couch. Then he took
a seat next to her.
“What do you mean, missing?” he asked.
She blinked, and her eyes finally focused on his face. She
shivered again. “I mean I can’t find him anywhere, and when
I try to communicate with him, I get nothing.”
By some quirk of Gabriel’s unusual birth, his bond with
Jezebel was much closer than the usual bond between a
master and fledgling. They were able to sense each other’s
emotions to some extent, and they were able to communicate
telepathically.
“I can still . . . feel him. He’s alive. But I can’t reach
him.” She looked at Drake with wide, frightened eyes. “What
can that mean?”
“Maybe he’s blocking you for some reason.” Drake could well
imagine Gabriel trying to block her out if he was doing
something she wouldn’t like. But Jezebel shook her head.
“This feels different.”
“Did he have any plans for the day that you know of?”
Another of the many differences between Gabriel
and “normal” vampires was his ability to tolerate the
sunlight. Most vampires grew progressively more tolerant as
they aged, but Gabriel had been able to travel about as
freely as a mortal man since puberty.
A tear leaked from Jezebel’s eye and she wiped it away with
the back of her hand. “Not that he told me. He came to bed
with me this morning, and when I woke up at sunset, he was
gone.” She sniffed loudly, then swallowed back tears. “We
have to find him.”
“I assume you tried calling his cell?”
She gave him a look of pure annoyance. “Of course I did.”
He made a placating gesture with one hand. “I was just
making sure. You looked pretty distraught when I first
opened the door.” She still looked miserable and
frightened, but she wasn’t much of a weeper. When the
initial shock wore off, she would leap into action with
reckless abandon. It was the “reckless” part that worried
him.
“If someone’s hurt him,” she said, “I’ll kill them.”
Jez wasn’t a Killer. In fact, as far as Drake knew, she’d
never killed anyone, mortal or vampire. But the look in her
eyes said she meant what she said.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet,” he
counseled. “Gabriel’s damn hard to hurt. I’m sure there’s a
perfectly good reason you can’t reach him right now. He’ll
probably be in touch soon. It’s only been, what, forty
minutes or so since sunset? Maybe time got away from him
and he hasn’t realized you’re awake yet.”
But Jez shook her head. “If he were planning to go out, he
would have told me. Especially if he was going so far away
we couldn’t communicate.”
Drake wasn’t so sure. Gabriel was an autocratic,
controlling bastard, and though there was no question he
loved Jez, Drake could think of any number of reasons why
he’d neglect to share his plans with her.
Jez skewered him with a piercing stare. “Did he tell you he
was planning to be away?”
The thought was laughable--Gabriel wasn’t big on
sharing. “He didn’t mention anything.”
Jez looked suspicious. “I’d better not find out this is
some kind of male conspiracy to protect my delicate
sensibilities.”
Drake couldn’t help smiling. “You won’t. I swear, he didn’t
confide in me. But I still think it’s too early to get
upset. I’m sure he wouldn’t intentionally worry you like
this, but he’s as capable of making a mistake as the next
man. Why don’t we head back to your place and wait to see
if we hear from him?”
She leapt to her feet with an impatient grunt. “I can’t
just sit around and wait!” She started toward the door, but
Drake cut her off before she reached it. She was more on
edge than he’d realized, because she actually lowered her
fangs and growled at him. “Get out of my way, Drake.”
He kept his voice low and soothing. “Hold on a minute. You
can’t just go dashing off by yourself without a plan.”
“Watch me!” she snapped, trying to dodge around him.
If Gabriel really was in some kind of trouble, then Jez was
clearly no match for the enemy. And whether Gabriel was in
trouble or not, if Drake let her rush into danger, Gabriel
would kill him. He once again blocked her path, this time
grabbing her arms to hold her still.
Her eyes practically glowed with fury. “Let go.”
Of course, if he manhandled Jez in an attempt to keep her
here, Gabriel would probably object to that too.
