Secrets in the Shadows (8 page)

Drake walked the last three blocks quickly, ready to face whatever was to come because he was tired of thinking about it.

Even if he hadn’t known the address, and even if he hadn’t sensed the presence of vampires, he would have known which house belonged to the Master of Baltimore. Surrounded by the ubiquitous brick row houses, this house was about three times the size of any around it. The arched entryway was actually flanked with granite columns. The place gave the impression of a palace—exactly the kind of home a master vampire would choose for herself to showcase her importance.

He paused again on the doorstep, checking to see if any more vampires had made an appearance, but there were still only two in the house, along with a single mortal. Unfortunately, he now sensed another vampire about a block from here. Could that be Jules?

Drake took a step away from the door, meaning to check out the vampire at his back, but the door suddenly opened. A mortal stood in the doorway, looking Drake up and down.

“Good evening,” the mortal—a butler, apparently—said. “You are expected.”

So much for checking out the stray. Obviously, Camille was quite anxious to see him. “So I gathered.” He stepped over the threshold as though he called on master vampires on a regular basis.

“I’ll take your coat, sir,” the butler said.

“That’s all right. I’ll keep it.” Although he was no possible threat to Camille, he had no idea who the second vampire was, and he didn’t want to give up any possible intimidation factor. His black leather jacket, matched with his black leather pants, lent him a menacing aura that often made others uncomfortable.

The butler made a disapproving face, then led Drake down a carpeted hallway to a huge living room that looked like something out of Versailles. It even had a gilt ceiling.

Ostentation was obviously Camille’s middle name.

An intricate—or busy, depending on your tastes—Persian rug draped the dark hardwood floor, and the room was furnished in genuine Louis XV antiques, with the exception of a single chair that looked more like an early twentieth century piece. Dark, brooding oil paintings in ornate gold frames lined the walls, and a crystal chandelier that no doubt had originally held candles lit the room.

At one end of the room, Camille sat in a high-backed chair, her legs crossed at the knees as she regarded him with undisguised curiosity.

She was a handsome woman, if not exactly pretty. It looked like she’d been in her mid-thirties when she’d been bitten. Despite flawless makeup, there were tiny crows feet at the corners of her eyes. Her hair was long and platinum blonde, and she wore it loose about her shoulders—beautiful, really, though Drake thought the color chemically altered, almost brown. Her eyebrows were a distinctly darker shade of blonde. An expensive-looking dress of midnight-blue silk clung to her alluring curves, displaying an enticing expanse of décolletage while the hemline stopped a couple inches above her knees. Drake resisted the urge to stare at her legs.

The other vampire was in many ways Camille’s exact opposite. Where she sat tall and straight in her chair, he slouched and draped one leg over his chair’s arm. Where her hair was classic and tidy, his was short and spiky, with the spikes sticking every which way. An ugly scar marred what would otherwise have been a handsome face. To Drake’s chagrin, the other vampire also wore a black leather jacket. So much for intimidation.

“So,” Camille said, her voice silky and just a tad sly. “You’re Eli’s exception to the rule.”

He wondered how much Eli had told her about him. Apparently, more than he’d told Drake about her.

“Please do come in,” she said, beckoning with her hand.

He obeyed the summons and gave her a respectful bow. No doubt she was old enough to appreciate the gesture that had once been the only acceptable way for a gentleman to greet a lady.

“Yes, I work with Eli,” he said, acknowledging only part of her greeting.

She smiled at him then gestured toward the sullen-looking young vampire who slouched in the incongruous twentieth-century chair. “This is my son, Gabriel.”

Drake did his best to hide his surprise and revulsion. The woman had made her own son into a vampire? And a Killer, at that! “Pleased to meet you,” he said, and hoped he sounded more pleased than he was.

Gabriel grunted but found it unnecessary to make a more formal greeting. He didn’t even move his leg off the arm of his chair.

Currents of power rippled the air as mother and son regarded him with very different expressions—hers of curiosity, his of unbridled resentment. Drake decided he’d had enough posturing for now, so he took a seat without waiting to be invited. Gabriel’s expression darkened even more, but Camille merely arched a brow and let it go.

