Last Blood (5 page)

C
reek whipped out his halm, snapping his wrist to open the titanium weapon to its full length. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Annika stepped in front of Octavian. “He’s one of us. He’s the operative.”

“A vampire.” Creek knew the mistrust in his voice bordered on disrespect, but he didn’t care.

“Yes,” she answered. “You know we employ them.” She glanced back at her guest. “Octavian has given much to the cause. He was human when we first recruited him.”

Weapon still raised, Creek studied the vampire’s face, memories coming with Annika’s words. “I know who he is. I’ve seen him with Tatiana. How can you be sure he’s not working for her?”

Annika pushed the halm down. “He’s loyal to us. You have my word and that’s all you need. Put your weapon away. Now.”

Inhaling, Creek twisted the center of the halm and retracted it. Annika’s word would have to stand. And as much as he trusted her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that
there was more to Octavian than she thought. The Florida State Prison had honed his ability to assess people. Getting released hadn’t changed that.

Octavian held his hands up. “I’ve been through enough to get here. I don’t need to have my loyalty questioned.”

Annika shot him a look. “No one’s questioning your loyalty anymore. Now enough of this. You two have to work together. I suggest you get past your doubts. Both of you.”

Creek tucked the halm back into his belt. He nodded for Annika’s sake. “If Annika vouches for you, that’s all I need.”

“Is it?” Octavian lifted a brow. “I wouldn’t want to find myself unexpectedly staked.”

“Not going to happen,” Creek reassured him. Not as long as Octavian kept his fangs to himself. Creek nodded to the pair of secondhand chairs he’d added since Mawmaw had taken to visiting. Duct tape patched the tears in the fabric, but they suited him just fine. “Make yourself comfortable. Anyone want a beer?”

“No.” Octavian snorted.

“Yeah,” Creek said. “I guess you wouldn’t. Don’t have any blood to offer you either.” He looked at Annika as he opened the fridge door. “Beer?”

She shrugged. “Why not.”

He grabbed two long necks and twisted the top off hers before handing it over. She took it and joined Octavian in the chairs, so Creek moved around to the steps and crouched there. He took a long pull from his bottle, wiped his mouth with the heel of his hand, then leaned his elbows on the step behind him. “What was it like working for Tatiana?”

Octavian took a moment before answering. Like he was choosing his words. “Hard. She’s demanding. And crueler than you can imagine.”

“I doubt it.” Creek took another sip. “I can imagine some pretty cruel things.” Another thing his time in prison had helped with. He turned his attention to Annika. “What’s our mission?”

Annika set her beer on the empty cable spool currently serving as his coffee table. “Octavian is going to become invaluable to the mayor. We know what she needs and he’s about to provide it. Once that happens, we’ll be able to use him to find out who turned her. As soon as we have that information, we’ll know whom to exterminate. A vampire that’s siring humans cannot be allowed to live. That way lays the makings of an army, and armies are needed for only one thing. War.”

Creek raised a brow. “What’s my part in that plan?”

“Very little, since we know she’s gunning for you. I need you to find Preacher, the father of the vampire baby, and make sure he’s not planning a rescue mission of his own. Tell him whatever he needs to hear, but keep him under control. We know the ancient ones have the baby and the grand masters are working on a way of luring them out. Until that happens, your task is business as usual. Protect the citizens of Paradise City.”

Octavian raised his brows. “Hasn’t it been pretty quiet since the mayor lifted the curfew?”

So he’d been filled in on what had been happening. Annika was good about keeping her people in the loop. She tilted her head toward the double agent. “We don’t anticipate that quiet lasting much longer.” Then she looked at Creek again. “It never does in this town.”

Fi shifted from one foot to the other, her new heels too high to be comfortable. Not that she cared. Shoes this pretty didn’t need to be comfortable. Besides, most of the evening would be spent sitting down after the cocktail hour was over.

“Nervous?” Doc asked, glancing down at her with a smile.

“Does it show?” He looked amazing in his tux. She could think of a lot of other ways to spend the evening with a man that fine. None of them included making party talk with the brother of a woman whose death she’d played a part in.