“Please, Jezebel,” he said, trying to imbue his voice with
all the calming, soothing qualities Eli always did. “Let’s
go back to your house first and make certain he hasn’t
called and left a message. If he hasn’t, we’ll go looking
for him together.”
Without some clue as to where he might have gone, it would
be a fruitless search, but perhaps it would appease Jezebel
long enough for her good sense to return. Drake let go of
her arms while holding her gaze.
Her fangs withdrew as he watched, but there was still an
unmistakable glint of anger in her eyes. “All right,” she
agreed, her voice clipped and brusque. “But don’t get in my
way again. Understand?”
“Sure,” Drake agreed. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that,
but he’d do whatever he needed to do to keep her safe while
Gabriel was gone.
With one more warning glare, Jez stepped around him and
jerked his front door open.
***
As luck would have it, they didn’t have to set foot in the
house that Gabriel and Jez occupied to get their first
inkling of what might have happened to him.
Drake didn’t recognize the couple who were sitting on the
steps leading up to the columned doorway of the palatial
Federal Hill house. But from the way Jezebel gasped, he
thought he could venture a guess as to their identity.
The woman was a petite, dark-haired beauty with a pale
complexion. The V-neck of her clingy burgundy sweater
revealed a great expanse of what would have been cleavage
had she not had the breasts of a teenage boy. Sitting one
step behind her was a sullen-looking young man in an
expensive Italian suit, his shirt unbuttoned to display as
much of his chest as the woman’s.
The woman stood up gracefully despite a pair of stiletto
heels that added four inches to her height. Her companion
remained sitting, his eyes now fixed on Jezebel. The smile
on his face was best described as unwholesome. He ran his
tongue suggestively over his full lips.
Jezebel ignored the man, instead coming to a stop with her
legs shoulder-width apart, her arms akimbo. Drake stepped
up beside her in silent support, keeping an eye on the
dangerous-looking male.
The woman smiled, an incongruously sweet expression on her
face. “Why, Jezebel dear! Is there a new man in your life?”
She gave Drake a mocking once-over, then nodded in
approval. “I must commend your taste.” Her English held a
trace of an accent, though Drake couldn’t place it. German,
perhaps?
“Get the hell away from my house, Brigitte. And get your
boy toy off my stairs.” Jezebel sounded deceptively calm,
but every nuance of her stance radiated tension.
Brigitte raised one eyebrow. “Or what?” She looked at Drake
again. “Your new boyfriend might be nice to look at, but
he’s no match for me or Henri.”
Henri had dragged his eyes away from Jezebel and was now
staring at Drake. The expression on his face didn’t change,
as if he lusted after both of them equally, though from
what Drake understood of him, it wasn’t necessarily lust
for sex that put that eerie gleam in his eyes.
Other than Gabriel, Brigitte was the only born vampire
Drake had ever heard of. Younger than Gabriel by a full two
centuries, she was nevertheless more practiced at
manipulating the unique bond between a born vampire and his
or her fledgling, and Henri was almost as old as she.
Together, they were a formidable force, especially
considering the weakened state Gabriel remained in ever
since he’d rescued Jezebel from some kind of psychic
Purgatory. His incredibly powerful glamour wasn’t reliable
these days, and Drake could imagine him falling prey to
Brigitte and Henri if they caught him when his glamour
failed.
Jez was practically vibrating with tension and fury. With
Gabriel around, she’d always been the voice of reason, the
antidote to his fierce and erratic temper. Drake had almost
forgotten she had a temper of her own. And her control over
it was fraying.
Brigitte giggled, a sound that grated on Drake’s nerves.
“Do you think she’s going to attack me, Henri?” she asked
her fledgling, who finally rose and came to stand at her
shoulder.
“Oh, I do hope so.” Henri’s accent was much stronger than
his maker’s, and obviously French.
Brigitte giggled again. “Behave, dearest. I have a strong
suspicion Gabriel would be unable to forgive us any harm we
did to his little plaything.”
