Master of Darkness (2 page)

Damn it, the deal was for a human and a vampire to work together. Had she fallen for a trap? Then the lone vampire stopped and turned, and the others rushed toward him. They had to be Tribe Primes pulling an ambush; they'd somehow found out about the meeting.

She saw their movements as streaks of light through the goggles. The action was too swift for human eyes to follow, but there was definitely a fight going on—and the odds were not in favor of her Clan contact.

“Oh no, you don't!” Eden proclaimed. “That's
my
vampire!”

She snatched up her crossbow and ran for the fire escape.

*  *  *

“Ow!”

One of the bastards was carrying a Taser. Laurent backed up and kicked the shock weapon out of the guy's hand. As he did, the other one came up behind him and got an arm around Laurent's throat.

He'd let them chase him into an alley, which was bloody stupid of him. The whole time they were physically on him, they were also psychically attacking him, sending images at him, trying to confuse him. It wasn't working, but it was annoying. Though maybe it was working a little, as he was imagining a shadow racing down a nearby fire escape.

Laurent buried his fangs deep into the arm at his throat. This managed to loosen the grip so that he could slip through and drop to the ground. From there he was able to shoulder-roll away from the pair.

Before he could spring back to his feet, someone behind him yelled “Down!”

The projectile that flashed past barely missed him. Laurent heard the thud of impact and looked up just as one of his attackers fell to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his chest. Shot in the heart, Laurent realized.

If there was one thing instantly fatal to a vampire—or anyone, come to think of it—it was
having the heart pierced by a sharp wooden object.

The other attacker took one look at his dead friend and ran. Laurent was tempted to do the same. But he remembered that he'd been warned, so he rose to his feet and carefully turned to face his rescuer.

“Thanks,” he said to the tall mortal woman standing beneath the streetlight.

“You're late,” she answered.

He never argued with a woman holding a crossbow. “Sorry.”

The other attacker didn't argue, either. He pelted off when the woman stepped forward.

As she walked toward him, Laurent noticed that the mortal was attractive in a sharp-featured way. He liked her long legs, but not her very short hair. Not that this was a good time to take inventory of her womanly charms. She was the one holding the weapon, and he didn't know why she'd helped him. She certainly didn't give off any friendly vibes.

“You do know you killed somebody?” he questioned as she came to stand over the body.

She gave him a scathing look. “Like you've never killed anyone, Wolf.”

He hadn't, and he wasn't named Wolf. He almost informed her of her mistake, but then he
recalled that Clan Wolf were the dominant vampires in the area. So—she thought he was a Clan boy, did she? He didn't suppose this was any time to be offended by the mistake.

“Oh, right, vampires don't like to kill other vampires.” She gave him a mocking smile. “Don't worry. I'll protect you.”

Did she have any idea how dangerous it was to speak to a Tribe Prime like that? Especially for a woman? He looked her up and down with cold, assessing arrogance.

While she ignored him and spoke into a cell phone. “Bring a body bag. I've got a pickup.”

Laurent looked on with a sudden admiration for the human hunter's efficiency. This woman had an infrastructure. She had backup. She thought he was here to help her.

She had no idea how much trouble she was in.

When she got off the phone, he smiled at her with all the charisma Primes were born with, which he'd honed to survive.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee, Ms.—”

Chapter Two

“F
aveau,” she answered, and felt herself growing warm from the intensity of his gaze. It was a vampire thing, she remembered; nothing personal. And she'd been trained to fight off the creature's hypnotic stare.

But he was the most gorgeous male she'd ever seen. His voice was so deep and delicious that one word shook her down to her toes. She forced herself to look away, took a few deep breaths, and irritation returned as she looked back at him.

“Eden Faveau,” she reminded him. “I was told you'd be briefed on this assignment.”

He shrugged. It was an elegant, altogether disarming gesture. “Sorry.” After a moment's hesitation, he added, “There wasn't time.”

