Beautiful Death (6 page)
WHEN Tristan woke again it was past dusk, so said the little silver clock on the nightstand now turned to face him. He couldn’t believe he slept so long. So much for getting his sleep back on schedule. Guess he didn’t really have one to start with, not with the post-accident insomnia.
His brain ached, just behind his eyes, reminding him of the booze he had indulged in last night. But the faint pain would be gone soon. No matter how much he drank, Tristan never got a hangover and his headaches were always very short lived. Good genetics? Maybe. Whatever the reason, he was grateful for it.
A soft scent found him and immediately the thought of that sexy woman he dreamed so vividly about. He could still feel her touch, the press of her breasts against his chest, the sensation of soft lips opening across his neck. He slipped farther down under the sheets and shuddered, feeling as if she had just caressed him again. You know, the woman that looked like Ash.
God
. There was something seriously wrong in his head to be dreaming about Ash as a woman. And a vampire on top of that. What could the dream have meant though? As far as dreams go it was fairly normal. Who didn’t dream about sex, or the promise of sex, right? And the vampire part was because of last night’s choice discussion, that he got. But did the woman have to look like Ash?
He groaned and rolled over, wondering if he should even bother asking Ash about it. Maybe he had a sister, or a twin. Yeah, that had to be it. Or maybe it was the vibe he kept picking up from the guy. Either way, Tristan was sure he was in the wrong place.
“Jesus Christ,” Tristan groaned as he climbed out of bed, “What the hell is wrong with me?”
As he got up he was shocked to find he was in bed naked. He slept that way some nights, but he was sure he’d fallen into bed last night fully clothed. Every part of him hoped that it was Haruka that helped him out of his clothes and not Ash. He shook off a sudden image of Ash stripping him down and enjoying it.
After a quick shower and some clothes, Tristan decided it was time to check out of Hotel Ash. While he didn’t completely dislike the guy anymore after speaking with him last night, he thought it best to leave the country. If this Malik person, vampire, really wanted to kill him then he’d have to cross the seas for him. It seemed like so much effort for a nobody.
Tristan only got as far as the door to his room before he found the way blocked. He let out a shocked sort of gasp and jumped back. Ash was standing in the hallway, arms crossed over chest and a crooked shit-eating grin on his face. Tristan wasn’t prepared to see him again so soon, not with the memory of that woman so fresh on his mind. He had to stifle a shudder. And not the good kind.
“Uh, morning,” Tristan said, uncomfortable all of the sudden. Couldn’t imagine why.
Ash’s grin softened. “Good evening. Going somewhere?”
Jesus, how did he know? “No…”
Ash raised a single brow as if he didn’t believe him. “Haruka has prepared dinner for you and then we are going out.”
“Where to?”
“Someone I need to speak with. You are coming with me.”
Tristan pushed past him, careful not to touch him. “Care to elaborate?” Tristan asked as he reached the front of the house.
“No.” Ash almost laughed and added, “How do I guarantee your life if I am not with you?”
He looked at Ash with a bit of confusion. “How is today any different than yesterday? Did you go see that vampire you needed to talk to?”
“We spoke, yes.”
“And?” God, why was he being so tightlipped all the sudden? What a pain in the ass.
“She could not say.”
Tristan furrowed his brow at Ash, curious. “Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Ash only cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Fine, have it your way. Where’s the chow?”
Ash looked confused. “Chow? No, Haruka is Japanese, not Chinese.”
Tristan would have laughed if it wasn’t so dumb. “No. Where’s the chow? That’s like saying, where’s the grub.” When Ash looked even more confused, Tristan heaved a deep sigh. He couldn’t believe the guy didn’t know the slang. “Food.”
A single white brow went up. And then a single white finger. Thankfully, it wasn’t a rude gesture, just Ash showing him the way to the dining room. Just before Tristan let himself into the room, Ash called out from behind, “Come find me in the Great Room when you are ready... when you are done your
chow
.”
