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Authors: Linda Mercury

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That was the one who had interfered with Lance's demise. Since Roger had disappeared, Radu knew he had to take care of his own annoyances. Get rid of her, and he'd quickly be rid of Soleil. Perfect.
“And of course, Ring Around The Rosie is the perfect metaphor for foreign policy, don't you agree?” Joe intoned in his usual droning tones.
“Absolutely, Joe.” Radu nodded wisely. Soon, it would be time to get better acquainted with his other lawyer's son. But for now, he had bigger prey.
Chapter 24
Radu Tepes smoothed his silk tie as Glenath Tempesta wrestled with her microphone. Eager anticipation tingled through his fingers. His party had been seated at the front of the enormous ballroom, right by the stage.
His perfect view more than compensated for the typical convention-style chairs he was forced to use. He wanted to see every single expression on Tempesta's face today.
The woman teetered on the edge of her destruction and she didn't even know it. He smiled in unadulterated delight. This was it. Joe, Umar, and Ben Trask chatted amongst themselves in blissful ignorance of Radu's plans. He had arranged every component of what was about to pass.
Unfortunately, Lance Soleil and his mysterious vampire sat two rows back and to his left. Radu grudgingly admitted that the former chaplain could dress well. Instead of one of his ubiquitous, tattered long-sleeved T-shirts, Soleil looked sophisticated and debonair in a navy pin-striped English-styled suit. The vampire wore a surprisingly unremarkable gray jacket and slacks. Vampires were a flamboyant people. She couldn't be anyone he'd ever known. Such boring clothing was not done.
One simply couldn't have everything all at once, he mused, refusing to give in to disappointment. Not today of all days.
The building buzzed with excitement and nerves. Unable to resist, he tuned his sensitive hearing to eavesdrop on the bishop's last moments before he ruined her. What was she saying in her innocence of her fate?
The woman was muttering in her usual cranky way. “Learn to fucking spell.” She glared off to one side. Radu craned his neck to see what disturbed her. A group of mortals held a homemade banner that read
HUMAN RIGTS ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN AMIAL RIGHTS
.
Simply atrocious. Radu mentally rolled his eyes in agreement.
Really, if you care about something, do it with some style,
he thought, caressing his perfect nails with his fingertips.
“Please don't swear,” Glenath's manager automatically responded. “Do you have the speech I prepared for you?” The poor man looked nervous. Working with Tempesta couldn't be easy.
“Sure thing, Daniel.” The woman brandished her famous leather-bound notebook carved with the perfect replica of Rodin's Gates of Hell. Radu did appreciate the former bishop's sense of humor. Too bad that wouldn't save her.
She marched to the podium like she was going to war. Her burgundy leather Birkenstock clogs propelled her like a couple of jet engines. How could the woman wear such ridiculous shoes? Radu had once thought it a charming eccentricity, but now it simply highlighted her lack of polish and sophistication. His own custom-made Italian lace-ups gleamed with the soft shine of hand-detailed calfskin.
The crowd erupted into the tedious hurricane of boos and cheers that always accompanied Glenath. She tossed her untamed waist-length, pewter-gray hair over one shoulder and waited for the noise to die down.
She leaned an elbow on the birch lectern and cocked a hip before starting in on her opening speech. The large-format television screens broadcast her image throughout the building as though she were a rock star.
“Opening speakers are supposed to welcome people. Here's my welcome for you. Welcome to the Twelfth Annual Race Riot.”
The crowd froze.
Radu had to give the woman props. She did know how to start with a bang.
Glenath gripped both sides of the podium and growled her next words into the silence.
“I'm not going to blow sunshine up your collective asses. This is scary shit. People ask me if I was afraid when I walked up to the Great Wolf, Luc Breton. Yes, I was. Hell, he nearly ate me. Still got the scars to prove it.” She pulled aside the neckline of her jacket. Ragged, still livid lines crisscrossed her throat.
That must have been messy. Radu's mouth automatically watered.
“But fear is bullcrap.” She jabbed a finger in the air. “You face your fear. You talk to it. Trying to deny it or make it go away doesn't work. Instead, you just get so scared, you can't spell.”
