Christian (Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Book 10) (2 page)

“So, then, why are you here?” Raphael asked.

“As I said, my lord, I did not agree with Mathilde’s strategy. I urged her to reconsider, but she was blinded by her hatred for you.”

Raphael gave him a look that said,
Get to the point!

“As you know, Anthony intends to abdicate in favor of whoever wins a territorial challenge. I wish to compete, and I want your permission to do so.”

Raphael tilted his head, staring at him from beneath lowered brows. “You don’t need my permission. I don’t rule the South.”

“Not in name, my lord. And I mean no disrespect to you or to Anthony, but everyone knows it is
your
power that holds the South together.”

He braced himself for an angry response, but Raphael seemed mildly amused instead. “Assuming that’s true . . . why would I grant this blessing you seek? What do I gain? You are, after all, the child of my enemy. My very
dead
enemy.”

“I want only to compete fairly, my lord, as vampires have done for centuries.” He deliberately met Raphael’s hard, glittering gaze. “As for what you gain . . . when I win, you will gain a powerful ally in the war which we all know is coming. Mathilde is dead. But Hubert is not, nor Berkhard. And there are others.”

Raphael’s gaze sharpened shrewdly. “And being such a staunch ally, you will, of course, want to share everything you know of their plans.”

Christian was silent for a moment. He’d intended to share what he knew, but not until after he was Lord of the South, when they’d become allies in fact. If he told Raphael everything he knew right now, the Western Lord could simply decide to kill him before he could leave tonight. Telling him would be an act of trust, something not easy to come by in the world of powerful vampires.

“Trust is not a common currency in our world,” Christian said.

“And yet, we must start somewhere,” Raphael replied.

Oddly, had it been Mathilde on the other side of that desk, he would never have considered turning over what he knew. Not until he’d achieved his own goal of ruling the South, and had the power of a territory behind him. But Raphael had a reputation for integrity among his own people, and he was right . . . if they were to be allies, they had to start somewhere.

“I would be happy to tell you what I know, as a gesture of goodwill between us.”

Raphael shared a glance with his two vampire advisors, but it was Leighton who spoke. “What happened to your vaunted duty to your Sire?” she sneered.

“Mathilde is dead, my lady,” Christian said gently. “And I owe her allies nothing. My fate is now mine alone.” But he returned his attention to Raphael and said, “One more thing, my lord.”

Raphael gave him a questioning look.

“I will be bringing my lieutenant into the territory. I am not the only contender for the South, and I want someone loyal at my back.”

“Where is he now?” Juro asked, speaking for the first time.

Christian regarded the big vampire. “Mexico,” he said, letting his amusement show. “The lately-departed Enrique was very generous in his welcome to Mathilde and her allies. I doubt even Vincent understands yet just how many European vampires are roaming his territory.”

Raphael frowned. “Very well. Bring in your lieutenant. I will speak to Anthony, and Vincent, too. I expect Vincent, at least, will eventually want to speak to you directly, but you can begin tonight by briefing my people on everything you know about your colleague’s plans for the continent.”

Christian smiled slightly to cover the irritation he was feeling. “With respect, my lord, they are not, nor have they ever been, my colleagues.”

There was no reason for him to linger after that. And since no one had offered him a seat, he was still standing, which made his departure easier. His gaze skimmed the vampire lord’s still-glaring mate, and rested on Raphael.

“My lord,” he said.

Raphael gave him an almost imperceptible nod, but Christian figured that was all he was going to get. So he did the same, then turned and walked out of the room, keenly aware of Juro looming up behind him.

“We’ll use the conference room,” Juro said, drawing his attention to a pair of open double doors on his left. Christian veered into the designated room, just as Jared exited Raphael’s office and headed his way. So far, the visit had gone as well as Christian could have hoped, but it still pissed him off. He was not their enemy, though he easily could have been. If he’d been anchoring that damned power circle, as Mathilde had wanted, it wouldn’t have collapsed quite so easily, and maybe not at all. He frowned at the thought, and made a note to somehow find out what had gone wrong in Hawaii. He didn’t mourn its failure, but it would be . . . educational to know the details. One never knew when obscure bits of information might come in handy. He was a vampire lord, after all. Or he soon would be. He didn’t even entertain the possibility that he would fail in the South. It wasn’t going to happen.

He strolled over to the conference room’s far window. It had the same spectacular view as the one from Raphael’s office, although it was displayed less dramatically—no floor-to-ceiling windows here. Putting the windows at his back, he watched silently as Jared and Juro moved around the room. They were both powerful vampires, and seemed eminently confident that they were in control.

