Christian (Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Book 10) (29 page)

“If that’s the way you want it, old man,” he muttered, and sent a ball of vampire-fueled fire roaring into the cactus cluster, igniting it like a giant torch, with flames blasting twenty feet into the sky.

Hubert gave a high-pitched yell, and darted away from the conflagration, giving Vincent his first direct sight of the enemy. He’d never seen Hubert before, and hadn’t thought to ask what the vampire looked like. Physical appearance wasn’t important; only power mattered. And that’s what Vincent focused on when he studied the European invader. He could see the rainbow shimmer of the lord’s shields in the glimmer of the flames, could feel the unrelenting pressure as Hubert probed for a weakness in Vincent’s shields, as well. But other than that probe, his attack was curiously passive, his energies concentrated on maintaining his shields.

It wasn’t what Vincent would have expected from a lord as old and experienced as Hubert, and he wondered if the invader was a victim of his own strategy. The power necessary to maintain control over his zombie fighters might be taking such a toll on his strength that it was leaving him vulnerable to the far more dangerous enemy right in front of him.

But at the same time, Vincent knew that Hubert had a whole village full of blood donors sitting down below like a human buffet. The European should have been at peak strength.

All of these thoughts raced through his mind in an instant as he calculated the fastest way to dispose of Hubert and get back to his fighters, and to Lana. If Hubert was weakened by his own actions, then all the better. It was time to get this fight started.

Shifting his gaze to the tumble of rocks behind Hubert, who remained curiously unmoving, Vincent seized them with his power and sent them flying down the hill. They slammed into Hubert, who flinched visibly on impact. His shields held, but they wavered as he stumbled forward, nearly going to his knees. He grimaced in pain, his fangs flashing, as he struggled to regain his feet.

But this wasn’t an old-fashioned human sort of duel, with rules of honor and chivalry. Vincent struck while his enemy was down. Striding over the empty space between them, he curled hands together in front of his chest and shaped his power into a massive cudgel of energy. Swinging it around his head, building momentum as he drew closer, he stomped to a halt just before he would have hit Hubert’s shield, and powered the cudgel downward at the vampire lord’s head.

There was a fraction of resistance, a bare slowing of his downward stroke as the weapon penetrated Hubert’s shield. And then there were blood and brains splattering everywhere, trapped within the shield for a gruesome few seconds as Hubert struggled to stay alive, before his shield collapsed, and he crumpled to the ground.

Vincent stared, shocked at the ease of his victory, but not so stunned that he paused in delivering the final blow. Reaching into the gory mess, he punched a hole in Hubert’s chest, ripped out his heart, and tossed it onto the burning cactus. Seconds later, Lord Hubert of Lyon was gone, an unlamented footnote to the history of Vampire.

And yet . . . something wasn’t right about this. Vincent had never doubted he would prevail in this fight. This was his territory, and he knew his strength. But he’d expected more of a challenge. He thought again of the zombie vampires, and the toll they might have taken on Hubert’s strength. And perhaps that explained it, but it did nothing to ease the pebble of unease that was building in his gut. Turning, he raced for the plateau’s edge and started downward.

He could see the battle still raging down below, could catch glimpses of movement as the moon flirted with the clouds overhead. He heard the crack of Lana’s rifle as she fired repeatedly, systematically. The closer he got, the more individual sounds carried up to him, the roars and grunts from his own fighters punctuating the almost steady keening growl that rose above Hubert’s zombie vampires.

The pebble in his gut became a boulder. He needed to get back to his people. The feeling of wrongness was driving him forward with a frenzy that had him leaping from foothold to foothold, rocks skidding beneath his feet in a shower of dirt and stone before him. Lana was down there. Michael and all of his fighters were, too. But Lana was so much more vulnerable, her connection to him too new to save her if the unimaginable happened. What if she’d been the ultimate target? What if Hubert hoped to destroy Vincent by killing his mate?

It would work. Vincent couldn’t imagine surviving the agony of losing Lana, couldn’t imagine wanting to go on without her.