Henri raised one corner of his mouth in a sneer. “That
would be tragic.”
Brigitte’s brow furrowed in annoyance and she glanced at
him briefly. Henri lowered his head but didn’t apologize or
take the words back.
“What have you done with Gabriel?” Jezebel demanded.
“Don’t worry, he’s fine. In fact, I’ve done him something
of a favor, as I intend to explain. Would you be so kind as
to invite us into your lovely home?”
“When Hell freezes over.”
Brigitte’s smile remained sweet and innocuous. “You can
invite us in, or we can force our way in.” She swept both
Jez and Drake with a contemptuous glance. “The two of you
certainly aren’t going to stop us.”
Jez didn’t look like she was about to see reason, so Drake
quickly spoke up.
“Let’s hear what they have to say,” he suggested. “You know
we need to, whether we want to or not.”
The look Jezebel shot him was not in the least bit
friendly, but he didn’t care. She had to know they were
outmatched. Besides, they couldn’t let Brigitte leave
without telling them what she’d done with Gabriel.
With a grunt of disgust, Jez pushed past Brigitte, giving
Henri a wide berth as she stomped up the stairs and shoved
her key in the lock. Drake had never seen anyone unlock a
door with so much fury before. Brigitte and Henri shared a
condescending, amused smile, then linked arms and followed
Jez into the house.
Feeling like an afterthought, Drake brought up the rear.
The house that Jez and Gabriel shared had once belonged to
Gabriel’s mother when she’d been the Master of Baltimore.
Which meant it was palatial in scale and decor. The marble
foyer with its grand staircase and carved mahogany
balustrade was enough to awe the average American, but
neither Brigitte nor Henri spared a glance at their
surroundings. No doubt the old and powerful vampires of
Europe--so much older and more powerful than almost any in
the New World--lived in homes that were literally palaces.
Jez guided her unwanted visitors into the “receiving room,”
a converted drawing room decorated with the opulence and
excess of Versailles, complete with a gilt ceiling. It was
Gabriel’s mother who had decorated the place, but Gabriel
hadn’t seen fit to change anything. To say the room was
over the top was an understatement, but it did at least
catch Brigitte’s attention. She examined the genuine Louis
XV furniture and the dark, brooding oil paintings that
adorned the walls and smiled.
“How very interesting,” she murmured. “Somehow, I can’t
picture Gabriel in his sexy black leather fitting in here.”
Both Jez and Henri visibly took exception to the
implication that Brigitte thought of Gabriel as “sexy,” but
she didn’t give them time to object before she took a seat
on the edge of one of those lovely antique sofas and spoke
again.
“As you’ve obviously guessed, I have Gabriel.”
Henri took up a post standing behind Brigitte, both his
hands lying lightly on the back of the sofa. Once again,
however, his unnerving attention was fixed on Jez, his eyes
locked at chest level. Jez was far too distracted to
notice, and she took her own seat to the right of Gabriel’s
seat of honor--an incongruous-looking twentieth-century
Stickley chair at the head of the room.
Drake hesitated, not sure where he should sit, and Brigitte
looked distinctly amused. His usual seat was to the left of
Gabriel’s, but he didn’t like the symbolism of leaving the
seat of power empty.
Knowing it was going to piss Jez off big time, Drake
nonetheless dropped into Gabriel’s chair. Brigitte smiled
in what looked like satisfaction, and Jez glared at him in
outrage.
“I see someone’s tired of playing second banana,” Brigitte
said.
Drake managed a casual shrug, though internally he squirmed
in discomfort. He’d been “second banana,” as she termed it,
his entire life. It was a role he was accustomed to, felt
comfortable in. But there was no such thing as a vampire
democracy. With Gabriel gone, someone had to take charge.
Being more than a century older than the next oldest of
Gabriel’s Guardians, that task fell to Drake.
“I’m not one for delusions of grandeur,” he said with what
he hoped was nonchalance. “But I’m the second in command,
so if Gabriel’s not here, I’m in charge.”