But then, Christian was still hiding his true strength. He was over 230 years old, and more powerful than either of these two. And he was tired of being treated like a second-class citizen.

He didn’t move from where he stood, didn’t make any grand gestures or call attention to what he was doing. He simply smiled between the two of them, and then slowly released a taste of his true power. Not all at once—doing so might have alarmed Raphael—and not the full measure of his power, either. The only time a smart vampire showed his full strength was in battle. It was always better to keep one’s enemies guessing.

But he revealed enough to let Juro and Jared know exactly whom they were dealing with. He studied their faces as they took in the truth. They were good at concealing their reactions, but Christian caught the slight widening of Jared’s eyes, the subtle shifting of Juro’s stance, as if readying himself for an attack.

“Relax, gentlemen,” he said. “We’re allies now, right?”

Juro’s gaze narrowed slightly. “For better or worse,” he growled.

Christian let that hang in the air a few moments, then said, “The night will not last forever, and I want to be safely out of Raphael’s territory before the dawn, even if that means sleeping on an airplane between here and Houston. But since we’re all such great friends, perhaps I can simply summarize the information, then e-mail you the details.”

Juro snorted his opinion of their friendliness, but Christian only smiled.

“The most important thing you need to know about Hubert,” he told them, “is the army of vampires he’s been building in Mexico.”

That got their attention.

Chapter Two

IT WAS LATER than Christian would have liked before he was finally able to bid good-bye to Malibu. The one advantage of the late hour was that traffic back to the airport was virtually nonexistent. He called the pilot of the private jet he’d chartered to let him know he was on his way, then he called his lieutenant, Marc Forest. Christian had turned Marc only twenty-four years ago, which made him young for a vampire, and Christian was profoundly protective of his first and only child. But while he felt the Sire bond strongly, their relationship was not paternal the way it was among many other vampires and their Sires. Marc was Christian’s best friend, the only real friend he’d had in centuries. He also happened to be an excellent tactician, and would someday be a powerful vampire in his own right. Christian trusted him, and felt lucky to have him at his side.

“At last! I was worried,” Marc said answering the call. “Is it done?”

“Signed and sealed. I’m not anyone’s favorite vampire around here, but they were happy enough to take what I offered.”

“And the rest?”

“We’re officially moving to Houston,
mon ami
. Though once I become Lord of the South, I may move us back to San Antonio. I like it there.”

“You like the espresso at your favorite hangout,” Marc said dryly. And he wasn’t far off. That wasn’t the only reason Christian preferred San Antonio, but he had grown fond of his River Walk café. “Are you flying back tonight?”

“I’ll be on the plane within the hour. The time zones don’t favor us, though, so I’ll have to daylight at the fucking airport.”

“I’ll arrange for guards. Shall I pick you up after sunset?”

“Are you in Houston?”

“I don’t know. Am I?”

Christian laughed. “As of now, you are. Though you only just arrived from Mexico.”

“Good decision on my part. Mexico’s getting crowded, if you know what I mean.”

“All too well. I briefed Raphael’s people on the situation down there . . . as much as I know. And I’m sure his next call will be to Vincent.”

“It might be too late already. I think Hubert’s on the move.”

“I think you’re right, and we need to prepare
,
because I suspect we’re going to end up on the front lines of whatever’s coming.”

CHRISTIAN WOKE the next night, unhappy to find himself in the sleeping compartment of a private jet. It could be worse, he supposed. He was fortunate, and clever, in his investments, which made it possible to lease this private jet instead of sleeping it out in the back seat of a rental car deep in the bowels of the airport’s public parking structure.

But that didn’t make his present situation any more comfortable. He groaned as he climbed from the awkward sleeping berth. It wasn’t a proper bed—more like what you’d find in a well-appointed RV, he supposed. He’d never been in an RV, so couldn’t really say. A fellow vampire back in France had fantasized about renting one of those big American RVs and touring the continent. He’d been fascinated by the wide-open American plains. Unfortunately, Christian was pretty sure the vampire with the RV fetish had been among those recruited for Mathilde’s power circle. Which meant he was now dead, along with everyone else.

What a waste.

Christian pushed aside the sad thought. When you lived as long as he had, you either learned to set aside common grief, or you drowned in it. Christian had lost friends, both vampire and human. He grieved for, and remembered them. But the constant parade of life and death would swallow you whole if you let it.

