Secret Worlds (197 page)

Amaia made her way to her dressing table, wondering what this one would be like. She didn’t know who he was, and she didn’t have enough time to ask around. Certain things were the same about every man. The basics. A whore played off of those things. An artist like herself knew there was more to a man than the basics. Each one had a particular taste, a fancy, that if played to would have him surrendering his power. A whore had no power. A courtesan had it all.

“Are you working tonight?” Meg stood in the doorway. Amaia’s profession always fascinated her. She and Liam blended in with the lower classes. They didn’t like drawing attention, so she rarely got to dress up, and she enjoyed helping Amaia get ready.

“Yes. Care to help?”

“Of course.” Meg came all the way into the room and went immediately to Amaia’s wardrobe. “What look are you going for tonight?”

“I’m not sure. All I know about the viscount is that he may be a Catholic zealot.” Amaia kept her eyes on the mirror as she applied color to her cheeks.

“I think this will be perfect.”

Amaia went to the bed where Meg had spread out a blood red dress trimmed in gold and black. Resting on top of it was a large, gold crucifix with rubies at the points and in the center. Amaia smiled and then giggled. Meg joined her. “I agree. How much do you want to wager that he’ll have no problem doing it with that cross around my neck? It’s funny how faith takes a different form in the men who can pay my fee.”

“If only the poor girl from earlier knew that all it takes is a little money to sanction her liaisons before the Lord.”

There was no use worrying over Michael, visions of gray eyes, or Zenas’s presence in her life. She had a best friend she adored, a sire who cared for her, and a profession she was not only good at, but enjoyed. Amaia was happy, and that was all she had ever wanted.

Vienna, May 1646

She had Christof right where she wanted him. Pinned under her, his eyes gave away just how lost he was to his passion. He would tell her anything she wanted to know. He would give her anything she desired as long as she didn’t stop the ecstasy. It always amazed her how easily a man could be coaxed to give up his allegiances. These men, who went to such lengths to protect their standing, killing and lying to secure ever-exceeding levels of influence, gave it all away for just one night of pleasure and were none the wiser after the night was over.

The viscount wasn’t particularly powerful himself, but he was a friend of the powerful players and eager to share his knowledge as a show of the faith that was ill-placed in him. The perfect target: high enough to be useful, but not so high as to be smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Amaia knew her work well. She would keep him on the edge of his pleasure, never giving him enough, until she knew all she needed. Men would give her anything with the end in mind, but after they were spent, they quickly forgot the intrigue of her charms and, more often than not, promptly fell asleep to awaken to a cold bed come morning.

There was nothing more the man could tell her. She brought him to climax and then acted as a pillow so he could sleep.

“I’m done.”

“Did he know anything?”

“The Catholics are eager to rid the world of Protestants, but none have the power or will to pursue that goal. He and his friends won’t hamper the peace process.”

“I’ll let Zenas know.”

Amaia looked at the face resting on her breast. Her eyes naturally travelled down his neck to where she could make out his pulse.
“May I kill him?”

“No. We might use him again.”

It was worth a try. While it was rare for Amaia to kill a client, it wasn’t unheard of for Zenas to want her to kill a man he had sent her on assignment to bed. Amaia slid from underneath the viscount and leaned down, deftly pricking his neck with her fangs and having a drink. Catholic, Protestant, they tasted the same to her: sweet, tangy, warm, and filling. She took a little more than she would from a waking man. The viscount wouldn’t miss it in his sleep. As always, she stopped before she was satisfied, knowing that satisfaction could only come from his dying breath.

She hurried into her clothes, noting with a smirk that the crucifix had remained around her neck the entire night, and went home to change into something less flashy before meeting Meg and Liam.

***

They met at a tavern on the outskirts of town where no one knew them. A light rain had driven more people indoors than usual. The scent of the hearty stew and ale that was being consumed hung thick in the air. Amaia found it more pleasant to focus on those scents than the stench of sweat and skin permeating the atmosphere. Lawrence had been right all those years ago: she had eventually learned to ignore the stink of human.

