Reluctant Partnerships (28 page)

“I thought no vampire would feed from another vampire’s Avoué,” Martin said. “Or did I misunderstand?”

“No, you didn’t misunderstand,” Denis replied, “and under normal circumstances, you’d be right, but the way I heard the story told, it had reached a critical point, where if they didn’t rescue Orlando, he wouldn’t have survived to be rescued. Monsieur Lombard, the oldest vampire in France, hell, maybe the oldest vampire in the world at this point, took a few drops of blood from Alain’s wrist onto his hand and used that to locate Orlando. Monsieur Lombard had an Avoué once upon a time as well, so I know he didn’t do it lightly.”

“Okay, so if that’s true, if you can trace a vampire by the last person he fed from, if we find a new victim, could you use that person’s blood to trace Renaud?” Martin asked. “Or would the fact that he or she has been turned mess up the magic?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Denis admitted. “You have to remember I didn’t even know about the ability to track a vampire that way until after I first came to l’Institut. We’d have to ask monsieur Lombard, and I’m not sure we want to beard that lion in its den.”

“He can’t be
that
imposing,” Martin said. “I mean, Jean is already how old, over a millennium, right?”

“Yes, Jean was turned in the year 911, but you don’t understand,” Denis said with a shake of his head. “Jean is an old vampire, but he’s also a very modern one, with all his contact with l’ANS and l’Institut and the wizards and all the rest. Monsieur Lombard is… different. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“Would he help us if we asked?” Martin inquired.

“He might,” Denis replied, “or he might refuse to even see us. We’d just have to go to Paris and see.”

Martin nodded. “It’s too late tonight. We couldn’t guarantee that we could get you home before dawn, but maybe tomorrow night. I could talk to Raymond about arranging for someone to take you to Paris.”

“If you really think this is necessary,” Denis agreed, his reluctance obvious in his stance.

“Do you have another suggestion?” Martin asked. “I don’t want to force you into anything, but we’ve got a vampire out there endangering people, mortals and vampires alike. If we can figure out a way to stop him—and tracing him back from his victim would work whether it’s Renaud or someone else—I feel like we should do what it takes.”

“No, you’re right,” Denis said with a deep sigh. “You have to understand, though. I’ve been a vampire for ninety years. To you, that sounds like a long time, but to Jean, and especially to monsieur Lombard, I’m a baby. He may not even agree to meet with us.”

“We have to try,” Martin said.

“I know, but I don’t have to like it.”

“What’s the worst he can do?” Martin asked, his protective instincts coming to the fore at Denis’s continued reluctance. “Refuse to see us, right?”

“No, he can do worse than that. He can invite us in and then spend our entire audience with him subtly denigrating me for my age and inexperience,” Denis said, “and if he really wants to make it bad, he can do so in front of other vampires, pretty much destroying me in le Jeu des Cours. I may be a chef de la Cour, but he’s in a class by himself.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t go after all,” Martin equivocated. “I don’t want you to lose face. We can keep searching in the library here. With all the resources Jean and Raymond have compiled, there’s sure to be something in there about tracking a vampire.”

“And we could spend weeks with no progress instead of a few hours talking with monsieur Lombard,” Denis replied. “I’m being overly sensitive because of the way Renaud treated me when I challenged him for the Cour. Monsieur Lombard will probably be perfectly gracious to us.”

“Could we ask Jean for advice? He must know monsieur Lombard fairly well, being the chef de la Cour parisienne. Unless asking puts you at a disadvantage where he’s concerned?” Martin suggested.

“It does, but I’m already so far at a disadvantage where he’s concerned that I’ll never gain any ground,” Denis said. “Fortunately he sees me as an improvement over my predecessor and so treats me as an equal in front of other vampires rather than as the child we all know I am.”

“Will you stop saying that?” Martin snapped. “You’re not a child, obviously, or you wouldn’t be in control of a Cour. I’m not a vampire, but I know enough to realize your Cour wouldn’t have chosen you to challenge Renaud and take his place if they didn’t see something worthwhile in you. Monsieur Lombard can be as polite or as rude as he wants to be. We’re there with a legitimate question about a real problem. If he chooses to be difficult, that’s his failing, not ours.”