Reaching the flat, he tore across the battleground, tearing through Hubert’s zombies, tossing them aside, ripping out hearts and tearing off heads in his urgency to destroy them all before disaster struck. He couldn’t have said what the disaster would be, couldn’t envision whatever Hubert’s plan had been. What kind of vampire lord weakened himself so severely that he couldn’t survive a challenge? What horrible revenge had he hoped to inflict?

Vincent reached the giant boulder where Lana was secured, her gun still firing at an almost inhuman pace. As he climbed, he could hear the battle winding down behind him. Even Lana’s steady gunfire was slowing. She rolled over in alarm when he made the final leap to her side, her gun coming up, finger on the trigger. She froze, eyes wide, when she recognized him, then lowered the weapon with a curse.

“God damn it, Vincent! I almost shot you. What the fuck?”

Vincent didn’t waste time on words, just gathered her up, and stretched his shields to cover them both, staring out into the moonlit night and listening as the battle was reduced to the muted growls of his fighters and the dying cries of their enemies. There was no mercy in vampire society. Vanquished enemies were destroyed. There was no other outcome.

“Vincent,” Lana said, drawing his attention with the soft intensity of her voice. “What’s going on, babe?”

He dragged his gaze from the battlefield where he’d been counting his fighters, noting each face, scanning for injuries.

“
Querida,
” he said fervently, stroking a hand over the long braid of her black hair.

“Vincent? You’re scaring me.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Something’s wrong with this. I was convinced Hubert had a surprise planned, something we hadn’t thought of, but . . .” He scowled, still unable to put words to his fear. “Come on,” he said suddenly. “I need to talk to Michael.”

He waited while she secured her weapons and slung the two rifles over her shoulder. Then he gripped her around the waist and stepped to the edge of the boulder.

“Hold on,” he warned her, and stepped off the rock, dropping them to the ground fifteen feet below. His knees bent, thighs flexing as he absorbed the impact. Lana uttered a tiny squeak, and gripped his arms briefly, but she couldn’t have been that surprised. She knew what he was capable of.

“Asshole,” she whispered. “A little warning next time.”

Vincent kissed the top of her head in apology, but his mind wasn’t on it. His arm tightened around her when she would have turned for the landing zone where they’d be meeting the helicopter. He was still consumed with the need to protect her, still waiting for the unknown to happen. Lana glanced up at him, but didn’t say anything, and didn’t try to break away.

“
Jefe
,” Michael said, coming toward him with a victorious grin. Behind him, Vincent’s warriors were dispatching the few remaining fallen enemies, and slapping each other’s backs in celebration. If they’d been in the city, the blood bars would be going wild tonight, his fighters pumping adrenaline and blood lust so thick, it would color the air.

“Michael,” Vincent said tightly, his attention never leaving the hills around them as he continued to scan with all his vampire senses.

“What is it?” Michael asked, suddenly tuning in to Vincent’s tension. “Hubert?” he asked, turning to mimic Vincent’s search of the surrounding area.

“Hubert’s dead,” Vincent said sharply, and that quickly, he realized what was bothering him. “They should have died,” he muttered, halfway to himself. “Why didn’t they die?” he asked louder, looking at Michael.

“Who?”

“These,” he said, waving a hand at the dead and dying zombie vamps. “Look at them. They’re so newly turned that they’re not even dusting. Their bodies will lie there until the sun destroys them in the morning.”

Michael nodded. “Okay,” he said, still not getting the point.

“So why didn’t they die when I killed Hubert?” Vincent asked quietly. “They shouldn’t have been able to survive the shock of his death. But when I came back here, you were still fully engaged, as if nothing had happened, as if . . . Fuck me,” he swore fervently.

Michael understood then. Without a word, he flicked on his headset and called the helicopter back. “Where to, my lord?”

“I don’t know yet. Let’s just get the fuck out of here for now.”

“What?” Lana was demanding, pounding a fist on his chest where he was still holding her tightly. “What happened?”

“That wasn’t Hubert I killed,” Vincent said bitterly. “I knew something was off. I just thought . . . Fuck.” The helicopter came into view, hovered briefly, then settled just above the ground. With no enemies alive to contest their arrival, the pilots could risk coming in closer.

Vincent steered Lana back to the chopper, boosting her up and in, before following her inside. As they donned their headsets against the noise, his thoughts were churning, playing back the sequence of events that had brought him here, to this remote fishing village, considering all the players and their reasons for wanting him distracted and out of the way.