“A little.” He squeezed her hand. “Is it because of Remo?”

She nodded.

Doc’s face went serious. “Don’t let him intimidate you. You rank higher than he does.”

She looked away. “Too bad that rank doesn’t come with fangs and claws.”

He yanked her hand to bring her attention back to him. “Hey. If anything happens—anything—you go ghost, you understand?”

“I know.” Once Chrysabelle taught her to fight, she’d feel better.

Isaiah, their butler, approached. “Omur just called up. Everyone’s arrived, Maddoc. They’re ready for you and Mrs. Mays downstairs.”

Doc tipped his head. “Thanks. Go ’head and call the elevator. We’ll be right there.” He turned back to Fi, the devilish charm she loved so much glinting in his eyes again. “Have I mentioned you look like a million bucks, Mrs. Mays?”

She glanced at her strapless black gown. “You’re just saying that to distract me.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true.” He winked. “Did it work?”

“I’ll be fine. Stop worrying about me.” The elevator chimed and she gave him a playful shove toward it, following after him.

When they stepped off the elevator, cocktail hour was in full swing. Barasa and Omur each had small groups of upper-crusty varcolai and social types gathered around them. Fi scanned the crowd for familiar faces besides theirs, but found none.

Doc leaned in to whisper. “That blond woman in the red suit? That’s the state senator’s wife. She’s from a long line of puma shifters. Old, old family. I definitely want you to meet her. And the man next to her with the buzz cut is a former JAG we’re considering hiring as the pride’s attorney.”

Fi nodded. “What kind of shifter is he?”

“Lynx.” He tipped his head toward a man standing beside Barasa.

“That’s the police chief over there with Barasa.”

“Why was he invited after what happened with you getting arrested for violating curfew?”

“The curfew was the mayor’s idea, not his. And he’s been fairly sympathetic to varcolai causes. It’s a relationship we want to maintain.”

“The mayor’s not here, is she?”

He sighed. “No, but the council thinks it would be a good idea to talk with her at some point.”

“Screw that.”

“Fi.” He looked at her, his expression half shock, half amusement. “It’s in the pride’s best interest.”

A stranger walked up to them. “What’s in the pride’s best interest?”

Doc straightened. “Hello, Remo. Our relationship with the mayor, but that’s a conversation for another time.”

Fi tensed. So this was Remo. She didn’t like him just from looking at him.

“Indeed.” Remo smiled at Fi. “You must be Fiona. If I can call you that?” He stuck his hand out. “Call me Remo, please.”

She didn’t want to shake his hand any more than she wanted him to call her Fiona, but what choice did she have? “Nice to meet you,” she lied.
Sorry your sister’s heart gave out
. “How do you like New Florida so far?”

He leaned in, still holding her hand. “I like it very well.” His eyes gleamed. “Very well.”

He was too close, too strange, too… everything. She backed up, pulling her hand out of his. “Glad to hear it. I’m sure you and Doc have a lot to talk about. Council stuff and… okay, I have to go say hi to someone.” She broke away and headed for Barasa.

“Hi,” she breathed, aware she was interrupting, but not caring.

“Hello, Fiona.” Barasa bent his head. “Have you met Chief Vernadetto?”

“No.” She smiled, this time genuinely. Anyone was better than Remo. “Nice to meet you, Chief. Can I call you chief? Is that allowed?”

The stocky man laughed. “Peter is my first name, but you can call me Pete if you like, ma’am. That’s what my friends call me.”

“Whoa. No ‘ma’am’ here. Fiona is just fine, Pete.” Calling the police chief by his first name was kind of strange, but she liked him a little more for it. He seemed like a genuinely nice man.

He nodded. “Fiona it is. Truth is, you remind me of my niece so calling you ‘ma’am’ does feel a little odd.” His smile disappeared and a sudden seriousness took over his face. “Thank you for not holding what happened with your husband or the vampire against me. I was opposed to the curfew and was only following orders.”

