Irresistible Nemesis (5 page)

“She seems innocuous enough. Any idea why she’s stalking me?” Andreas scratched his head, completely clueless. Then Natasha dropped the bomb. She described how a young Eva, on the cusp of pre-pubescence, witnessed her own parents’ brutal murder at the hands of vampires. The tragedy took place on a business trip to London more than ten years earlier.

That certainly explained all the anger and rage she hurled at him the last few times they met. “Hmm. It seems she’s got vengeance on her mind. But why me?”

“Andreas, don’t be so naïve. You’re the leader of the New York City vampire coven. This has everything to do with you.” Natasha cocked her hip to the side and shook her head in disbelief.

She smiled and let out a slightly wicked laugh. “And it gets worse.

Much worse.” The sadistic woman got off on feeding him the ugly truth.

“Come on, you’ve got to be kidding me. How could it possibly get worse? There’s a beautiful vigilante on a mission to kill me. Isn’t that enough?” Andreas shrugged his shoulders, and feigned skepticism.

“Beautiful, huh? Your
beautiful
Miss Sambucco works for BPA. She’s a huntress, Andreas.” Natasha crossed her arms and scowled at him.

Fuck! No wonder she’d kicked his ass all over town.

Andreas’s jaw dropped to the floor in shock. An intelligent woman, Natasha would quickly put two and two together and figure out why.

“I knew it! Andreas, when are you going to learn to keep it in your pants? Un-fucking-believable!” Natasha threw her hands up in the air in frustration and stomped out of the room.

****

Eva pulled open the heavy wooden door and moved in silence toward the fountain of holy water set inside the entrance to the church. She dipped her index finger into the frigid water and made the sign of the cross on her forehead. Eva always admired the exquisite architectural masterpiece that was St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Originally built in 1879, this jewel of the Catholic Church was designed in the classic neo-gothic style. Its pointed monoliths of black and white marble and elaborate golden accents set it apart from the surrounding community. A refuge for prayer and personal reflection, St. Patrick’s was her private haven. Her home away from home.

Eva made a b-line toward the confessional box, opened the door and sat down. She exuded the confident tranquility of a well-acquainted parishioner. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been six years since my last confession.” Eva whispered the traditional phase and tried not to disturb the other people worshiping in the pews directly outside the confessional.

The pastor, Father Luigi Mancini, watched her. He almost certainly took note of her fatigued posture and the dark circles underneath her eyes. “Good evening, Miss Sambucco. I am glad you have finally decided to relieve yourself of that heavy burden.” Sin had a way of wrapping its tentacles around a person’s soul, wearing on the body and mind. Eva must have looked like death warmed over. She took a deep breath and began to relate the sad story of her existence to the priest.

“Father, I am a huntress. I seek out and kill the undead lurking among us. There is no other choice than to rid our world of their evil.” Eva peered down at her feet, afraid to look the priest in the eye. It pained her greatly to admit her transgressions. But the toll on her conscience, of keeping her secrets locked deep inside, wrecked havoc on her ability to distinguish the difference between right and wrong.

Eva had gotten to know Father Mancini fairly well over the last few years. The slightly-rotund, elderly man with soft gray eyes and a bald head had a way of making her feel safe. His gentle nature and broken Italian accent reminded her of her parents. The sense of peace and tranquility he instilled in her was the only reason she was able make such a confession.

“But the Bible says,
Thou shall not kill
,” he replied in earnest.

“How do you reconcile this with your actions?”

“Vampires are murderers. They don’t deserve to live. Besides, they are soulless creatures, so killing them isn’t technically a sin, is it?” Eva needed absolution, not only for the sins she’d already committed, but for what was certain to come.

The priest always remained a step ahead of her. “That is a good point. However, do you know without a doubt that the creature you call vampire possesses no soul? The Lord found virtue in all things. Even the wretched and the damned.” Father Mancini peered down at her through the grates of the confessional box. The man had a way about him. He helped her see things from his perspective without making her feel overtly guilty of sin.