“Anthony,” he growled.

“What about him?” Michael asked over the command channel, as he settled onto the seat on the other side of Vincent.

“He had a reason for sending us here. Get us to the airport. I need to call someone, and find out what the fuck is going on.”

Chapter Twelve

Houston, TX

NATALIE WATCHED the door close behind Christian, heard the heavy shutter roll down with the subdued rumble of well-oiled gears. Tiptoeing over, she peered through the peephole, and realized she could still see the outside. No one was there. She rolled her eyes. Of course, no one was there. And why was she tiptoeing?

“Get it together, Nat,” she whispered. But she couldn’t stop staring at that door, couldn’t stop thinking about how trapped she felt in this big empty house. Just to reassure herself, she crossed to the keypad and entered the code that Christian had given her.

The shutter responded instantly, raising itself with the same rumble of noise that had closed it. She opened the door and glanced outside. The neighborhood was quiet, the elegant homes each perched above a gently sloping lawn, most with soft light shining through windows, testifying to their occupation.

She breathed in a dose of the fresh air, then stepped back and closed the door. Christian was right. She needed to be smart and safe, even if Anthony was in hiding. He was sneaky and accustomed to getting his way. She punched in the code, and took comfort in the solid sound of the shutter dropping securely down again.

“Well, you can’t stand in front of the door all night like a dog, waiting for him to come home,” she muttered, then turned to survey the house. The entrance opened into a split-level living room that was filled with furniture. It was elegantly appointed, and probably very expensive. But she preferred the kitchen, where Christian’s giant espresso machine ruled the room. Her bedroom, or rather, the one she was using, was comfortable and nicely furnished, and now that she’d been there a few days, it was also cluttered with the stuff of daily living. She imagined the basement was like that, too.

That reminded her of what Christian had said about Alon being secure in a locked vault downstairs. She stared down the hallway on her right, contemplating the closed basement door, and what lay beyond it. She could go down there and see for herself. No one else was in the house, no one would ever know. She started in that direction, then stopped. No. It wouldn’t be right to snoop around while Christian was gone. She wouldn’t like it if he did that to her. She’d just have to wait, and ask him when he came back if he would show her what was down there.

She wrinkled her nose in irritation. Being a good person was a pain in the ass sometimes. She sighed and tried to decide what to do. The living room had a full entertainment suite, and she’d bet Christian had cable, or some equivalent. Probably hundreds of channels. She could find a movie to watch. But that didn’t hold any appeal. She was too nervous about what Christian and Marc would find when they reached the border, too worried about what might happen to them. She needed to distract her brain, or she’d drive herself crazy.

“Work,” she decided. Her work required full concentration. Once she started on a trail, she lost track of time and everything else. She stopped in her bedroom long enough to grab a sweatshirt and her laptop, then headed back to the kitchen.

She set her laptop on the kitchen island, and grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge. She was going to need a lot of caffeine, and for all the beauty of Christian’s machine, cup by cup wasn’t going to do it. It was times like this that her Mr. Coffee was made for. Brew a pot and mainline the whole damn thing. Fortunately, she’d bought a twelve pack of Diet Coke when she was at the store. It’s not like the vamps needed all that room in the fridge anyway.

Scooting onto one of the kitchen stools, she opened her laptop and logged in. She was about to open her work files when the new folder she’d created for the files purloined from Anthony caught her eye. She’d intended to discuss them with the guys, was going to argue for them letting her handle the research and general ferreting out of info, while they focused on the stuff she couldn’t do, like fighting and all-around intimidation. Other issues—like a full-blown street battle and an enemy invasion—had intervened before she could talk to them about it. But there was no reason she couldn’t get started.

She clicked the folder open and scanned the document list. There hadn’t been enough time to be picky. She’d simply grabbed everything she could, and still didn’t know exactly what she had. She hadn’t discussed any of this with Christian, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what they were looking for. Anything that incriminated Anthony. A nice confession would be good. Maybe a heartfelt diary entry . . .
I can’t live with the lies anymore. I have to tell someone.
She snorted her opinion of
that
happening. Anthony was one of those people who could justify just about anything, as long as it served his purposes.