This was too delicious. Glenath would be facing her greatest fear in just a few moments. Radu schooled his expression into one of intent interest when he saw a camera swing his way.
She paced to the front of the stage.
“I want this summit to be about facing the deepest, darkest thing you are afraid of. That might be a werewolf. It might be a human. Hell, it might even be me.” Her gaze scanned the crowd. Radu smiled again.
“Living in fear sucks. Stop wasting your life.”
Time for her signature line.
“Bring it.”
“And here it comes,” Radu promised under his breath.
 
 
The warning hairs on Lance's neck trembled. He clicked to full alert, adrenaline flooding his muscles.
“What?” Valerie whispered over the audience's applause. “What do you see?”
“Something big.” Something even worse than honeysuckle that walked. He searched the room, desperate to prevent disaster.
Surely his sly minx of a lover wouldn't choose this time to assassinate Radu. He narrowed his eyes at her. He knew exactly what kind of damage an innocent sharp pencil could do.
“Don't look at me,” she hissed indignantly.
She was gorgeous when she was irritated. He was light-headed crazy about her. Momentarily distracted by her anger, Lance tilted his body at the waist, bending to brush a kiss over her high cheekbone. She lowered her eyelids over her suddenly sultry hazel eyes.
A wild shouting roar interrupted them. As one they rose, fists already clenched.
Like a devilish magician, a bald man materialized on the stage next to Glenath.
“What the hell?” Lance asked.
“Anthony?” The bishop sounded like a baby seal just clubbed in the head. Her hand fluttered to her chest. “Is that really you?”
They both tensed at the naked vulnerability in the woman's voice.
“What the fuck did you do, Radu?” Valerie muttered. She touched her pencil but didn't pull it. “He was an innocent, you bastard,” she whispered. “Stop this.”
Without looking at each other, Lance and his woman shoved their way through the agitated audience toward Glenath.
Faster than a forest fire, the man evaded the advancing security. For someone so muscular, he moved like a flame. He snatched a microphone from the podium and cut in front of Glenath. He threw an arm out to silence the roar.
Lance tightened his jaw. Anthony, whoever he was, moved like Radu Tepes.
“I kill that pig
now
,” Valerie hissed. She aimed her pencil like a javelin at Radu Tepes. “See you in hell,
fratele
.”
Lance grabbed her arm. “No!” he ordered. He could not allow cold-blooded murder. Teeth and claws bared, she shrugged him off.
Then Anthony spoke, breaking off their fight. “My name is Anthony O'Neill. I am a vampire. Today, I step forward to advance the cause of civil rights for all. I must expose the hypocrisy of human leadership. This situation can no longer be allowed to stand.”
Blood beaded on his face. Anthony dabbed a blue silk handkerchief across his forehead, wiping his sweat.
“Thirty years ago, Glenath Tempesta and I secretly married.” He paused as the audience roared in disbelief. “Her superiors in seminary demanded she renounce me. She caved. Not once has she acknowledged my existence or the importance of our bond, nor has she given me the courtesy of a divorce. I've kept my silence for these many years out of respect for her and her accomplishments. But I can no longer stand to be her dirty little secret.”
Glenath collapsed, dropped off the stage, and landed in Lance's arms.
Anthony whirled, leapt, and vanished into the dark night. The room erupted in flashbulbs, questions, hands waving, and screams.
Radu hid his smile behind his hand. Despite Anthony's best resistance, Tempesta's influence on public opinion was completely neutralized. Only one more obstacle.
Lance gathered Glenath's limp body to him. “Call an ambulance,” he shouted at Valerie. “I have her.”
Valerie spit out a guttural curse, her fangs sharp and angry. “I could have prevented this.” She yanked the BlackBerry out of his inside breast pocket, tearing a few threads on her way. Lance staggered under her swift movements.
“We don't have time for a tantrum,” he snapped back, cradling the bishop.
She snapped her teeth, but looked over his shoulder. “Damnation. Look sharp.”
Multiple news teams bore down on him like radio-controlled missiles. Valerie and Lance were trapped between the stage and the oncoming press.
