Dark Studies (Arcaneology) (15 page)

“Well…perhaps I exaggerated the extent of your fame.” Rimbeau refilled his glass. “In all honesty, I had never heard of you until Soul Killer told me she could arrange a meeting. That was when I began making inquiries, and I must admit I was quite titillated by the fact that I could not get information on how to contact you. The people I spoke with either did not know or did not choose to share it with me.”

That made much more sense than his stories of her so-called reputation. Though it did not explain how he had learned of the Marie Antoinette fantasy. She wondered just who had given Soul Killer the means to get in touch with her. Certainly not Hope Ashworth, as she’d claimed.

“How frustrating for you,” Angie teased. “I imagine you are used to getting what you want.”

“I am.” His playfulness leaked away, and she saw before her a cold, ancient creature with the blood of a human gleaming on his lips. He reached across the table and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Amusing though this has been, I am ready to move past the verbal sparring. Don’t you agree?”

Carefully, she set down her glass. Angie took his wrist and held his hand against her face as she said in her softest tones, “Yes. I do.”

How did he not sense the tension in the room? Vampire arrogance? Perhaps, surrounded by mere humans, he and Soul Killer dismissed the crowd as unimportant. Angie’s heart beat faster. She saw Rimbeau’s lids lower a notch, clearly anticipating her response. She prayed she wasn’t misreading the situation. If the people surrounding them were not the cavalry come to her rescue, she was about to be in deep, deep trouble. She could not turn her attention away from Rimbeau to look, all she could do was roll the dice and cross her fingers.

The Monarch of the Rocky Mountain Territory smiled lazily. His thumb moved to nudge at the corner of her mouth, and she gave him a moment to think he’d seduced her into granting him what he desired. Then she pushed back her chair and stood.

“No more sparring, Your Highness; no more verbal games. I wish this to be clear.”

His hand, left hanging in midair by her withdrawal, lowered to the table, and he stared at her.

“As I told you, I do not usually conduct negotiations this way.” She raised her voice a notch to ensure that any vampires in the room would hear, and many of the humans as well. “Soul Killer knew this, so I cannot imagine why she chose to make a spectacle of it. Perhaps she realized I would never accept you as a client on my own terms and hoped the fear of a public scene would convince me to give you what you wish. If so, she miscalculated.”

Rimbeau’s eyes widened. “Are you saying no to me?”

A murmur went through the little crowd of spectators. One actually snickered.

“That is exactly what I am saying. I would never take you as a client, and anyone who knows both of us could have told you so. Surely the Monarch of the Great Basin Territory must have realized this—unless she is a very poor judge of character.”

A hiss sounded from less than an inch away; Soul Killer had moved too fast for Angie to see, bringing her so close they almost touched. “That was not wise.”

Several people gasped. Angie jerked her head around to find the Monarch’s eyes had gone dark, and she felt the power of an ancient mind attempting to assert itself over hers. The defenses she had learned years ago were so ingrained she was not usually even conscious of them, but now she strengthened them with her own will. She did not dare let on that the attempt at entrancement had failed, though, so she made her face go blank and prayed she could fake it well enough to fool the vampires.

“Perhaps,” Soul Killer said, very quietly, so none of the humans nearby would hear, “we should go to your rooms, Monarch Rimbeau, and have that session now. You said you wished to debase her? To degrade her? I would be most honored if you would allow me to watch.”

Rimbeau glanced at the crowd of people. He tried to hide it, but outrage and humiliation marred the handsome lines of his face. He matched the quiet tone of Soul Killer’s voice, but his shook with fury. “This is not what I wanted. You said she would give me anything I asked for.”

“She will, by the time I’m done.”

“Were you even listening to what I said to her? No force, no entrancement! Any fool can do that,” he sneered.

Soul Killer went still. “Fool?”

“Yes, fool! And I do not ally myself with fools.” He paused. “However…I would not mind punishing her for this display of contempt. She certainly deserves it.”

“Oh, yes. On that we agree. But, since you hold such things as beneath you, I believe I shall take care of it myself.”