“So,” she said, “you are here to retrieve Eli’s prodigal son.”

For whatever reason, Gabriel’s lip twitched in a snarl. Drake caught the lightning-quick repressive glance Camille shot Gabriel’s way. It seemed clear Camille and her son were not in agreement on how to handle the trespassers.

“That’s right,” Drake answered. “I’ll remove him from your territory as soon as inhumanly possible.”

The corners of her mouth curled upward at his joke. “Have you located him yet?”

Drake shook his head. “Not yet. As you know, I’ve only just arrived. But I know the kind of hotel that would appeal to him, so I doubt it will take me more than a night or two to find him.”

“If he succeeds in killing my fledgling before you find him, then you are not to remove him from Baltimore. While there are times that Ian tries my patience, if anyone’s going to kill him, it will be me.”

“Or me,” Gabriel put in with another snarl.

Apparently, the pup didn’t like anyone. Which was probably just as well, because it was hard to imagine anyone liking him.

Camille ignored his interruption. “Are we clear on that?”

“We’re clear.” Drake wasn’t sure how he’d live with himself if he abandoned Jules to this unpleasant duo once he’d taken on the task of saving him, but he wouldn’t put the entire society of Guardians at risk to protect him.

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, it’s best you start your search as soon as possible, so I won’t keep you. Gabriel will see you to the door.”

Oh, shit, Drake thought as Gabriel’s eyes lit with pleasure at the prospect. It seemed he was about to be given a small demonstration of what might happen to him if he didn’t toe the line. If Gabriel was Camille’s son, then he must be old indeed, despite his baby face, which meant Drake would be no match for him. But there was nothing for it, so Drake shrugged slightly and took his leave, following Gabriel out of the room.

Not surprisingly, Gabriel came to a stop shortly after they’d left the room, in a narrow, unfurnished hallway. No breakables. Gabriel turned to him, those pouty lips of his stretched into a cruel smile.

“Am I allowed to fight back, or am I just supposed to take it?” Drake asked. He managed to sound completely unruffled. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever was to come, but he’d never seen much use in complaining about things he couldn’t control.

To his surprise, Gabriel laughed. The laughter washed every trace of cruelty from his face like a magical transformation. For just a moment, he was another person entirely, a handsome young man with a glint of good humor in his eyes. It faded quickly.

“I’m so used to dealing with idiots and ass-kissers,” he said, a hint of laughter still in his voice. “What a refreshing change.” The humor faded. “You can try to fight back if you want. I won’t hold it against you. How old are you? A hundred? Maybe a little more?”

How could he tell? It was impossible to guess a vampire’s age—or power—by his psychic footprint. Then again, maybe Eli had told Camille his age.

“About that,” Drake admitted. Instinct urged him to make a preemptive strike, but he wasn’t sure of the house rules. If he struck first, would Camille take that as an inappropriately hostile act and make good on her threats to reveal Eli’s secret?

Gabriel shook his head. “Then I wouldn’t bother fighting back if I were you. It’ll be over quicker if you just hold still.” Something ugly and eager gleamed in his eyes.

Drake might not be able to take the older vampire, but he’d be damned if he’d just “hold still.” Pride demanded he land a punch or two for the pup to remember him by.

Gabriel flashed him a goading grin, then motioned for him to take a swing. At this point, he was happy to oblige.

What happened next was disorienting even for Drake, who’d battled his fair share of older, stronger vampires in Eli’s service. One moment, his fist was heading straight toward Gabriel’s jaw. The next, his fist was flying through empty air and a brutal jab connected with his kidney from behind.

He went down—as much from the force of his own swing as the blow he’d taken. Gabriel laughed again, but this was a cold, nasty laughter.

“I warned you to hold still. You won’t lay a finger on me, kid.”

That someone who looked to be little more than a teenager would call Drake “kid” was nearly unbearable. Never mind that Gabriel was probably at least twice his age!

Unfortunately, once Gabriel connected with that first blow, Drake was never able to recover. The older vampire moved so fast it was almost impossible to see him, and it was impossible to make contact. That didn’t stop Drake from trying, though he knew he was probably making things worse for himself.