Valerie pushed back, but there were too many. Glenath's unconscious form dragged Lance down, even with his augmented strength. His arms shook. “Get us out of here,” he told Valerie.
“Give her some air, you vultures,” she growled.
“Mr. Soleil. One question.”
“Father, we want to know ...”
“Is Bishop Tempesta alive?”
“Will she be all right?”
“I heard you abandoned your childhood friend to life in a sanitarium. How can you live with yourself?” A voice boomed above all the others. “Tell us the truth about John Janté.”
Shock immobilized Lance.
His poleaxed face flashed over the huge television screens circling the room. Valerie took both Lance and Glenath in her arms. Still stunned, he barely registered her death-defying jump out of the ballroom.
 
 
Radu caressed his mended thumbnail. Part Two went down as smooth as a knife edge. Time for Part Three.
He wedged through the mayhem. Joe, Ben, and Umar flanked him as he ascended the stage.
“Attention. Attention, everyone! Please, calm down.” He held his arms out, palms down, in a pacifying motion. The crowd settled to an uneasy silence.
“I wasn't planning on speaking today. But I feel compelled to address every one of you.
“For ages, humanity and PNCs treated each other as enemies. The myth of our origins, that Lucifer created us in his Fall, is highly entertaining, but false. It is time we created a new reality. I have found the best way to integrate the world in a peaceful fashion.” He adjusted his tie to draw out the tension.
“The Consortium for Concerned Citizens has a glorious past. I first met with Joseph Carter and Umar Mernissi in 1969 to help form what would become the landmark Paranormal Citizens Act. For the youngsters in the audience, I'll remind you of the pertinent details. Any Shadow Creature who wanted to live in the United States, and didn't have a criminal record, was able to apply for citizenship. In the course of three years, we got government IDs, gained the ability to serve in the military to serve our country, and even received the privilege of paying our taxes. Every country in the world soon followed suit, especially the taxes part of the equation.”
Radu allowed his lips to curve as he paused for the laughter to die down.
“Yes, there have been setbacks. We have fought amongst ourselves, fought and died and eventually found our way to this fragile peace.
“Since that time, all beings on earth have learned to live together, work together, and to our surprise, found our children playing together. This makes me look forward to a time of no more fear or hate between species. We have made allies and friends amongst those who fear us. We have learned more about each other since World War II than in all previous centuries combined. Knowledge has replaced ignorance.
“Education has always been the key to combating bigotry. We need to see more positive images of PNCs in our media. We need to become more involved in the world's stage. To further this goal, I am proud to announce my candidacy for President of the United States.”
Chapter 25
Could Radu's day get any better?
“I bring hundreds of years of experience as varied as bringing order from complete anarchy to rebelling against totalitarian regimes. I am not running as either a Republican or a Democrat, but as the head of my new Unity Party.
“And I am pleased to announce my running mate, Wisconsin Governor Nicholas Green!”
Brandy snifter in hand, tie undone, shirt collar unbuttoned, Radu posed in front of the flat-screen television set in his hotel room. Frantic clicking from the paparazzi on the roof of the next building told him they nailed the perfect shot he'd composed for them.
He sipped his postmeal spirits and focused on the television. Clip after clip of that confounded woman fainting onstage at today's opening ceremonies rolled past.
Radu changed the channel to see Joe humiliating Lance Soleil on national television.
“Mr. Soleil is a coward who lets others pay the price of his carelessness. John Janté was mauled in an encounter with the paranormal that Mr. Soleil started, and spent several years in a nursing home. The poor souls who are depending on his actions to herald a new age in civil rights will be sorely disappointed.”
He'd not heard from Roger yet, but it seemed that loser had failed. But this was a minor sour note compared to the rest of today's accomplishments.
Those words would never get old. And Soleil never did appear to rebut the challenge.
He took a drink as the next channel revealed an anchor discussing Tempesta.
“This is a tale of an ambitious, lustful, deceitful woman taking advantage of a vampire's connections to make a name for herself, then dumping him when he no longer served her purposes.”