Tristan had to roll his eyes, but was smiling behind the annoyance. The dining room was beautifully decorated, luxurious, warm and inviting, though it didn’t look like it was used very often. Set in the center of the room was a blocky ebony wood table large enough to service ten. The back wall opened up almost completely to show a broad view of the back yard and the traditional Japanese water garden.
Haruka already had his meal set out, complete with a glass of wine, a glass of beer and some fancy snootish bottled water with Japanese writing on it. Haruka did that thing again where she just happened to appear every time he emptied his glass. And then his plate. The sixth sense kinda weirded Tristan out a little. She was still cute. He gave her a warm smile, thanked her for dinner. He got no response that he even existed in return. He understood why she was so off now and he felt for her. He just wished she’d look him in the face once. Under that, was the fear that maybe that could be him. Would Malik destroy a part of him like he did to Haruka, leaving him an empty shell? While he didn’t know the vampire, he got the impression that the monster wouldn’t let him go so easily.
Defeated by the tiny Japanese woman, Tristan let out a weary sigh and headed towards the Great Room for his next challenge. The music that had started halfway through his meal grew louder as he got closer and he realized it wasn’t a recording at all. Tristan turned the corner and stopped, frozen by the image before him. Ash was seated at the piano, long hair free of the barrette, swaying back and forth as he played. His eyes were shut, brow pinched in deep concentration as his hands worked in perfect grace over the keys. Despite there being no words the song was sad. Pandora was curled up under the piano as if she were deaf, fast asleep. The idea to bolt again, while the getting’ was good, entered Tristan’s mind. But then, he felt compelled to enter the room. Something about seeing the sleeping dog, her master and the sad music made Ash seem suddenly relatable, intriguing and real.
Tristan stepped into the room and Ash’s eyes snapped open, meeting his. The music cut off with a sudden abruptness that left him feeling strangely empty. “Sorry,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. You play—” Something nice to say, something nice... “Nice.” He groaned inwardly.
Idiot
.
“Thank you,” Ash answered near whisper as he stood, closing the keyboard tray cover, ignoring or not noticing Tristan’s awkwardness.
“Beethoven,” Ash whispered, gaze lingering on the piano and fingertips hovering over the cover. He wanted to touch the cold white keys again. He could sit there all night if he hadn’t a care in the world. A shame he had too many. “Beethoven’s works, I find them very... moving.”
Seeing the other man act so emotional, Tristan thought again that maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. So far, he’d been nothing but helpful, even if he did hit him, and was even going out of his way to help him. Who knew, maybe Tristan made a friend in Japan after all.
The other man drew in a deep breath and snapped out of his solemn daze, expression clear of emotion. Tristan waited patiently while he tied back his hair and fastened the katana to his obi. The guy was dressed like a peculiar samurai again—an oversized deep purple kimono top that matched the inlays on the sheath of this sword—only he had on those tight-ass leather pants again. God, what was up with those pants already? At least the top covered his crotch.
“What, no gun? Tristan asked. Ash turned and blinked at him, startled. Like he’d forget something like the guy running around with two guns strapped to his back.
Ash suddenly smiled, slipping a matching tantō into his obi. “I thought perhaps you were too intoxicated to remember,” he said, giving Tristan a sly look.
Like ten beers was enough to get him loaded—not even close. It was whatever that zombie chick doped him with that made him pass out and Ash knew.
“
Kore wa Murasaki Kaeru desu
.”
“Heh?” Tristan grunted ineloquently.
“I call my sword Purple Frog. It has been very kind to me over the years.”
Frog?
Didn’t sound very intimidating. “Whatever, dude.”
Ash turned sharply and made his way to the front door. “Let us go. We are running late.”
“Hot date, huh?”
“Did you forget so quickly?” Ash snapped. “I have a meeting. New avenues of investigation open new possibilities.”
Touchy
. Tristan wondered what changed Ash’s attitude since last night. He seemed almost worried. That made Tristan uneasy. “A meeting, yeah, you said that. But not what for,” he said as he wiggled into his sneakers.
“I spoke of this already, Tristan. Do you not pay attention to the things I say to you? I am doing this for you, to find answers on why you are being hunted. What the link is. Now stop complaining and come along.”