“You’re right, Father. I don’t know for sure that all vampires are evil. But the great majority of them deserve to be punished for what they have done.” Eva pushed a strand of her hair behind her ears, and forced the image of her deceased parents out of her mind.

The priest wrestled with something at his feet, pulled out a hymnal and opened it. He flipped through it until he came to the right page and read one of the scripture aloud to Eva.

He will come again in glory to judge the living and the down
and his kingdom will have no end.

The Nicene Creed. She’d recited that same benediction a million times during her years at St. Mary’s Catholic School. Father Mancini didn’t need to explain further. She got the message loud and clear. Casting judgment on vampires wasn’t her call. “Is there anything else you feel the need to confess before I give you your penance?” His downcast stare like truth serum flowed in her veins.

“Well,” she answered. “There is one thing.” Eva slinked back into her chair. She felt almost dirty. Killing bloodsuckers was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to wrap her hands around a vampire in the raunchiest way possible. How in God’s name was she supposed to verbalize that to Father Mancini? The priest’s reassuring smile urged her to continue. “I’ve had impure thoughts about a man.” Eva murmured the words under her breath.

“How so, Miss Sambucco?” Father Mancini prodded, aware of the delicate nature of their conversation.

“I dream of having sex with him. Often,” Eva admitted begrudgingly.

Father Mancini hesitated, a bright-red flush colored his rounded cheeks. “And have you acted on any of these fantasies?”

“No. Not yet. But I am afraid that soon I will not be able to resist the temptation. What should I do?”

With a wry smile, the priest offered a suggestion. “Pray, my dear. Pray and ask the Lord for strength. You can start with five Hail Marys and two Our Fathers.”

“Thank you, Father. God bless you. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” Eva motioned with her right hand as she formed the sign of the cross over her chest and quickly exited the confessionary. Resisting Andreas Kristopolous would take a whole helluva lot of prayer.

Chapter Five
The Patriarch

Andreas made his way up the winding staircase with slow, deliberate steps. The sound of his heels reverberated across the ornately-decorated walls filled with the works of Picasso and Monet.

Twelve-foot ceilings fringed with Baroque-style crown molding and a blanket of polished cherry wood covered the floor from one end of the room to the other.

Ugh! This home is definitely a reflection of my father’s gaudy
sense of style
.

Andreas dreaded stepping foot across the threshold.

Nonetheless, he climbed the immense spiral staircase. Each step carefully orchestrated to announce his eminent arrival at the door to his father’s office. With his father’s keen vampire senses, he would hardly need to broadcast his presence.

Andreas arrived at the double doors and knocked hesitantly.

He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. He waited as the security camera stationed above the doors repositioned itself. Aristotle obsessed about the possible infiltration of his inner circle. But this was getting a bit ridiculous. A few seconds later, the security system deactivated, and his father buzzed him into the sanctity of the patriarch’s private quarters.

Aristotle stood behind his desk. He motioned for his son to take a seat one of the chairs across from him. “Come in, my son. I’ve been awaiting your arrival.” The older man remained stoic, his expression utterly blank. “Please, sit down.” Andreas hesitated before plopping down in a chair. He felt sweat pool at the base of his neck.

Damn if his father didn’t make him nervous as all hell.

“Father, I realize you must be upset about the attempted breakin to your office.” Andreas scrubbed a hand over his face as he tried to explain. “I assure you that Natasha and her team are doing everything possible to ensure
Miravale
stays as safe as Fort Knox.”

“As she should, my son. But I have not called you here to discuss our home security. We have another, more pressing matter to deal with.” His father’s vacant stare made Andreas all the more uncomfortable.

“What is it, Father?” Andreas squirmed nervously, tempted to jump out of his seat and shake the information out of the older man.

Aristotle Kristopolous was one of the oldest living pure bloods. Unlike so many of the vampires roaming the streets of New York City, and thousands of cities like it around the world, his father was born, not made. At one time, Aristotle had been the strongest, most powerful creature alive. He built this city from the ground up using his own blood, sweat, and tears. But after he’d lived through centuries of bloodshed and war, life began to take its toll on him.