He was magnificent, with those big eyes and sharp cheekbones and long platinum blond hair pulled back in a thick braid. She was going to have to stay annoyed at him as a shield against his preternatural beauty and psychic gifts.

“Here's your briefing,” she snapped. “You, Sid Wolf. Me, Eden Faveau. We work together—”

“Why?”

“I'm getting to that.”

“Couldn't we do this over coffee? I really don't like conversations over rotting corpses. It's so—”

“Vampiric?”

“Stereotypically so.” Suddenly he was standing at her side, with a hand on her elbow. He urged her forward. “Let's get to know each other somewhere more civilized.”

She wasn't interested in knowing him—but this place
would
look like a crime scene to any hapless human that showed up before the cleanup squad. It was best that she and Wolf not remain with the body.

“Most of my equipment's up on the roof.” She made an effort to move away.

Wolf released her. “Wait here.”

Before she could move, he was gone. She caught a blur as he raced up the fire escape. Within moments he was back down, carrying her gear.

“It looks like having a vampire around might come in handy.”

“You have no idea.”

She hadn't meant to speak out loud. She put the slip of the tongue down to having spent time talking into a tape recorder recently. It
was
possible that the vampire had plucked the words directly from her mind, even though she'd been told that Clan vampires were careful about mental intrusions.

“You're standing there looking like I'm going to eat you,” he said. “Which I never do on a first date.” He gestured again. “Shall we go?”

“This is not a
date
.”

He sighed. “Listen, I know you vampire hunters have your sense of humor surgically removed, but mine is intact, and I like to use it in conversations. Bear with me, okay?”

She did so have a sense of humor! But she'd just killed a sentient being, and was having a little trouble dealing with it. If she kept up the hard-ass routine and kept telling herself that was a monster lying on the ground, she could get through the night, and maybe do it again if she had to. And with this gorgeous creature in front of her threatening to cloud her reason with his beauty, and making wisecracks besides—what
she needed to do was turn off her emotions altogether, and get on with the job.

“Coffee,” she said. “Fine.”

Laurent looked at the frothy mocha drink cradled in Eden Faveau's hands with the same distaste she would have given to him sipping on a pint of warm blood. He liked her hands even if he didn't approve of her taste. They looked strong and capable, unadorned by any jewelry. She wore plain black clothing, appropriate for commando ops on evil vampires. He studied her in the bright light of the small coffee shop and found her—austere. She had the sort of strong, noble features better suited to a statue of Athena than to the modern world. Hers was not a soft beauty.

Having her would be more of a conquest than a seduction. And wouldn't that be a delight?

“What are you looking at?” she demanded.

“Your nose.”

Eden wished she hadn't asked. It was bad enough the vampire was prettier than she was; did he have to insult her about it, too?

“What about my nose?”

“I like it.” He reached across the narrow table and touched the tip of it. “I like it a lot.”

What on earth was there to like about her nose? “It's large.”

“No. Long, yes, but elegant.”

Eden didn't think he was insulting her; he seemed to be giving an honest opinion. Or at least, he was flattering her in a way meant to be disarming, and it almost worked. There was something inside her that wanted to preen and ask what else he liked. She shook her head, more disgusted with herself than him.

“I've been living in Los Angeles the last few decades, and most of the women there are at least one-quarter plastic. It's nice to see someone with all her original equipment.”

His gaze slid lower.

It wasn't like she was dressed for seduction, but the black knit shirt she was wearing did outline her breasts.

“Nicely original,” he murmured.

“How can you tell?” she asked, curiosity pummeling down any sense of outrage. “X-ray vision?”

“More of a heat-seeking sense.”

Of course he meant that he was aware of the blood flowing through her body. You couldn't squeeze blood from silicone any more than you could from a turnip, she supposed. So of course he could tell that she was all natural. And what
odd tangents the brain went off on when facing a vampire across a coffee-shop table.

“I thought the Jackals ran L.A.,” she said, trying to get back on track, or at least gather some intel.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Jackals? My dear, they call themselves Clan Shagal. That's jackal in Persian, I think. Very high-class, the Shagals. I've been hanging with them lately, and they're so noble and pure I was nearly bored to death.”