In a corner toward the back, Amaia spotted Meg—whose face broke into a smile at seeing Amaia—sitting next to Liam. It was nice to know her friend looked forward to their time together as much as she did. Amaia made her way over, seating herself on Meg’s other side so they could look out over the tavern patrons together.

“Ah, the glorious, the infamous, the dazzling Amaia has chosen to grace us with her presence after all.” Liam was in a mood. Amaia was later than she had anticipated, and Liam hated waiting on her. His only feeling of friendship for Amaia came from knowing how important she was to Meg. That was fine with Amaia. She shot him a piercing sideways glance and embraced Meg.

“How did it go? Was the viscount as dreadfully boring as he looked?” Meg had followed Amaia and seen the viscount at their meeting place. She was almost as bad as a human when it came to gossip. Meg seemed to think it was endlessly entertaining to hear how the aristocracy behaved behind closed doors. Amaia couldn’t care less, but she supposed that came partly from working with them so much.

“He was even more boring. The bumbling fool was only all too proud to share that he was privy to some of the discussions taking place amongst the emperor’s advisors.”

“Humans don’t understand loyalty. Not the way we do.” Meg locked eyes with Liam for a brief moment in a slight acknowledgement of the absolute loyalty they shared. Amaia wondered if that level of loyalty really did feel different from the loyalty she felt toward Lawrence.

“Of course not. They don’t mate like we do—my profession is proof of that—and when their actions lead to death, they believe they are going to something better. If one of us crosses the other, we know that our death is permanent.”

“Their religion seems to cause more strife than anything else.” Liam’s gruff voice conveyed just how stupid he thought the entire thing was.

“They have a need to feel as if there’s something bigger than them. It’s stupid, but can you blame them? Their lives are so small and insignificant. I think a part of them knows just how small they are. It doesn’t seem worth it unless there’s someone bigger out there caring.” Amaia knew there was no god, but she also couldn’t explain the eyes that continued to haunt her. She could empathize somewhat with those who sought to make sense of what they didn’t understand. It was one of the few areas where she was willing to admit to herself a likeness with humans.

“What happened with the viscount?” Meg was quick to steer the conversation back to gossip.

“He didn’t even realize what he was doing. Why anyone would confide in him is really beyond me. The whole job went without a hitch, and now I am positively starving for some fun tonight.”

“Well, we were just thinking about joining this next game of cards. Care to?” Meg and Amaia shared a love for cards, and Liam loved taking mortals for all they were worth. Nothing sobered a man as much as realizing that, in one hand, he had lost his entire life savings.

Amaia surveyed the men around one of the tables. They looked like they had enough money to be reckless, but not enough that a losing streak wouldn’t be devastating. Just the right amount of arrogance. “As long as we don’t play all night. I was hoping to find a transient to kill.” Lawrence didn’t like her to kill too often, but it had been a while, and a transient wouldn’t be missed.

“Very well then, we’ll play until that fellow there”—Liam pointed to a stout man, a merchant by his clothes, who loudly boasted that he would best any man there at a game—“signs over his entire fortune to me, and then we’ll each get a kill and watch the sun rise.” Liam rose from the table and went over to the gentlemen to arrange the details of himself and his dear wife and “sister” joining the game.

“What did Liam do to get you more doe-eyed than usual?” Amaia turned back to Meg.

Meg raised her eyebrows in the most pathetic expression of innocence.

“Don’t give me that look. I know you want to tell me about whatever romantic gesture he made. Just because I don’t have a mate doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk about yours.”

Meg sighed, and her face relaxed into the look she always had when she talked about Liam. “We went to see a new mural being painted in one of the churches. It was exquisite, or at least good enough that Liam decided to let the painter live. Then we ate, and Liam took me to this romantic little spot on a quaint bridge and recited some of his latest poetry to me.”

Meg often extolled the wonder of Liam’s skill as a poet, but he never shared it with anyone but her. What would it be like to have secrets like that? “I can’t imagine Liam being the way you describe. You two make me sick sometimes.”

“Well, if you stopped working long enough to find a mate, you would understand.” Meg looked at Liam as if an ocean separated them instead of a few yards of floor.