Eventually, Gabriel’s surgical strikes sapped too much of Drake’s breath and strength, and he had no choice but to take whatever was dished out. Protecting his head as best he could, he gritted his teeth and rode it out until Gabriel finished making his point.

After the blows stopped coming, Drake took a minute to regain his breath before he sat up tentatively. Considering how long and hard Gabriel had beaten him, he was amazed that nothing seemed to be broken.

The pup offered him a hand up, and Drake reluctantly accepted. Gabriel hauled him to his feet, then kept hold of his hand, squeezing just short of hard enough to break bones.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, “I pulled my punches tonight. If you fuck with me, if you fuck with my mother, or if your little friend does anything that pisses me off, I’ll show you what I’m really capable of. Got it?”

Drake nodded but didn’t trust himself to speak. He might say something he’d regret.

Gabriel smiled and turned his bone-crushing grip into a handshake. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

Drake had to call on every ounce of his self-discipline not to take a futile, ill-advised swing at the condescending ass.

Hannah cursed Jules at the top of her lungs, making a big show of struggling against the bonds. He’d used a couple of his fancy designer ties to bind her hands behind her back and tie her ankles together. When he used another to gag her, she tried to bite him, but he just grinned at her.

“It’s for your own good, Hannah,” he said, really proud of himself. “You’re right, and I’m no match for Ian if he takes me unawares, but you’re even less so. I’m more than a hundred years old. If he kills me, I’ll still have lived more than my fair share of years.” His Gallic shrug suggested he could care less if he died. The expression in his eyes suggested he cared more than he wanted to admit.

He smoothed away a lock of hair that had gotten stuck in her mouth and was held in place by the gag. It was a surprisingly tender gesture.

“I’ll take the do-not-disturb sign off when I leave. If something happens to me, a maid will be by in the morning to untie you.”

She tried to force the words “fuck you” through the gag, but all that came out was a vague grunting noise. She was sure he caught the sentiment, however. He didn’t seem annoyed by it, or even amused. Instead, there was a hint of sadness on his face, and for just a moment, her heart ached for him. What kind of pain was eating away at his insides to make him throw his life away to try to get revenge?

Then she decided she couldn’t afford sympathy at the moment. She made a snarling noise and struggled against the bonds again, letting him see that she couldn’t possibly get her hands free when he’d tied them so thoroughly.

“Restez sauf,” he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. For once, she suspected his French was neither a curse nor an insult. Then he bent and pressed his lips to her forehead.

The touch of his lips stilled her struggles immediately. It was only the briefest of kisses, planted on a part of her body she didn’t consider one of her erogenous zones, but it electrified her all the same. Her skin tingled with it and her heart accelerated and she inhaled deeply the aftershave-and-man scent of him.

Then, with another sad little smile, he was gone, the door thunking closed behind him with what was meant to be finality.

Hannah shook off her moment of girlishness. There was no time to lose! Trying to relax all her muscles while hurrying wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but she was determined. She’d studied martial arts since she was a little girl—a very useful pastime for a girl with three older brothers—and while she was kind of a jack of all trades, master of none, she was naturally limber. Besides, she might not have survived childhood with the Three Musketeers if she hadn’t learned to be an escape artist.

Rolling her shoulders to loosen them as much as possible, she slowly and painfully worked her bound hands downward. Once she got them down below her butt, she tucked her body in on itself, making the smallest possible bundle, until she could stick her feet through the circle of her arms.

Adrenaline surged, but getting her hands in front of her was only half the battle. Raising her hands to her mouth, she cursed Jules again for the damn gag, which made it hard for her teeth to get a hold. Then she cursed herself for flailing about so much and tightening the knots. Every minute she was delayed was another minute Jules had on her. Thank goodness she knew where he was going, or she’d never have any hope of catching up with him.

Desperation lent her speed, and Jules had been too nice to tie her very tightly anyway, so after what felt like forever and a day, she was finally able to pry the tie off her wrists. After that, it took mere seconds to strip away the gag and the tie at her ankles. Hoping like hell she wasn’t too late, she grabbed her gun and stuck it in the inner pocket of her coat. Then she bolted out the door and made for the parking deck at warp speed.