Brigitte’s smile only deepened. “Maybe you’ll find the
position suits you. Maybe you wouldn’t be terribly
disappointed if Gabriel remained gone for a good long time.”
Jez shot to her feet, but before she got more than a squeak
out of her mouth, Drake seized her with his glamour. “Sit
down, Jezebel,” he said, then used his glamour to enforce
that order. She glared at him even more fiercely, but he
knew he was doing the right thing. With Gabriel in danger,
she was going to be far too emotional to play nice with
Brigitte.
Brigitte laughed. “What an impressive display,” she
mocked. “Did you see that, Henri? He was able to subdue a
baby fledgling.”
Henri touched his tongue to his lips again. “I’m very
impressed.”
“Are you going to waste more time playing games, or will
you get to the point?” Drake asked, keeping his hold on Jez
while pretending to ignore her.
Brigitte shot him one of her terribly sincere-looking fake
smiles. “If you know anything about me, Jonathan, you
should know that playing games is one of my favorite
activities.”
Drake was startled enough that he lost his hold on Jez.
“Jonathan?” Jez asked, curiosity temporarily replacing
anger.
Brigitte looked at Jez and raised one shapely brow. “You
sound surprised, dear. Did you not know the identity of
your sweetheart’s second in command?”
“My name’s Drake!” he snapped while mentally he did his
best to regroup. How the hell had she learned his name?
Even Eli hadn’t known it.
“Indeed,” Brigitte agreed. “Jonathan Drake. Mother, Eloise
Stewart. Father, Connor Drake. Born a bastard in New York
in 1872. Shall I continue?”
It simply wasn’t possible for her to know this. The only
people who knew his true identity were in New York. The
mortals among them were long dead, and considering the
dreadful violence of the neighborhood where he’d once
lived, it had seemed likely the vampires who’d known him
would also be dead by now. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.
Dammit! In the space of a few heartbeats, he’d allowed
himself to lose total control of the conversation--and of
himself.
What did it matter if Brigitte knew his full name? And what
did it matter how she’d learned it? Pull yourself together,
he commanded himself.
He reached out with his glamour once more and captured Jez,
then ruthlessly shoved aside all the questions and doubts
that hammered at him.
“Tell me what you’ve done with Gabriel and what you want.”
Brigitte pouted. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m devastated to hear that.”
She laughed with what might have been her first hint of
genuine humor. “I can see it breaks your heart. But I’m
sure you’ll provide entertainment eventually.”
“And you’re beginning to bore the hell out of me. Where is
Gabriel?”
“He’s safe,” she said once again. “You might not appreciate
my methods, but I do have his best interests at heart. I
need him, and he’s no good to me dead.”
Brigitte was under the misguided impression that because
she and Gabriel were both born vampires they were somehow
soul mates, or at least natural allies. And Brigitte
desperately needed an ally. In the Old World, born vampires
were slaughtered at birth. Gabriel had managed to live only
because Eli had kept him hidden and then fled to the New
World when his existence became known. Brigitte was allowed
to live because her mother was one of Les Vieux, the oldest
and most powerful vampires in all of the Old World. Like
Eli, Les Vieux were physically bound to their homes but
could create illusory avatars of themselves that could
travel the length and breadth of the territories they
controlled. Being illusions, these avatars were
indestructible.
According to Gabriel, Brigitte’s mother planned to keep her
alive only as long as her power remained manageable. But
Brigitte had grown powerful enough that she feared for her
life and had thus fled to America. She had some vision of
teaming up with Gabriel and storming the castles of the Old
World when they were old and powerful enough to destroy Les
Vieux. The fact that Gabriel wanted nothing to do with her
didn’t seem to have sunk in. Or perhaps it was her supreme
arrogance that convinced her that one day, she would win
him over.
Drake he felt his hold on Jez weakening despite his
superior strength. He flicked his gaze in her direction,
willing her to hold still and keep quiet even as he let her
go. Hopefully, she had enough functioning brain cells to
realize she only amused her adversary by her too-obvious
reactions.