Her eye trailed down the list of documents. She’d used her access to the network, and her more or less authorized knowledge of everyone’s password, including Anthony’s, to log onto his computer and copy everything generated in the last two weeks. The files were from several different folders on his computer, but for the sake of expedience, she’d dumped them all into a single folder on her flash drive. That left her with a jumble of file names and dates. She clicked the heading to sort the docs by date, which at least gave her a place to start. The most recent documents were likely to be the most relevant.

She went through the files systematically, one at a time. Most were routine stuff, but she did learn one thing. Anthony kept a record of everything, including personal notes and observations. Forget that diary, this was way better. He didn’t like e-mail, and he never texted, preferring a face-to-face conversation or a phone call, but apparently, he’d fully embraced the use of his computer as a personal journal. Getting inside a person’s head and discovering how they thought was half the battle in figuring out what they were hiding, and where. Anthony’s notes were like a roadmap for someone like her.

As she skimmed down the list, looking for more journal entries, she came across a sub-folder that she must have grabbed without realizing. It was titled “Faxes,” and she opened it expecting to find . . . faxes. Lots and lots of faxes, going all the way back to when Anthony first came to the estate. Who used fax machines these days? E-mail was much more efficient and easier to keep a record of. But it was also easier to track and hack. This was probably more of Anthony’s paranoia peeking through, but it worked for her, so she started opening files. They were all the same format—a document that someone had created for Anthony to use as a fax cover sheet, with an auto-fill function on the appropriate lines. And several had been written in the last two days. In fact, it was a flurry of faxes. Heh, heh.

Most had to do with arrangements for Anthony’s personal belongings to be packed and shipped to New Orleans, and for various details of a house he’d apparently purchased in that city in anticipation of his move. Her family would be sorry to see him return. Was it wrong for her to hope he never made it back?

She opened the next one in order and was surprised to see Christian’s name on the subject line. Reading down, she realized it had never been sent. There was no one on the “to” line, but the bulk of the text was all about the battle down in Laredo. In fact, based on what little she knew, it seemed almost prescient in its details. She frowned. Scoville was the one who’d called Christian, and he’d said Anthony was MIA. So why would Anthony know so much about what was happening?

Making a series of notes to herself, she stayed with the fax files, and eventually found one that had been sent to Vincent just a few hours ago. It was in Spanish, which frustrated her a little bit. She could get by in the language, but she was far from fluent. Still, she read through the text, using a translation app when she hit words or phrases she didn’t understand. And the more she read, the more worried she became. This e-mail had the same urgent tone as the one Anthony had written to Christian, but it urged Vincent to go far south into his territory, all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico. It warned that Hubert had established a foothold in a small fishing village there, that he was turning locals, and creating an army in preparation for a move against Vincent.

But how could Hubert be in a village on the Gulf of Mexico if he was attacking the border outpost in Laredo? And hadn’t Christian mentioned that Vincent was on his way to Laredo?

More importantly, why did Anthony know so much about Laredo?

She picked up her cell to call Christian. Foremost, he needed to know that Vincent wasn’t coming. But he also needed to know that Anthony might be involved, and that the situation might not be what Scoville said it was.

She called his cell phone, but there was no answer and no voicemail. “Damn it,” she swore softly. He should be off the helicopter by now. She’d been working for several hours already. But that meant he was probably in the middle of a fight, and not exactly paying attention to his cell phone.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, not seeing anything, deciding what to do next. But the answer was obvious. She had to go down there and warn him herself. She knew all the arguments against her going. She wasn’t a fighter, and blah, blah, blah. But she wasn’t as helpless as everyone seemed to think, either. Christian would still be furious, but better that than dead.

And bottom line, she couldn’t trust anyone else to do it. Everyone had an agenda around here, including her. The difference was that the only line on
her
agenda was keeping Christian and Marc alive.

Her mind switched to planning mode. No emotion now, just logistics. She knew the air charter company Anthony used. She could call and arrange transport using her authority from the estate. She could also use the estate’s money, which was both handy and karmically satisfying. But first, she needed an update on the situation. It wouldn’t do any good if she zipped down there, only to stumble into a bloody mess of a battle.