Tristan made a dirty face at the back of Ash’s head as he followed him out the front door. “Oh hey, on the way back from this meeting, we should stop off at my place so I can get the spelling on my last name for you. You know, my Japanese one. Uru—Uu, rue… That.”
Ash let out a heavy sigh. “Ew-rue-wah-she,” he recited slowly, pronouncing it so that the silly American could understand. “Yes, I think that is a good idea, especially if this does turn out to be a dead end as I suspect. The sooner we find out why Malik wants you, the sooner we can end this.”
“What,” Tristan asked with a small laugh, “tired of me already?”
Ash shot him a quick over the shoulder glance. There was something up with Ash tonight, he was not the same calm, collected young man he was last night. Tristan was so busy with his musings that he didn’t notice when Ash had stopped and nearly ran into the back of him. They were standing in front of the carport at the far end of the drive. Tristan’s car was farther down, towards freedom. At the carport there were only two choices, a snazzy looking Benz sedan and a sports bike.
One
sports bike. Tristan had a bad feeling as Ash moved towards it.
“Here,” the other man said as he shoved a helmet at him that matched the bright blue of the bike. Not seeing the dumfounded look on Tristan’s face, Ash hopped on and started the machine. He had no helmet of his own and ended up twisting his hair at the base of his neck and shoving it down the back of his top.
“Now wait a minute,” Tristan started and Ash shot him an annoyed look. “One, how the hell am I supposed to put this on? It’s like child sized for your tiny head.” Ash sat upright, crossing his arms. “And two, I’m not riding bitch. What’s wrong with that Mercedes? Or my car? Oh, I know,
you
can ride bitch, you so—”
“No.”
Tristan’s first reaction was to throw the helmet at him, bounce it right off his tiny head. Instead he glared, hoping his gaze would strike fear into the weak. But Ash wasn’t weak.
Tristan motioned to the sword hanging at his side. “
That
is illegal.” Not to mention fucking stupid to have it on a motorcycle. Who did he think he was?
“I am not bothered over such trivial things as the legality of carrying weapons concealed or otherwise.”
“Trivial things...” Tristan mumbled, still glaring at the other man.
“Wear the helmet or not. Leave for all I care, but I am going.”
Tristan felt like he lost ground with Ash. He had gone to bed last night thinking they had an understanding. Now he wasn’t so sure. Was he really worried about something or was he having second thoughts about saving Tristan? About helping him? Tristan thought he should try to be a little nicer to the dude.
“Fine,” Tristan answered with a long, resigned sigh.
Impatient, Ash made a rude noise. Tristan had to keep a dirty glance to himself as he struggled into the too small helmet and climbed on the too small motorcycle seat behind Ash—the too small dude. Almost immediately, his stomach started to bother him. He knew it wasn’t nerves, he wasn’t afraid of the bike... he just couldn’t say what it was. “God,” he shouted over the noise, “this helmet must feel how David Spade’s coat did when Chris Farley put it on.”
“I suggest holding on,” was Ash’s only response. Before Tristan could answer with a snarky, and probably childish quip, Ash jarred forward and down the drive way, fishtailing in the gravel like a squid. Tristan yelped, happy the helmet muffled the noise and grabbed Ash’s shoulder with one hand, the other on the seat edge behind him. He was sure they were going to wreck before they even got to wherever it was Ash was taking them.
They were only ten minutes into the ride when it became painfully clear that Tristan needed a better grip. Not only was Ash’s katana sheath tapping out a constant Morse code into his shin, but his hold was not nearly what he would have liked against the nutball driving. He’d almost fallen off the seat twice. As they approached a stoplight, which Ash didn’t even blink at, Tristan quickly moved his right hand from Ash’s shoulder to wrap around his waist. Ash stiffened under the sudden change of grip and Tristan made a small surprised noise. There was something hidden inside Ash’s kimono—he suspected it was a gun. But what really surprised him was how little Ash’s waist was under all of the cloth. Almost immediately, his overactive mind went straight to the woman with the big rack that he’d dreamt about.