She reached out and rested her hand on Pete’s arm. His suit wasn’t expensive, but it fit him well enough. Something about that made her want to be kind to him. “I know that. But I appreciate you saying it all the same.”

Barasa clapped the chief on the back. “Can I leave Fiona in your capable hands? I see someone I need to speak with.”

“Absolutely.” Vernadetto beamed like he’d just been given a prize. He leaned in. “They usually make me watch the dangerous ugly ones. Not often I get the young and pretty.”

Fi’s insides stopped churning and Remo was completely forgotten. “I like you.”

Pete laughed. “I like you too. I hate coming to these things because I always feel so out of place. You don’t make me feel that way, though.” He dug a card out of his jacket and handed it to her. His big fingers swamped the small rectangle. “You ever need anything, you call me, okay?”

She studied the Paradise City seal embossed on the crisp white stock. “Thanks. I will. Having the chief of police on speed dial isn’t such a bad thing.” She tucked it into her evening bag. “So what kind of varcolai are you?”

The color drained from his face. “W-why would you ask that?”

She shrugged. “Most of the people here are, but you, I
can’t tell.” She’d made him uncomfortable for some reason and that made her feel bad. “I’m a ghost, you know.”

“I’ve heard.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I’m not a, well, that is, I’m…” He sighed. “To be honest, I don’t know what I am. Probably just a few stray bloodlines that got mixed in generations back. Nothing to even talk about.” He smiled, but it was weak and forced. “I’d actually prefer it if that didn’t get around. Being police chief is tough enough without people questioning where my loyalties lie, you know.”

She nodded. “I won’t say anything to anybody. I’m really good at keeping secrets.” Poor guy. It was clear he was either afraid of what he was or ashamed of it. She wanted to do something to put him at ease. “Look, if you ever want to talk, just call me up. I’m a great listener.”

“Yes, you are.” He nodded hard, like he was thrilled to change the subject. “And you know, if there’s anything I can do for you, just name it.”

She smiled and patted his arm. “Thanks, Pete. I’ll remember that.” And she would, because with Remo around, having the police chief on her side might come in handy.

N
othing. Not a hint of brimstone, not a wisp of shadow or smoke. Samael had ignored Tatiana’s repeated requests for his presence. Requests that had quickly turned into pleas, and after the second hour, had eroded almost to the point of begging.

Tatiana didn’t beg. But for the sake of Lilith… she might. Hands clenched at her sides so tightly that her metal one creaked, she called out to the father of her kind once again. “Samael, liege of darkness, lord of all vampires, I beseech you come to me.”

The only reason for his absence that made sense was that she was still too weak from grief to call him properly. She clung to that, because the thought that her liege, her source of power, had abandoned her was… unacceptable.

“Please, Samael. I-I… beg you.” The word soured in her mouth, a bitter reminder of how far she’d fallen. Because of Malkolm and his comarré pet.

The air stayed still while she vibrated with anger. She picked up a vase and hurled it across the room with a snarl. “Damn you, Malkolm. Damn you and your meddling whore.”

Kosmina came running in. “Is all well, my lady?”

“No, all is not well.” Tatiana tucked the rest of her emotions away as best she could, but Kosmina knew what these last days had brought to the House of Tepes. She would certainly understand Tatiana’s frustrations. “I asked not to be disturbed.”

“My apologies, my lady.” Kosmina’s gaze skipped to the shards of Chinese porcelain decorating the carpet. “Shall I have that cleaned up or leave it for later?”

“Clean it.” Tatiana stalked out of the room, the overwhelming need to hold her child burning through her body like sunlight. She wrapped her arms around herself as she headed down the hall and into the empty nursery.

The faintest tang of Svetla’s ashes still lingered, but not enough to drown out Lilith’s sweet scent.

Tatiana sank into the rocker where she’d often sat with Lilith, closed her eyes, and inhaled. She could sense Lilith’s weight in her arms, hear her soft coos and demanding cries, feel the delicate silk of her skin. Heat stung Tatiana’s eyes. She opened them and stared skyward. Not tears, she told herself. Anger. Righteous, indignant anger at what had been done to her and her child.