Blood Vengeance (Blood Curse Series Book 7) (11 page)

Salvatore stared at the utter disaster before him, wishing he could just go play pool, or perhaps watch a good movie, instead of having to clean up this mess. It wasn’t as if the dagger had been insufficient, so why had he insisted on even more carnage?

And…

If he was really being honest with himself, then he also had to admit that the moment Tawni had given her consent to be transformed, the instant she had relinquished her immortal soul, all he had to do to convert her was inject her with venom.

Yeah…

It was the venom that destroyed the human cells, one by one, and it was the same venom that replaced them with superior, vampiric cells. In truth, the whole dramatic suicide-murder scene had been unnecessary, extraneous. Just something to keep him entertained.

He sighed.

He was tired.

He was bored.

And he was thoroughly unimpressed with the pitiful specimen he had chosen for a “bride,” as well as the anticlimactic letdown of her torture. Besides, HBO was airing a Clint Eastwood marathon all week. Now
that
was worthy of his time and attention.

Ah well, what else was there to
do?

He released his incisors and bent over Tawni, trying to get comfortable. He needed to start the conversion before she bled out. After all, the tramp was still human—
for the moment
—which meant, if her heart and brain stopped long enough, she would die.

For real.

And then all this wearisome nonsense would have been for nothing.

Damn, this crack-pot had better be worth all his trouble.

nine

Later that night, around 7 PM, Ramsey knocked lightly on Tiffany’s office door. “Can I come in?” His guttural rasp, which was becoming more familiar and less disconcerting, reverberated through the thick wooden panel and settled in the room like a light mist after a forest rain.

Tiffany sat up straight in her chair and raised her gaze, taking it away from the monitor. “Sure, what’s up?” She was trying to at least be cordial.

Ramsey cracked the door open and peered in, taking a cursory look around the room. He seemed to notice every little change she had made: the photograph of her parents she had placed on the bookshelves; the crystal paperweight she had set on her desktop; and the framed picture box, containing dried, pressed wildflowers, on the wall behind her. “Looks nice,” he commented offhand, and then he pursed those gorgeous lips. “So we’re about to get a game of pool going, me and the guys. I think you should join us.” He raised his brows as if to say,
Now hear me out
. “It’s a good way to let off a little steam, just relax and have a good time for a while.”

Tiffany leaned back in her chair and considered the invitation.
So he was still going on with his daily life, still honoring plans or commitments he had made before he “claimed” her
. She figured it made sense. After all, she wasn’t a newbie. She had been around the house of Jadon and its various inhabitants for a while now, and she already knew who they were, what they did, and how they inadvertently projected their power. It wasn’t like Ramsey had to bring her up to speed on the basics.

Her attention naturally switched to Napolean and Brooke, how the ancient king had gently and deliberately brought her best friend into the house of Jadon, following the emergence of their Blood Moon. According to Brooke, Napolean had sat her down in the living room, explained who and what he was, answered all of her questions, and given her a bunch of material to read and think over while she slowly took her time digesting the strange new world she was soon to be a part of. In other words, he had employed a direct but fairly gentle tactic in order to make the transition as smooth as possible on Brooke. It wasn’t his fault that the Dark Ones got involved with their evil possession plot and made the entire initiation a nightmare…

She sighed.

This was clearly not going to be the case with Ramsey.

Granted, he had shared some really personal information about his parents, and he had given her some valuable insights into the house of Jadon, but he was no Casanova. And it didn’t appear as if he planned any slow, methodical seduction. Nope. Ramsey’s idea of bringing her into the fold was far more simple: Let’s relax for a while, play some pool, and have a good time.

She tapped her nails on the desk, returning to the root of his question. “By
me and the guys
, who might you be referring to?”

Ramsey chuckled. “Mmm, I might be referring to my brothers, Saxson and Santos; Julien Lacusta, if memory serves; and possibly Saber Alexiares, if he shows up this time.”

Tiffany gulped.

Talk about Daniel—
er, uh, that would be Tiffany
—in the lion’s den.

Was Ramsey really asking her to come shoot pool with four of the fiercest, most intimidating males in the house of Jadon? She felt a bit overwhelmed. “You want me to play pool with Julien Lacusta and Saber Alexiares?”

His firm lips turned up in a crooked, devilish smile. “I want you to play pool with me, baby girl. They’ll just happen to be in the room.” He winked, using those striking hazel eyes like props, for effect.