Eden was shocked at the vampire's assessment of his own kind. “You're not noble and pure?”

There was a wicked gleam in his eye when he answered. “I said
they
were boring. Being good all the time seems to come easy for them.”

“But not for you?”

“I am not a perfect man. Of course, I'm not a man at all. Exactly. By your definition. Though my equipment
is
in perfect working order.”

He gave her a devilish grin that almost made her think he was cute, rather than incorrigible. But she couldn't forget he was a predator. And her kind were the preferred prey.

“You only look human,” she told him.

“You do know that there's a belief among the Clans that your kind and mine are the same species, separated by minor mutations? And that
it is the duty of the more advanced types to protect their little brothers and sisters?” He snorted. “No, really. They believe that.”

Eden laughed. “Mutants protecting regular folks? You people believe you're the X-Men? Would that make you Wolverine?”

He reached across the narrow table to touch the tip of her nose. “Madam, it is not your sarcasm I mind. It is your choice of mutant. I would obviously be Gambit.”

It surprised her that the vampire's touch was warm and gentle. It also surprised her that he'd just mentioned her favorite comic-book character—Remy LeBeau, aka Gambit, a thief, a rogue, a man deeply in love with a woman he could never touch, and full of guilt for crimes he'd committed while working for a man he didn't know was a supervillain. Ah, Gambit!

“He's your favorite, too!” the vampire said, drawing his hand away. And looking smug. “Wouldn't I be perfect to play him in the movie?”

“You don't look a thing like him. Besides, the movie Rogue is still too young to meet Gambit.” And why was she talking about movies and comic-book heroes with the creature she was assigned to work with? She did not want to know that they had things in common. It made him
seem more like a person than a simulacrum of humanity.

She straightened stiffly in her chair. “Humans don't need your protection. But for our mutual benefit, we acknowledge that we occasionally need your help.”

“Did you rehearse that?”

“Yes. It was part of
my
briefing.”

He spread his hands out before him. Elegant, long-fingered pale hands.

She wanted those hands on her.

Damn!

“I didn't miss the briefing on purpose.” He laid his palms flat on the table and took a dramatic look around the coffee shop. They were the only ones there. “Talk to me,” he urged. “Tell me everything.” He checked his watch. “And soon. The night's not exactly young, darling.”

Fortunately his smart-ass attitude nicely counteracted his amazing looks. Eden gritted her teeth at the
darling
.

She did take the time to finish the last few sips of her mocha latte, showing that she didn't take orders from him. Maybe it was childish, but she had to do something to keep the balance of power tilted toward the human side.

“All right,” she said after patting her lips
with a napkin. “There's been an influx of Tribe vampires into the San Diego area recently.”

“I've noticed that.”

“We've been trying to keep tabs on them, make sure they don't do anything illegal. Your side has been trying to find out what makes our fair city so interesting all of a sudden.”

“Well, it can't be for the desert sunshine,” he said. “Not for Tribe types.”

“That's what we thought. After all, everybody knows that the Tribes don't use those daylight drugs of yours. And why is that?” she wondered. “If everyone else uses them, why don't the Tribes?”

“Not every Clan or Family vampire uses them,” he told her. “For one thing the king Primes among the Tribes forbid their use. For another, the Clans control access to the drugs. There's too much baggage that comes along with a Tribe Prime coming in from the dark. If a Tribe member is willing to renounce his culture and history, and whole way of life, then the Clan scientists might let him use the drugs.
After
he's been reeducated and proved his worthiness to be adopted into a Family. Or if he grovels enough, he might even”—he gave a mocking gasp and put his hand over his heart—“be allowed to serve one of the high and mighty
Clans.” He sounded even more bitter when he added, “There's a long waiting list to abandon the Tribe way of life. Of course, if the pack leaders find any of these traitors, the poor bastards are executed in gruesome, horrible, and really fun for the rest of the pack ways.”