Amaia understood that a part of Meg would always want to be with Liam, no matter how much fun they had together. She simply couldn’t imagine ever feeling the same way. “If finding a mate makes me look as silly as you, then I hope I never find one. Come on, let’s go reunite you with your ‘one true love’ and get playing.” It was easier to casually brush off the bond between her two friends than face her own jealousy. The foreign feeling made her uncomfortable. If she felt so inclined, she could have any man she wanted. The thought placated her for a moment, but deep down she knew it wasn’t true. She couldn’t have any man the way Meg had Liam.

“Gentlemen, this is my wife Eleanor and her sister Juliana. They’ve recently taken a liking to cards and have saved up some of their allowance. Shall we begin?” Liam took his seat, and Amaia recognized the wicked pleasure in his eyes as he locked onto the pompous merchant and picked up his cards.

The game went well. Liam let the merchant win just enough to make him overconfident. Meg and Amaia held back, winning a little and losing a little. It was clear that this was Liam’s game, and they weren’t about to rain on his fun.

Amaia was bored. It didn’t take much of her concentration to read each man’s tells and adjust her playing accordingly. Playing cards as a vampire was ridiculously easy. She scanned the room, inspecting the people. There was no doubt in her mind that her powers of observation yielded her more information than years of friendship could have. Humans were naturally egotistical and therefore, unobservant.

Her eyes darted to the door as it opened, drawn to something, a tug of energy she couldn’t explain. A stranger entered and shook the rain from his hair. Amaia’s hand instinctively flew to her mouth as she let out an audible gasp. It couldn’t be.

“What is it?” Meg asked, worry in her eyes.

Amaia noticed that the other faces around the table were trained on her. “Nothing. I just realized something about my hand.” Amaia gave a shy smile, letting the men believe she was a silly girl, and they resumed the game.

“What is it really?” Meg’s voice was too low to be heard by the humans.

“Nothing. I’m not sure. Just pay attention to the game.” It came out fast and low. Amaia continued with the hand, keeping one eye on the stranger. He cracked a crooked smile at the proprietor as he ordered. With ale in hand, he sat at an empty table, seemingly lost in thought.

Something was familiar. Amaia saw a flash of a tavern in a different country, a different time. A different man sitting alone, looking like he could use companionship. The stranger lifted his head and locked eyes with Amaia.

Her heart froze.

A pair of gray eyes that she knew better than any eyes in the world stared back at her.

The contact only lasted a second before the man turned away. Amaia’s heart thawed and beat furiously. She bolted to her feet, disturbing the table as she forgot to slow her movements. The exclamations around her were enough to remind her not to move too quickly as she fled the tavern, not even venturing a glance back at Meg.

Once out of the village, she ran. She ran faster than she ever had. Faster than that first night with Lawrence, faster than she knew it was possible for her body to move. For the first time, she experienced true fear.

Never in her existence as a vampire had she felt so human, so vulnerable. A ghost from her long-buried mortal life had just materialized in the flesh, and she was sure he sought vengeance.

Outside Vienna, May 1646

Amaia knew she was being followed. The sound of someone running behind her urged her forward. She couldn’t let him catch her.

“Amaia! Stop!” Meg’s voice registered in her brain.

The force of Amaia’s body stopping from such a great speed threw her to the ground. Only when she felt the wet grass beneath her hands did she remember that it was pouring rain. Behind her, she heard the sloshing sound of two sets of feet squelching across the forest floor. A moment later, Meg and Liam were beside her.

“Are you trying to expose us?” Liam roared down at her.

“Liam, stop it. Something’s wrong.” Meg shot him a silencing glare. “Amaia, what is it? What’s going on?”

“It’s him. I can’t believe it. He’s dead, but there he is. How? He’s here to kill me, to destroy me. I know he is. I’ve got to get away.” Amaia’s mind raced in confused circles.

“Who? Who is it, Amaia?” Meg grabbed Amaia’s shoulders and forced her to look in her eyes.

“Michael.”

Meg sucked in a deep breath. “All right, let’s get you home.”