Tiffany looked down at her desk and stared at a sticky note, pretending not to notice the flirtatious gesture or the overtly solicitous tone of voice. “I’m not very good at pool.”

He pushed the door further open and took a couple steps forward, into the room. His massive frame immediately filled up the space, almost as if he was utilizing all the oxygen. “That’s okay. It’s all in fun.”

She held her ground and cocked an eyebrow. “
Right
. So you’re saying that Napolean’s sentinels, his tracker, and Saber Alexiares are not going to get
fiercely
competitive during this relaxing game of pool?”

Ramsey chuckled openly then. “Yeah, all right. Maybe a little bit.” He held his thumb and forefinger about a half inch apart. “But you don’t have to participate in the rivalry. Just shoot some pool and go with it.”

She straightened the Post-its, pushed them off to the side, and just generally diddled with small objects as she thought it over. “Uh huh, so you guys can have fun with the inexperienced human, while taking full advantage of your supernatural powers.” She smirked. “Let’s see: You can use telepathy to whisper behind my back”—she placed the word
whisper
in air quotes—“you can use telekinesis to move the balls around the table,
perfectly
, and you can use superhuman strength and speed to propel the balls more quickly into the correct pockets. Sounds like a total setup for humiliation to me.” She smiled, jokingly. “Maybe I’ll just watch.”

Ramsey shrugged, seemingly undaunted. “I’ll take what I can get, sweetheart.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Okay,
baby
girl
.”

“Not that either.”

“All right.” He backed out of the room, way too slowly for her liking, and then gently shut the door behind him. Speaking through the panel, he said, “See you in five, Blondie.” She could hear his irritating laugher all the way down the hall, and despite her annoyance, she chuckled.

Tiffany was beginning to understand Ramsey Olaru just a little bit more.

If not who he was on a deep, intimate level, then at least his personality, the casual, take-it-as-you-go interior beneath the hardened, tough exterior. Ramsey was like a steady, flowing river, persistent and unyielding even in his fluctuations, while Tiffany was more like the solid, polished rock beneath the surface, the one that had been tossed haphazardly into the river by a passerby. Slowly, deliberately—almost imperceptibly—he would just keep washing over her with a steady current of appeals, until he slowly wore her down, got under her skin. Little did he know, she wasn’t that easy to move, despite her congenial nature.

Tiffany had always had horrific luck with men and relationships, and that was putting it mildly—that was with human males. Try as she might, she just could not see herself with a vampire, let alone the son of Dracula.

She shut down her PC and turned off the monitor, gathering her papers into a neat little pile, almost as an anxious afterthought. Rising from her desk, she stretched her back and tried to steady her nerves. And then she slowly made her way out of the office, took a deep, cleansing breath for courage, and headed toward the parlor.

It was just a game of pool, after all.

And she would only stay for five or ten minutes.

What harm could there be in this one minor concession?

*

Santos, Saxson, and Julien were standing toward the back of the room, each one leaning lazily against the wall, either chalking or holding a pool stick, when Tiffany entered the room. They immediately straightened in reaction to her arrival, rising to their full, imposing heights, and she took one hard look at each intimidating male, made fleeting eye contact with each vampire in turn, and almost ran out of the room.

The raw power emanating from that corner was a bit like a twister hovering lazily in the sky, rotating in a deceptively mild pattern as it prepared to wreak havoc on the land: The males were pure, unadulterated energy, swirling, building, existing in suspended animation, until they flew into action and laid waste to every living and non-living thing in their path.

Namely, her.

She inhaled sharply, trying to bring her imagination under control.

“Welcome, sister.” Saxson spoke first, and his deep, resonant voice sent chills down Tiffany’s spine.

Sister?

Oh… God.

She swallowed her growing trepidation and forced herself to meet his penetrating gaze. She could do this.
She would do this.
After all, she had seen each one of these males, more than once, at Napolean’s manse. The only difference was—she hadn’t been asked to interact with them, then.

“Saxson, right?” she said, trying to sound polite.
Professional
.

His soft hazel eyes instantly darkened, the nuclear specks of gold deepening to bronze, and for the first time, she realized that Saxson’s eyes were the exact same shade as Ramsey’s. The shape may have been a little different—Saxson’s were a bit more almond, whereas Ramsey’s were more oval—but other than that, they were the same.