He stripped off the T-shirt and sweats he’d slept in, did his best to wash up and shave with the limited facilities provided, then donned a fresh button-down shirt along with jeans and boots. One thing he loved about Texas . . . everyone wore boots.

While he was gathering his things into a duffle, his phone rang.

“Good evening, Marc,” he answered.

“It’s a fine Texas night, and I’m two minutes away.”

“Take your time. I’m comfortable enough here.”

Marc laughed, and called his bluff. “Huh. Well, I’m pulling up outside the hangar now. You want me to lurk for a bit so you can enjoy your comfort a little longer?”

“I’m not
that
comfortable,” Christian admitted. No vampire he’d ever met actually enjoyed daylighting in an airplane hangar. He shoved the last few things into his bag, and yanked the zipper closed, then opened the plane’s hatch. The pilot had left the stairs deployed, so after a quick scan of the hangar, Christian took the stairs in two leaps and headed for the exit.

“You didn’t stay at the house last night,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat of Marc’s sleek BMW sedan. There was no way Marc could have gotten to the airport so soon after sunset if he had. The house was more than an hour away.

“No. There’s a crash pad for low-level vamps nearby. No questions asked. I didn’t want you to wait in that hangar any longer than necessary. You hungry?” he asked. “Or should we go straight to the house?”

“I’m hoping to meet Anthony later tonight, so I’ll need to change at the house. But I want to be at full strength for the meet, so let’s hit a bar first. Someplace quiet and discreet. I don’t want to announce our presence too loudly before I’ve had a chance to talk to Anthony.”

“Quiet it is. There’s a place in the new neighborhood.”

“Good. I’ll call Anthony en route and see what his availability is for later tonight.”

“Think he’ll take your call?”

“
Mais oui.
By now, Raphael will have contacted him and given him the happy news that I’m their new ally. He’ll take the meet.”

Marc snorted. “How’d Raphael and his people react?”

“Raphael is practical. It’s part of what makes him so successful. He saw the value of what I offered, and that was it. His people were less sanguine about it, especially his mate. In her eyes, I’m not only one of the European invaders, but Mathilde’s child, to boot. She’s not even inclined to like, much less trust, me. Raphael doesn’t trust me either, but I think he honestly wants the strongest candidate possible to win the South.”

“As long as it’s someone he approves of.”

“Someone he can work with,” Christian corrected. “I have no doubt that if Raphael didn’t think I’d be good for the South, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. I’ve heard stories of his power—it was all Mathilde talked about sometimes. But it’s one thing to hear of it, and another to stand ten feet away from it.”

“You’ve power enough to win the South on your own merits,” Marc said loyally.

“I do, and I will. But I did the right thing in speaking to Raphael first. It’s a matter of respect,” Christian said, as he speed-dialed Anthony’s office.

“Lord Anthony’s office, how can I help you?” The woman’s voice was creamy smooth, with just a hint of sexy purr beneath words that flowed with the musical drawl of someone born and raised in New Orleans. The sound of that voice struck Christian so hard that he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a moment, wondering if her physical reality could possibly match that wonderful voice.

“Christian Duvall here,” he said finally. “I wish an audience with Lord Anthony and assume an appointment is required,” he added, cursing himself for sounding stiff and humorless. He doubted that she of the lovely voice was even remotely as entranced by
his
voice as he’d been by hers.

“Well, Mr. Duvall,” she said smartly, but with a touch of humor. Probably because he’d sounded like a stuffy old man. Okay, so he
was
an old man at 239, but he didn’t look it and, despite all evidence to the contrary, he didn’t normally act it either. Fuck!

“Excuse me?” he was forced to ask, since she’d been talking the whole time he was scolding himself, and he hadn’t heard what she’d said. Even better. Now, she thought he was stuffy, old, and
stupid
.

But she only laughed, a sound that made his dick hard.
Mon dieu
, he was like a randy teenager. Had it been that long since he’d had sex? He’d fed regularly since arriving in Texas. It was always easy to find willing young women. He never took more than he needed, and always left the woman with sensuous memories, but he hadn’t actually had sex with anyone in . . . he thought back . . . nearly two months. No wonder the mere sound of this woman’s voice was doing him in.

“—not sure when his secretary will be back, but I can check with Lord Anthony for you, if you’d like?”

Christian blinked, aware that he’d drifted into his own thoughts again. “That would be kind, Miss . . ?” he said leadingly. He wanted this siren’s name.