“I’ll talk to Jean before I leave,” Denis said. “I should probably do that now, actually, since it’s getting late. I have an hour’s drive home.”

“I’ll talk to Raymond and call you to set up a time to pick you up for the trip to Paris tomorrow night,” Martin said. He caught Denis’s arm when the vampire started to leave the room. “You may be young by vampire standards, but that only makes what you’ve accomplished in Autun more impressive. Monsieur Lombard will recognize that. You’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Martin let him go, wondering how a vampire with the confidence to challenge a much older, experienced vampire and win could have such little faith in himself outside that familiar arena. That was a problem for another time, though. For now, he had a trip to Paris to plan.

Chapter 17

D
ENIS
stood in the doorway of his building, watching the sky lighten above him. He had learned some time ago exactly how long he could stay there before the sunlight became dangerous to him. He was not flirting with death, not really. It was more the need to see, to experience in some small way what he had given up ninety years before to escape death. He did not regret giving his consent to Luc on the battlefield outside Amiens. He did not regret the years he had spent with Noël, but sometimes he missed the feel of sunshine on his face, the warmth of the rays chasing away the chill of the night.

His traitorous thoughts reminded him he could have that again, for a time at least, if he took the risk of a partnership with Martin. He had rejected it out of hand when it first came up because of his loyalty to Noël and because Martin would be leaving, but a part of him yearned for the companionship again.

He had thought Martin as disinterested as he where their partnership was concerned, but Martin had not reacted tonight like a disinterested party when they talked about Adèle or about monsieur Lombard. He had reacted the same way Noël always had when anyone denigrated Denis, including Denis himself.

The sky lightened to the point that Denis began to grow uncomfortable. He opened the door behind him and went inside, the darkness closing around him again. All it would take was feeding from Martin and he would not have to go inside. He could stay in the doorway or even walk out into the garden and soak up the sun’s rays. As tempting as that thought was, it was not a reason to form a partnership, not when they were so much more complicated than the immediate benefits both parties drew from them. If Martin were in France to stay, if he were interested in a partnership, that might be different. Denis enjoyed the man’s company, his quick intelligence, and his understated sense of humor. Not that they had a lot to joke about, but occasionally as they had worked in the library trying to help Pierre, Martin would make a comment that left Denis smiling for hours just thinking about it.

Newly turned, Denis had preferred a man of maturity rather than someone his own age. Noël had been perfect for him, in his late thirties and already mayor of Amiens, a man of authority and position, the hints of gray at his temples only adding to his appeal. Denis’s mother had always said he had an old soul. It might not have been true when he became a vampire at nineteen, but at one hundred and nine, he felt his age despite his appearance. It made Martin’s youthful exuberance refreshing. Not that Martin was that much younger than some of the other wizards, in his late twenties instead of his mid- to late thirties like Raymond and most of the wizards at l’Institut, but those years, or perhaps not having lived through the war, made a difference. Martin seemed lighter, more energetic where the others were more settled.

Denis found that incredibly attractive.

Alone in his bedroom, with no one to see but himself, he could admit the attraction he felt. He had dismissed it as unrequited, but now he wondered. His feeding the night before notwithstanding, his fangs dropped now in response to his thoughts. He scowled at his reflection in the mirror as he undressed for bed. Feeding from Gilles satisfied a physical need, but neither of them had any illusions about what it meant. Denis had never asked what Gilles got out of it, but the man came when Denis called and then went happily home to his wife and children after Denis had fed. The blood sustained Denis without giving him any of the intimacy he had so craved with Noël. Until now, Denis had wanted it exactly that way, but it suddenly seemed empty.

Feeding from Martin would be nothing like that. It might not be exactly like feeding from Noël had been—no one’s blood since then had come close to leaving Denis as satisfied in mind and body as Noël’s had done—but it would be far more than feeding from Gilles or finding an anonymous body in a club somewhere when he needed release as well as sustenance.