The Brandy de Jerez swirled around Radu's fangs as he smiled. Nothing could ruin his pleasure of this evening. He changed the channel just in time to see himself on-screen again.
“Radu Tepes reacts to the collapse of his one-time ally, Glenath Tempesta.”
Could he look any better? Leaning forward, Radu studied his image. Perhaps changing the shade of his pocket square.
He toasted the screen. “To a perfect night.”
A scratchy voice interrupted his thoughts. “The night isn't done yet.”
Radu whirled. Annoyingly, brandy sloshed onto his trousers.
Another vampire stood on his balcony. Lean and pale, her hazel gaze pinned him to the floor. Her face seemed so familiar, but Radu knew of no woman who carried the family resemblance. Her glossy red lips drew his attention away from the wet spot on his pants.
Had he slept with her?
Valerie stood in the shadows, her fist over her chest as she watched Radu watch the television. He looked the same as he ever did. Her brother had always been the good-looking one. The lingering odor of expensive hair products made her twitch her nose.
Radu had always been vain.
She gritted her teeth against a long-buried memory to no avail. His sweet baby smell and the feel of his little toddler fists in her hair overwhelmed everything. He loved to have Vlad catch him, swing him around, and settle in for a pony ride on his big brother's back. Radu had been an adorable baby, good-natured and playful.
Being a big brother had been Vlad's greatest joy. There wouldn't have been anything she wouldn't have done for her baby sibling. Mircea was older and caught up in being their father's heir. Vlad finally had a playmate.
Vlad decided he would tell Radu the truth when the boy was old enough.
Then their father sent them as hostages to the Ottomans. Valerie skipped the memories of her experiences. When Radu returned years later, he had become greedy, sneaky, proud, and vicious. Proud herself, Vlad kept her secret.
Radu was vain, yes. Stupid, no. Radu knew Vlad hid something from him, and the rift between them widened into an impassable chasm.
Until the Second World War.
Secrets saved Valerie's life. They also ruined it.
For a moment, she ached for the few times they had cooperated. The years he'd been her double agent in the French Resistance had been a bright spot in their contentious relationship.
Too bad Lance hadn't seen the importance of this act. Too bad his mortal sensibilities were too fragile to do what had to be done.
Now was the time to play her cards.
“The night is still young,” she said as she drifted onto his hotel room's patio.
“Excuse me?” Radu asked, casually reaching to the small of his back.
A stake appeared in her hand. “Don't try it,” she warned.
“I saw you at the conference. Who are you?”
Now that just stung. Valerie didn't move, but inside she snorted. How many centuries had they stared at each other and he didn't recognize her just because she wore lipstick? Guess her female disguise really was that good.
“I have an offer for you,” Valerie said.
He looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, the photographers? They found something better to do.” Valerie advanced two steps. Killing him would be so easy now. No witnesses, no noise, and her penance would at last be over. Dracula would finally be free of his sins. Her fingers clenched on the stake.
No.
She wanted Lance more than she wanted Radu dead.
“You've got what you want. Let Soleil live.”
Radu lowered his chin. A younger human would call it a “get real” look.
“Now why would I do that?” He feigned a relaxed stance.
Valerie could tell he was trying to sound neutral, but his contemptuous sneer couldn't be contained.
Stick to the plan,
she told her rising temper. But oh, she yearned to teach him a lesson in humility. “I will let you live.”
Radu stared into enigmatic hazel eyes. “Why?”
She simply said, “Because I wish him to live.”
“A trade. My life for his.”
“Yes.” Lucifer's fingernails. What was he, Captain Obvious?
“I am the last of the old ones.” Radu swirled the brandy in his glass. “I can make more and hunt you down.”
“Making a vampire is tiring and difficult,” she retorted. “There is a one in ten chance of a potential surviving. By the time you create an army, I'll be long gone.” She shrugged in a way that did not disturb her stake's aim. “I could kill you now. Your legacy will make you a hero. Your lieutenants might even carry on your ambitions.”
“My ambitions are my own,” Radu replied. He took a long drink of his brandy. “Why don't you join me? We could use someone of your drive.” He gestured to his empty room. “And planning skills.”