Rimbeau growled, a rumble so deep it was barely audible. His fangs lengthened, and he reached across the table to take Angie’s hand. The pressure of his fingers ground her bones together. Instinctively, she tried to jerk away, but Soul Killer caught hold of her face and forced Angie to look into her eyes. Again, that ancient mind tried to assert control.

“You will be still and show no sign of pain,” the Monarch commanded.

The beginnings of panic fluttered in Angie’s chest and sent fine vibrations through her muscles. Damn it, had she misread the movements of the crowd? If James’s people weren’t here, if they didn’t act quickly, she would be dead before morning. She struggled to obey Soul Killer as if she were, indeed, entranced. Forcing herself to fall still, she concentrated on accepting the pain instead of fighting it. If Rimbeau squeezed any harder, he would break something. Maintaining the illusion of entrancement grew more difficult with each passing second, as she tried to control the autonomic responses of her body to the threat of damage.

A rush of sound and wind swept past her, and Soul Killer was jerked back several feet. When the motion stopped, a vampire stood on either side of the Monarch, each holding one arm. She was too shocked to struggle.

“You dare attack me in my own territory?” Her small body tensed, and it was quite possible she had the strength to swat them both like flies.

A series of metallic clicks stood out in the silence that had fallen around them. Vampires and humans alike froze at the sound of hammers drawn back on at least a dozen guns, all pointing at Soul Killer and her companions. Rimbeau let go of Angie’s hand and eased back in his chair. A mask of amusement settled over his features.

James had not just sent vampires to protect her. He had sent human law enforcement. The vampires with them were dressed in their version of riot gear: black leather clothing, boots, and gloves, with silver handcuffs dangling from their belts and badges sewn onto their shoulders.

“The Covenant’s storm troopers,” Soul Killer snarled. “Violating my territory is an act of war. You have no right to be here.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” one of the humans said, a woman with a raspy, hard voice, “but these vampires are consultants to the Federal Task Force on Supernatural Security. The United States government does not recognize your territorial boundaries, not when it comes to violence against humans.”

“Really,” Rimbeau drawled, “there’s no need to overreact. The lady has spoken, and as humans say, no means no.” He smiled, all charm. “A gentleman always respects that.”

Soul Killer stared at Angie with black eyes gone cold and hard as jet. Angie turned back to Rimbeau and acknowledged him with a mocking nod before she looked at the men and women who continued to train their guns on the little group. There were too many for two vampires, even ones as powerful as this pair of Monarchs, to entrance them all. The Monarchs might have escaped the humans, despite their weapons—an old vampire could move faster than bullets. Likewise, they could have fought free of the two vampire consultants if there had been no other threat. But the combination of humans and vampires working together stacked the odds against them.

“This is inexcusable.” The Monarch of the Great Basin Territory focused her outrage on the human who had spoken. “I do not take such insults lightly.”

“Is that a threat, ma’am?”

Soul Killer’s eyes narrowed. She slid her gaze around the room, and at last seemed to realize she could do nothing, for now. There were too many witnesses.

“Only a threat to speak with your superiors.” Her voice and expression both grew smooth.

“Of course.” The agent nodded. “You go ahead and do that.”

“Now,” Soul Killer said, “unless you intend to arrest us, my companion and I will be going.”

The woman who had spoken lowered her weapon and took a step forward. “That suits us fine, ma’am. Miss Devereaux will be leaving town immediately, just so there won’t be any further trouble. We’ll escort her ourselves.”

She signaled the two vampires, who released the Great Basin Territory Monarch and eased back cautiously. The Monarch looked at one, then the other, as though memorizing their features.

“I do hope you will return to my territory soon,” she said. “I would like to offer you the hospitality you deserve.”

Neither spoke. Soul Killer settled her cold gaze on Angie and extended her fangs so they protruded over her lower lip. Then she turned and stalked away, Evan Samuels following in her wake.

“Clearly, Miss Deveraux, you are more important than you like to admit.” Rimbeau stood, careful not to make any sudden movement. “I heard you were under the protection of powerful people, but this goes beyond anything I could have expected. Please convey my regrets for any inadvertent offense on my part.”