“Tell me exactly what it is you’re keeping Gabriel safe
from,” Drake demanded, and Jez stayed silent.
Brigitte lost her perpetual smile, her eyes suddenly
grave. “My mother is sending a delegation to America. They
plan to capture me and take me back home. And, since they
know Gabriel’s here, they’ll want to take care of him, too.
Only him they’ll just kill.”
Jez made a low growling sound in the back of her
throat. “And how do they know Gabriel’s here?”
Brigitte covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes widening
in mock distress as she gasped. “Oh, dear. I think I may
have let that slip last time I talked to Mother.”
Drake restrained Jez with glamour once more, knowing she
wouldn’t be able to keep silent in the face of that
revelation.
“Why would you do that?” Drake asked. “If you have his best
interests at heart, as you claim.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have my own best interests at heart
first.” She looked over her shoulder at Henri. “Why are the
pretty ones always so stupid?”
Henri tore his eyes away from Jezebel’s chest and met his
maker’s gaze. “You are pretty, and you are not stupid.”
She fluttered a hand at her chest. “You’re such a charmer!”
He snorted, then went back to his examination of Jez’s
breasts. It was really beginning to get on Drake’s nerves.
“One would think you’d never seen breasts before,” Drake
said, knowing he should keep his mouth shut but unable to
resist. He made a show of glancing at Brigitte’s
nonexistent cleavage. “Then again, maybe you haven’t.”
Twin spots of color warmed her cheeks, though Henri didn’t
acknowledge the taunt with anything more than a dirty look.
However, he stopped staring.
“Are you ever going to get to the point?” Drake asked.
Her cheeks still rosy, Brigitte answered in a flat
voice. “The point is I have Gabriel somewhere safe, where
my mother’s delegation can’t get to him. And,
coincidentally, where he can’t help my mother’s delegation
get to me. Their plane should be arriving in Baltimore any
moment now, and they will most definitely want to speak to
Gabriel. Naturally, they will promise to leave him alive,
but they’ll be lying. And they’ll think you’re lying if you
tell them you don’t know where he is. The good news is
their antiquated rules of engagement will insist they
defeat the local master before harming his people or
hunting in his territory. The bad news is if they get
desperate enough, they’ll ignore the rules.
“I want you to know that whatever they might promise or
whatever they might threaten, you don’t want them to catch
me. Because, you see, if they do, then you’ll never find
out where I’ve hidden Gabriel. Let me assure you, he won’t
be escaping from where I’ve put him. Do you have any idea
how long it would take a vampire of his age to die of
starvation?” She shuddered theatrically. “Not a good way to
go.”
Jez’s eyes widened in distress, though Drake’s glamour
wouldn’t allow her a more dramatic display.
Drake shook his head. “What do you want of us? What will it
take to get Gabriel back?”
Brigitte smiled. “I don’t expect you to take on the
delegation. They are well out of your league. But any
efforts you can make to hamper them will go a long way
toward assuring Gabriel’s safety.
“You’ll get Gabriel back when the delegation has been
defeated, one way or another.” She gave him a sly
look. “Unless you decide that seat feels comfortable, in
which case I would be happy to negotiate alternate terms.”
He felt Jez’s eyes on him but didn’t dignify Brigitte’s
statement with a reply.
With a satisfied smirk, Brigitte rose, and Henri hurried
around to the front of the sofa to offer his arm, which she
took.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” she said, and allowed Henri to
steer her toward the door. Then she pulled up. “Oh, wait!”
she cried. “I almost forgot!” She disengaged her arm from
Henri’s, then fished a folded piece of paper from her
pocket. She held the paper out to Drake.
“This is for you,” she said, her eyes glittering with some
expression he couldn’t interpret.
When he didn’t take it, she let the paper fall to his lap.
With a satisfied little sigh, she returned to Henri and
allowed him to escort her to the front door.
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