Looking at Aristotle now, he seemed old and frail. It wasn’t until after the death of Andreas’s mother, Christine, some fifteen years earlier, that his physical appearance started to change. His father lost his will to rule, and the baton had been inevitably passed down to Andreas, his sole heir.

On the outside, his father’s body projected a frail, lifeless facade. But his mind remained keen enough to second guess every decision his son made. It was a bone of contention between the two men and the reason why their meeting had Andreas on edge.

“Let’s talk about Natasha for a moment. Do you trust her implicitly?” Aristotle’s subtle question undermined his confidence in their head of security and put Andreas on the defensive.

Andreas expected the patriarch to berate him. But he hadn’t anticipated the attack on Natasha. “Father, Natasha has worked for our organization for over a hundred years. First, as the personal guard to a member of the coven’s board of trustees and for the last twenty five years, as our family’s head of security. “I would put my life in her hands.” Andreas inched closer to Aristotle, careful to balance respect for his father with the understated challenge fighting toward the surface. “What makes you question her loyalty, after all this time?”

“Yes, son. You are right. Natasha is a valuable asset.” The older man raised his hands in defeat and conceded the point to his son. “But lately, I am hearing rumblings about the Russians. Reports of security officers getting a bit rough with patrons at your night club, particularly those that are human. Last week, another employee of Russian descent, beat up his girlfriend and nearly bled her to death after a lover’s quarrel. She, too, was human.” Andreas gaped, his mouth hung wide-open. He couldn’t believe one of his own would put his hand on a female. Unspeakable.

After a stunned moment, he shook off his surprise.

“I will agree that we have had a few complaints about the security staff at
The Crypt
. All were newly turned of Russian descent.

Unfortunately, I have not heard about the domestic dispute you speak of. But what does all of this have to do with Natasha?” Aristotle peered down at his offspring, disappointed in his inability to connect the dots. “Andreas, as you know, Natasha is well-connected in the Russian community in Brighton Beach and the area surrounding Coney Island. Not only is she a role model for young vampires, but she is also known for helping recent immigrants get accustomed to life here in New York City.”

Andreas nodded his head in agreement. “Indeed. Natasha is very generous when it comes to her Russian compatriots, both with her time and money. But why does this make you question her loyalty to the coven?”

“It doesn’t. Not necessarily. Nonetheless, it is in our best interest to keep an eye on the situation,” his father recommended. “If nothing else, stay informed about what is happening in the Russian community. I am having the one who abused his human companion brought before the board of trustees. We’ll let the pure bloods decide his fate. You may know the accused, a man by the name of Ivan Olshanskey?”

Andreas’ mind wandered to Olshanskey. A constant fixture stationed at the main entrance to the club. He didn’t want to accept it as truth. But if Natasha had prior knowledge of the bouncer’s violent abuse of his girlfriend and purposely kept the information from him, there’d be hell to pay. The thought of Natasha’s betrayal left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Finally, Andreas sighed. “Yes, I’m acquainted with Mr.

Olshanskey. He’s a security officer at
The Crypt
. I’m surprised he’d get involved in something like this.”

Aristotle’s smile broke through. It was an act of mercy before he delivered the final blow. “I understand your concern. It is only fair I let you know now. I am making a recommendation to the coven’s board of trustees asking Olshanskey be deported and any future offensives punished severely, especially from those under your employ.”

“Agreed.” Andreas bowed his head in a submissive gesture.

Aristotle made it clear that negotiating the point would be futile.

“Andreas.” The father placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “You are the leader of this coven. You do not want this situation to get out of hand.”

“Of course, Father,” he acknowledged as he brushed past the old man on his way out the door. “Once again, thank you for telling me how to do my job.”

Just what he needed. Another wench to worry about, on top of the one who’d already been driving him insane. Women would surely be the death of him.

****

Andreas hopped back into his silver Porsche Carrera and headed toward to the expressway on the trip back into the city. He couldn’t help but mull over everything his father had said. No matter how much he hated to admit it, there was something strange about how Natasha dealt with the other Russian employees at the club.