He had sat through a seminar, had listened to the blunt assessment of how a partnered wizard and vampire reacted to each other. He had not even fed from Martin and he was already starting to react that way, seeking out the wizard’s company, wanting his good opinion, imagining what it would be like to feed from him. The descriptions had ranged from feeling the magic surrounding the vampire like a blanket to the comfort of slipping into a familiar, well-worn jacket, the one that fit like a glove because it had been donned so often. As Denis slid beneath the duvet on his bed, he let himself imagine Martin there beside him, magic surrounding Denis and protecting him from the sunlight.

Once he lifted the mental prohibition, the thoughts rushed at him relentlessly, of fangs sinking into the stubbled skin of Martin’s neck, hands moving over the breadth of his shoulders, down his strong back to the trim hips and curved buttocks. The magic of the partnership would kick in then, making Martin a willing participant in his ravishment, his body yielding to Denis until neither of them knew where one ended and the other began.

Denis groaned, the lust coursing through him demanding release. He wished he could ignore it, but he needed to rest if he intended to speak with monsieur Lombard that evening, and as worked up as he was, he would never be able to rest without some relief. He slid his hand down his chest, taking his throbbing shaft in hand. He hated that the mere thought of feeding from his partner could cause this reaction, but he could not change it now. Stroking swiftly, he closed his eyes and summoned the vision of Noël’s face the night they had met in Luc’s salon in Amiens. They had connected instantly, something about Noël calling to the depths of Denis’s being. They had not become lovers that night, although it had not been many nights later. That night, Noël had offered his blood, but the newness of it, the power of the connection, had done far more than satisfy Denis’s need. It had wrung a climax out of him the likes of which he had never known before. Since then, yes, every time he and Noël made love, but not that night, when his prior experiences had been as a mortal.

Relaxing into the familiar safety of his memories, Denis shunted his hand faster along his slick cock. Then the image changed, Martin’s face superimposed over Noël’s. Denis tensed, but his body was too far gone to stop, his release spilling over his hand as the fantasy Martin leaned forward and kissed him.

“Merde,” Denis cursed, curling around himself. He had no right to think about Martin that way. He had no right to betray Noël that way either. If he had simply fantasized about Martin, that would be one thing, but to have the image of Martin supplant cherished ones of Noël felt like the worst kind of infidelity. He dragged himself from bed and into the shower, needing to wash away the evidence of his cheating, all sense of satiation gone. He had no idea how he would face Martin that night, but he would worry about that later.

M
ARTIN
crossed the courtyard to the Hostellerie, surprised to see the sun up. His days and nights were so topsy-turvy after working with Denis and Pierre that he no longer had any sense of what time it was. He thought he still knew what day it was, but time had eluded him. Raymond had been in the réfectoire eating breakfast when Martin wandered in, so he and Martin had discussed the logistics of going to Paris to speak with monsieur Lombard. Raymond had been far more positive about the idea than Denis had been, reassuring Martin that perhaps the old vampire’s reputation was exaggerated.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Raymond had said when Martin shared his thoughts. “He is without a doubt the most formidable, venerable vampire I have ever met, and I have met quite a few in the past two years. That said, he is not a cruel one. He may not agree to help, but if he refuses, he will do so politely. And he may agree right away. That doesn’t mean he can help, but if anyone can, it will be him. He knew how to find Orlando when we had all but given up.”

That was a problem for tonight, though, after Martin had slept. He was too exhausted right now to do anything except rest. His eyes could barely focus on his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth before bed. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Dark images filled his dreams, heated visions of a faceless vampire hovering above him, fangs bared as he leaned down. He tried to pull away, but the vampire held him in place as his fangs pierced deep. Martin’s back arched at the combination of pain and pleasure that accompanied the bite, his head tossing restlessly as he fought for control. Of himself, of the situation, of his dreams. It was not in his nature to lie back and passively accept a lover’s touch without at least returning the pleasure he was receiving, but the vampire of his dreams had no interest in sharing control, keeping his hands pinned as he fed, his body moving over and then into Martin’s with no respite from the steadily building sensations.