Information, information
, she thought as she scrolled through her contacts, and stopped on Jaclyn’s name. With Jaclyn’s connection to Raphael, she’d certainly know what was going on. Natalie pressed the button, and listened to the phone rang.

“Hi Natalie,” Jaclyn answered with her usual lack of formality. “Are you coming in tonight?”

Natalie frowned, surprised that Jaclyn would expect her. Between Anthony’s unknown whereabouts, and a full-on battle on the border, the estate house was the last place she’d be expected to be.

“Probably not,” she said slowly, “what with Christian rushing off to Laredo.”

“Laredo? What’s happening down there?”

Fear seized her, and her heart stopped beating for a long moment. “There was an attack on the outpost tonight,” she said, her throat so tight she had to fight for the words. “Scoville called Christian in a panic, begging for help. It sounds like Hubert’s about to launch a full-scale invasion.”

“I haven’t heard anything about this,” Jaclyn said, her words laced with impatience. Her voice abruptly faded as she turned away from the phone. “Cibor,” she said, “what’s going on in Laredo?”

Natalie couldn’t make out what Cibor replied, but it wasn’t what Jaclyn wanted to hear. “Well, get hold of someone down there, and find out what the situation is. I want it five minutes ago.” Jaclyn’s irritated voice came back to her. “What else do you know?” she demanded.

“I only know what Christian told me about their phone conversation. But there’s something weird going on, because—”

“Hold up,” Jaclyn snapped, and then didn’t say anything for a long time, while the deep rumble of Cibor’s voice could be heard in the background. And then Jaclyn was back.

“Something odd is going on,” she told Natalie, her tone both worried and distracted. “No one here knows anything about an attack. And
no one
is rushing to defend the border.”

“Jaclyn,” Natalie said urgently, “it’s way more than odd. Look, I hacked into Anthony’s private files, and there are faxes and stuff. I think—” She drew a deep breath through her nose, fighting for calm. “I think Hubert really will attack tonight, but Scoville’s working with Anthony, and they lured Christian down there to face Hubert and his whole damn army all alone. They want Christian dead.”

Cibor could obviously hear every word, because he said something to Jaclyn, and then Jaclyn said to Natalie, “I think you’re right. But the only way to be sure is to fly down there ourselves, and I can’t go. I’m too closely linked to Raphael, and we can’t get in the middle of what some might consider a territorial challenge. But I’m sending Cibor down to eyeball the situation. If there really is an invasion, he’ll be a good addition to Christian’s side. And if not, he’ll at least be able tell us what’s really going on.”

“I’m going with him,” Natalie said, sliding off the kitchen stool and heading for her bedroom. “But you’ll have to stay here with Alon, just in case.”

“Stay there? Wha—Wait! Who’s Alon?”

“My dojo master. Christian turned him after he nearly died when Marcel Weiss tried to kill Christian last night,” she said, speaking rapidly.

“Marcel tried to kill Christian? What the fuck?”

But Natalie wasn’t listening anymore. “Alon won’t be any trouble, because he’s asleep and locked in a vault. But I can’t leave him here all alone.”

“Well, good, because you’re not going anywhere.”

“Can you get a helicopter?” she asked Jaclyn, ignoring her pronouncement. “Marc told Christian that a helicopter worked best, because of airport hassles and stuff, so—”

“We’ve got this, Natalie. Cibor will take care of it.”

She ignored that, too. “—how long before you and Cibor can get here?”

“Look, I’m not sure—”

“About what?” Natalie demanded. “Christian and Marc are out there all alone against who knows how many enemies. They need help, and I can do that.”

“How, Natalie?” Jaclyn asked softly, her voice full of compassion. “I understand you want to help him, but you can’t fight vampires, sugar. I don’t care how much karate or whatever it is that you do. You’ll only get hurt or worse, and that won’t help him.”

“I appreciate what you’re saying, but you don’t know—”

“And Christian?” Jaclyn persisted. “Do you think he wants you in the middle of a vampire battlefield? Do you have any idea what that’s like? He locked you in his house, didn’t he? I bet you’re sitting there with all the shutters deployed, and not even a window to look out of. Tell me I’m wrong.”