“You got it,” he drawled, and then he winked at her beneath a slightly mussed head of hair, the light-ash locks deliberately trimmed to fall slightly longer in the front than the back, and his shoulder muscles bunched as he placed one palm on the corner of the pool table and stretched out his arm in a casual lean. It was almost as if he were allowing her time to study him.

She forced a tentative smile, and he winked at her… again.

So this was Ramsey’s
twin.

Before she could ponder the similarities between Saxson and Ramsey any further, Santos took three graceful strides forward and held out his hand. “We’ve met, but not formally. I’m Santos.”

Tiffany stared at the large proffered hand suspended so congenially before her, and forced herself to take it. “Hi, I’m Tiffany.”

He smiled, and when he did, his pearly white teeth almost sparkled, like a string of perfect jewels laid out in a display case. He held her hand longer than propriety required, meeting her firm grip with a gentle pressure of his own, and then he simply let it go and glided, more than he walked, back into the corner.

She shivered, hoping it wasn’t that noticeable.

And that’s when Julien Lacusta cleared his throat.

Like a granite statue suddenly coming to life, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his back remaining against the wall, and tipped his chin in an informal gesture of greeting.

Okay, so words were not even necessary with this guy.

Tiffany responded in suit, slowly nodding her head. “Julien, I presume,” she said, wishing she hadn’t.

The corner of his mouth quirked congenially, but it wasn’t actually a smile, and his haunting, moonstone-gray eyes seemed to stare right through her, as if he were measuring her soul instead of her features. He brushed his hand lightly over his classically tapered hair, which was the oddest hue of mahogany, and murmured, “Julien Lacusta.”

That was all he said, and for all intents and purposes, he may as well have said
Death on Two Feet
or
Grim Reaper
, instead. His tone and his countenance had the same chilling effect.

Wondering just what this guy’s story was, Tiffany took an unwitting step back and bumped right into Ramsey. The Master Warrior placed his right hand firmly on her hip and gave her a reassuring pat on the arm with his left. She allowed the contact. In fact, she used it to take a few deep breaths and reboot her courage. And then she smiled at Julien. “I’ve seen you several times at Napolean’s,” she said softly. “So, I guess we’re not really strangers.”

He continued to stare at her with those deep-set, mystical eyes, but he didn’t reply.

Not a single word.

Alrighty then. Maybe he only speaks
gargoyle.

The awkward silence stretched out until Tiffany thought she might just scream to pierce the quiet. “So you guys like to play pool, I see.”
Wow. Now that really sounded intelligent
.

Ramsey dropped his head. Was he amused by her? Embarrassed? And Saxson’s mouth curved up in a sardonic smile. Santos just stood there, hanging out, as cool—
and disinterested?
—as a cucumber.

Fortunately, Julien didn’t seem to notice the uncomfortable moment. He simply smiled—or at least his lips bent in a general upward direction—and then he sauntered over to the bar, took a shot glass out of the cabinet, and poured some sort of 151-proof gasoline in it.

Tiffany was about to shudder, but the front door swung open and the clamor jolted her out of the moment, brought her attention to the sparsely decorated entryway.

Good Lord, could she really handle anything else at this
moment?

Saber Alexiares strolled into the house like he owned the entire planet, all six feet, 185 pounds of his lean but muscular physique moving forward with equal stealth and swagger. He had a custom-made pool stick in his hand, and there were several intricate carvings etched into the base. His wild black-and-red hair fell about his shoulders like glistening waves of ether, and the entire visage brought Tiffany’s stomach into her throat.

It was just too much.

That subtle, almost cruel-looking scowl.

The way he prowled instead of walked, like a normal male should. Those intense, coal-black eyes, focused straight ahead like twin lasers on a flame gun, searching out their next target…

All of it was just too much.

She backed further into Ramsey and stifled a gasp.

“It’s just Saber, Blondie,” Ramsey drawled in her ear. “Not a Dark One.” He bent forward to make contact, sort of brushing the base of his chin against her hair. “And he likes to bring his own pool stick,” he whispered.

“As if that’s gonna help,” Santos chimed in from across the room, making no bones about the fact that he could hear Ramsey’s words.

“Jealousy does not become you, Santos,” Saber chided, stepping up to the bar. He exchanged a nearly gangster-looking nod with Julien, and then poured himself a drink—it looked like some sort of gin or vodka, and he mixed it with the contents of a small silver vial that he retrieved from his pocket.

Tiffany turned up her nose and groaned inside.

Ew. You so have to be kidding me—was that blood in the vial?

“Yeah, well, you’re late,” Santos retorted.