“I like his vision better. Do we have a deal?”
Radu extended his aura to look at hers. The woman's sins were as dark as any Radu had seen, but a core of guilt lay in her heart. She really did have an inflated sense of her self-importance. What kind of obsessed idiot thought that killing someone else would ease her conscience?
Obviously, the kind of obsessed idiot who thought all PNCs had to pay for the crimes of the past.
“Lighten up,” he murmured. “You are not the most damned creature. The Fallen still rule in hell, not you.”
She smiled, her mouth a little grim. “So speaks one as full of pride as can be.”
“And you aren't?” Radu thrust the purple of his aura against her blackness. “Isn't it pride that fuels this quest to kill your own? The humans have done a fine job bringing war criminals to justice. You think them so incompetent that only you can wash away the crimes of our people?” He snorted.
She looked away, conceding his point. “Do we have a deal?” she repeated.
Radu raised his glass in a toast and turned his back. “Do as you will.”
A swish of black and she disappeared from the balcony.
 
 
She'd done it.
A whole new undeath stretched in front of her, as clean as fresh snow. For the first time in her entire existence, she had nowhere to go, nothing driving her. Her clothes would no longer get ruined by blood, ichor, and body parts.
Valerie stretched her back and stared at the distant night sky. The dark called her; deep and mysterious and whispering of secrets it could teach her. There were more lands to see, more skies to look at. She'd never been to Tibet or China. She could go back to Turkey and Albania, see the lands of her youth and find peace of mind. Nothing held her. Except whom she wanted to hold her.
Who said she had to be alone when she traveled?
She lowered her body onto a convenient park bench and let the light rain cool her face and throat. Young lovers of all kinds walked past her, some laughing, some quiet, all holding hands. A female human in dreadlocks and tattoos caressed her lamia partner's cheek. The lamia, dressed in a tidy pink twin set and pearls above her brightly colored snake tail, giggled and kissed her mortal. Their easy affection spurred Valerie's envy.
She wanted that.
She wanted that with Lance, that stubborn, luminous, Higher Calling man.
After all, he'd been right. Killing Radu was completely unnecessary. She did not have to live in the shadows any longer.
Valerie turned her back on the dark to walk back to the warmth of the city, toward Lance's bright soul.
Redemption left her feeling something new.
Hope.
Time to celebrate.
 
 
Valerie examined the headless body in front of her. This might be the most difficult thing she had ever faced. She touched the pit of her neck, the rest of her petrified by the sight.
The dressmaker's dummy, dressed in exquisite sunset orange European silk and cream-colored lace, paralyzed her.
Lucy's Mystery was a tiny, unassuming, and thoroughly intimidating lingerie store. Inside, mirrors on top of pink and gold fabric lined the walls. Fat bunches of vermilion ribbon substituted for crown molding.
They'd never be able to get blood out of that white carpet, either. She shook her head at her militaristic thinking. Time to act.
The vampiress pushed the door open.
 
 
Let
him
live. She would
let
him live. Furious, Radu paced out to his suite's balcony. This vampire had eliminated hundreds of their species and thought
she
controlled the moral high ground? The sheer arrogance of her actions lent Radu's legs extra power.
“Fuck it.” He spider-walked his way to the roof of the building, hoping the rain and the lights would give him perspective.
The television still blared below him.
“Father Lance Soleil is about to make a statement to the press concerning the accusations leveled against him today.”
His rage gave way to curiosity. Radu squatted on the overhead rails covering his balcony. What could the man possibly say to get out of the predicament that Radu had created?
“The real question that today's events have raised is not one of the perfection of the individual, but the perfection of the idea they champion.
“You may disapprove of what I do or have done. You may disapprove of what Glenath Tempesta did in the name of love. Does that mean that the goals of peace and equality are forfeit?”
Lucifer's leathery wings, did this human not know how to give up? Radu flicked a pebble at the street below. His frustration sped it into the concrete, embedding it under the surface.
“We have breaking news. A man calling himself John Janté has come forward, claiming that our information about his illness is incorrect. Mr. Janté?”

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