He held out his hand. Angie hesitated before taking it. When she did, he bent low so his lips left a moist trace of blood on her knuckles. His gaze rose to hers, and what she saw there belied the old-world gesture of respect.

“I will be certain to pass that on.” She let him decide for himself just what it was she would pass on—his words or his intentions. Or both.

The enchanting smile returned, and he shared it with the humans around him. “If you will excuse me, ladies, gentlemen, I believe I shall retire to my rooms.”

A few guns remained trained on him as the agents parted to let him pass. The rest lowered their weapons.

“I’m Section Chief Carla Yeats, head of Nevada’s Special Threats Task Force.” The lead agent tucked her gun into its shoulder holster. “I don’t know who you are, Miss Devereaux, but I sure hope you’re worth the trouble you’ve stirred up.”

“So do I,” Angie murmured. “So do I.”

The two vampires and four of the human agents went with her to her room, while the rest took up positions around the casino. One of the agents helped her pack, and then they escorted her to the airport as promised.

Angie arrived at SeaTac Airport later than she’d expected. James had insisted on sending his private jet rather than letting her take a commercial flight, so she wasn’t able to leave Reno right away. Fortunately, the travel time between the two cities was less than two hours, so there were still several hours remaining before sunrise when at last she landed. James waited on the tarmac with a Covenant Enforcement agent. Angie nodded to them, then did a double take.

“Vanessa?”

“Hey.”

They hadn’t seen each other in more than two years. Vanessa had changed. Her hair was short and dark brown now. Her body language was stiffer, her expression harder, and her eyes had a distance Angie understood all too well. When you couldn’t bear to look at things up close, you removed yourself from them and let the detachment protect you. Woman and vampire regarded each other, then embraced tightly.

Chapter Fourteen

It doesn’t take magic to make a zombie. A severe case of PTSD has the same effect, but without the craving for brains.

—Annette Zimmerman, MA, psychology

Sarah Miller

Twelve Years Ago

The room was nicer than her dungeon. She had a soft bed, blankets, pillows, a shower and a toilet, even a television. They gave her all the food she wanted. The door, however, remained locked. Humans and vampires took turns guarding it day and night. After the bloodbath at Antonio Romero’s keep, Ruler Sutherland and his enforcement team had taken Sarah and Vanessa to his stronghold in Dallas, Texas. Once a luxury hotel, it was now the fortress of the vampire Ruler of the city. She wasn’t allowed to see Vanessa, but least she wasn’t completely alone among the vampires. They assigned a human servant named Debra to look after her. Middle aged, going thick around the waist, she acted like someone who had taken care of children and knew what they needed. Sarah might not be a child anymore, but she needed the same things: sleep, clean clothes, a bath, and healthy food.

A physician saw to her wounds—minor cuts and bruises, mostly—and diagnosed malnutrition. He suggested they bring in a psychologist to assess the result of years of abuse. The psychologist didn’t get far, though. When he had finished trying to talk with her, she sat in front of the television, watching the screen without focusing on the picture.

“She can’t cope with the trauma,” he told Debra, “so she’s just gone away, where none of it can touch her.”

“Will she come out of it?”

He shook his head. “She might, if she starts to feel safe, but she’s surrounded by vampires and their servants. After what they’ve done to her, she’s not likely to ever feel safe around a vampire again.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that for the moment. After the Tribunal…”

“Yes. Well.” He put on his hat and picked up his briefcase. “Call me when you’re ready to actually help her.”

The longer she stayed there, the harder it was to think or move at all. Strange. Now that she was no longer being abused, shouldn’t she feel glad? There was only this heavy gray blanket of insulation, holding her still inside and out.

Her one pleasure was the window. Her third day in the Dallas stronghold ended with a glorious sunset, and in its wake she watched lights come on and grow brighter in contrast to the deepening night. Sarah leaned her head against the windowsill, not thinking, not moving, unable to do more than simply exist. She did not react to a knock on her door. As if from a distance, she heard Debra let someone in, followed by the murmur of voices.