“Natalie,” she provided. He’d have preferred the full name, but he would get that later. He might have failed miserably in this phone encounter, but when he and Natalie met, he would do better. He was, after all, French. And, say what you will about the French—and the Americans had plenty to say—they had perfected the art of seduction centuries ago.

“Natalie,” he repeated, tasting the syllables. “Is Lord Anthony currently in his office?”

“He is. Would you like to hold?”

Christian didn’t, in fact, want to hold. He hated being put on hold. But he wasn’t going to tell Natalie that. So he said, “Of course.”

“Be right back.”

Christian nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. Maybe she didn’t think he was stuffy. After all, Natalie of the siren’s voice worked in Anthony’s office, which meant she was accustomed to dealing with vampires, many of whom reflected the manners of the age they’d grown up in. Which meant she might only think he was stupid. He frowned.

“Problem?” Marc asked, glancing over as he made the connection that would cross the beltway surrounding the city of Houston. Bush Intercontinental Airport was north of the city, while the house that Christian had purchased was just west of the city center, about thirty-five miles south of the airport, and all of it clogged with traffic.

Christian gave him a questioning look.

“You looked . . . pensive.”

He smiled broadly. “Thinking of beautiful women, and all I can do with them.”

Marc laughed. “The best kind of problem there is. You—”

Christian cut him off with a raised hand as Natalie’s intriguing voice sounded in his ear.

“Lord Anthony’s in a meeting right now, Mr. Duvall, but he did say you should come on by later tonight. How does 12:30 a.m. sound to you?”

“That sounds perfect.” He didn’t add that pretty much anything she said would sound perfect. That would have been too much, too fast, and the art of seduction, when done well, was slow and subtle.

“I’ll put your name on his schedule. Do you need directions?”

“I don’t, but thank you, Natalie.
À toute à l’heure.”

“Oh!” she said, sounding flustered for the first time. “Well. Bye-bye then.”

Christian was still smiling when he disconnected the call and looked around. Marc had gotten off the highway, but Christian didn’t recognize the neighborhood. He’d visited Houston a handful of times in the last few months, mostly to look at houses. He’d been to Anthony’s estate house once, too, and had known immediately that it wasn’t what he wanted for himself when he became Lord of the South.

He hadn’t been specifically invited that time. He hadn’t even officially been living in the territory. But Anthony had held a loud, noisy party to celebrate the New Year—which was a big deal in vampire circles—and the guest list had been long and porous. Christian had shuffled down deep in order to avoid calling any attention to himself, and he and Marc had slipped in with a lively group of young vampires.

The house had been wide-open for the most part, and a few of them had taken the opportunity to visit Jabril Karim’s infamous basement. Jabril had been Lord of the South for decades before he died, and the basement was where he’d imprisoned and tortured both his enemies and his stable of blood slaves. Anthony had walled off a portion of the space, and ordered a sleeping vault built for his people, but the rest of it had been stripped down to bare walls and left empty. Despite the intervening years, and several intensive cleanings, Christian had still been able to smell the blood that had been spilled so cruelly within those walls.

When he became Lord of the South, he’d give the damn house back to the Hawthorn heiresses, the two young women Jabril had tried to cheat of their inheritance. And if they didn’t want it, he’d raze the building to the ground and sell the land.

No matter what happened, he would never live there.

“Christian?”

He was pulled out of his dark thoughts to see that Marc was parking in front of what appeared to be a very busy nightclub. There was a long line of people at the door, and the parking lot was nearly full.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

“A couple of times last week, with some of Anthony’s guys. It’s not a blood house, but the owner sees the benefit of having vamps hanging around. The ladies do love us,” he added with a grin.

“Dress code?” Christian asked, retrieving his black leather jacket from the back seat.

“You got your boots on?”

“Of course.”

“Then you’re dressed enough.”

Christian laughed as he pushed the car door open. “You know,” he said conversationally, as the two of them started for the front door, “it was pure serendipity that we ended up in the South, but I think I’m going to like it here.”

“No argument from me,” Marc said, and then turned to greet the doorman. “Hey, Wilson,” he said. “Big crowd tonight.”

“Big crowd every night since you all started coming around,” the doorman agreed with a smile. “The ladies come to see
you
, and the guys come to see the ladies,” he explained and unclipped the velvet rope to admit the two vampires. A group of twenty-something guys near the head of the line muttered in protest. But the women standing in front of them eyed the two vampires up and down, their stares bold and inviting.