Shadow Rising (4 page)

Could she become like them? In time, maybe. If they could accept her. In time…

Ariane took another sip of her drink, enjoying both the chocolate flavor and the mild buzz she was getting. Actually, she was enjoying the city itself, as much as she could given the circumstances. Charlotte, North Carolina, was the last place Sam had been seen—that much she’d gleaned from Sariel before he’d turned her down for the mission to find him—so this was where she’d headed. Thus far, she hadn’t found out anything to make her leave. Actually, she hadn’t found out much of anything at all. And that was a problem. Hopefully tonight would change that, if the kind Empusa she’d met the other
evening had been telling the truth. If so, there was a man who frequented this place who might be able to help her.

She certainly hoped so. The city might be lovely, but she wasn’t here for a vacation. Sam was out there somewhere; she knew it. And she needed to catch a break, because the longer he stayed gone, the greater the chance that he wasn’t coming back.

The lights in the cocktail lounge cast a dim blue glow over the expanse of mahogany bar. A jazz trio filled the space with a warm, down-tempo tune from a raised platform at the other end of the room, and people chatted at the bar, at high, skinny tables scattered about the space, and in large, comfortable booths lining the walls. Waitresses and waiters glided through every few minutes, dressed smartly in black. Ariane watched them all, seeing not a single vampire. But she was patient. And finally, about ten-thirty, one appeared.

Ariane had just ordered another drink to nurse when, from the corner of her eye, she saw movement by the door. She turned her head, curious, and at this point fairly certain that the man she sought wasn’t going to show. But instead of another couple or a knot of young mortals just starting their evening, she saw… him.

He strode in as though he owned the place, moving with predatory grace. Ariane took in the broad shoulders, the sandy hair spiked up a bit in the front, the pressed jeans and well-cut sport coat, worn over an open-collared white button-down shirt. Everything about him marked him as the type she was growing used to seeing, a young blueblood with old money—everything except for the subtle signs only another vampire would pick up on when recognizing one of their own. He was just a little
too pale, a little too graceful… and more than a little too beautiful to be mortal. When he turned his head to look at the jazz trio, Ariane let her eyes skim over his profile, enjoying the view.

Of all the new pleasures she’d discovered outside the desert, watching the seemingly endless variety of male vampires was one of her favorites. As she’d so often been reminded, the Grigori wanted only warriors. She was used to big, muscular men who would have looked right at home swinging a sword or an axe. She’d never realized that it was only the Grigori who had such a narrow preference in type. This man was more how she might have envisioned the handsome princes in the fairy tales she sometimes read. Then his cool blue eyes, which had been scanning the room, settled on Ariane, and she realized something else about this particular vampire: he was dangerous.

In the instant their gazes met, she saw nothing but cold calculation. He was looking for something or someone, and it wasn’t her. All the lovely warmth she’d experienced upon sighting him vanished… and yet she still couldn’t look away.

Neither, it seemed, could he. His eyes darted away and then returned, catching and holding her gaze. Ariane didn’t know why she kept staring back. She’d known right away that this wasn’t the man she was looking for, who’d been described to her as slight and dark-haired. Another random vampire wasn’t going to do her any good, especially not one who looked as though he’d just as soon shove a dagger through your neck as speak to you. But something compelled her. And as she watched one of his slim brows arch, giving him a quizzical look that did little
to soften her initial impression of him, those frigid eyes seemed to warm just a little.

She felt her cheeks flush and, utterly disconcerted by her reaction, turned her head away. She frowned at her drink, taking in a deep breath. She might be sheltered, but she was smarter than this. Her body’s needs had no place in what she was doing here. Gods knew she’d put them off for this long. What was a few months, even years more?

The thought was suddenly, painfully depressing.

She was about to down the rest of her martini to console herself when a warm, sensual voice sounded very close to her ear, accompanied by a faint tickle of breath that had every nerve ending in her body vibrating in anticipation of the lightest touch.

Dangerous. Oh yes, he was. And Ariane wondered just how hard his kind of danger was going to be to resist.

Damien walked into Shades of Blue with the intention of finding Thomas Manon, getting the man to buy him a drink, throttling some information out of him if necessary, and then finding a willing woman to blow off some steam with for whatever was left of the night.

Unfortunately, and in keeping with Damien’s recent run of bad luck, Manon was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a quick scan of the room revealed a bunch of insipid mortals, a mediocre jazz trio, and a great set of legs on a vamp perched at the bar. He might have admired them in passing and then kept looking for Manon, except for the fact that the vamp they belonged to was staring at him.

Not just staring at him either. It was more like she was imagining what it would be like to lap him up like a bowl of cream.

Maybe, Damien thought as she blushed prettily and turned away, tonight wouldn’t wind up being a total bust if Manon decided not to show after all. He made his way over and leaned in, catching a seductive whiff of flowers and moonlight before he murmured his introduction.

“Evening, kitten. Care for some company? I can’t bear to see such a lovely thing sitting all alone.”

When she turned her head to look at him, Damien noticed two things immediately: one, what had seemed beautiful from across the room was absolutely exquisite up close, and two, she had eyes the color of Scottish heather. The combination could mean only one thing.

“Fuck me,” he blurted. “
You’re
the Grigori woman?”

Those amazing eyes narrowed. When she spoke, her voice was faintly musical, with a hint of an accent he couldn’t place.

“I have no idea who you are or what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m… waiting for someone.”

Then Damien watched, incredulous, as she turned her back, dismissing him without another word. He was used to all manner of poor treatment (and quite a bit of good, as well, depending on the nature of the job), but being summarily dismissed by some slip of a woman, particularly one who he already knew planned to interfere with his work, was not something he intended to tolerate.

Besides… he wanted another look at that face of hers.

A hard glare, with a bit of a bellicose mental push, sent the man occupying the stool next to her bolting away. Damien slid easily onto the warm stool with a smile, signaled the bartender, and ordered a dirty martini. He knew she knew he was there. Her discomfort was palpable, and
Damien wasn’t ashamed to enjoy it. He’d learned long ago that being noticed was far better than being overlooked, no matter how you got the attention.

Finally, just as the bartender set down the drink in front of Damien, she spoke again. Her tone was clipped.

“Why are you still here?” she asked. “I believe I told you I’m busy, and I’m not interested in your advances. Please leave me alone.”

Her speech was a little awkward and formal, a bit like the couple of male Grigori he’d run into over the years. He hadn’t found them nearly as charming, though. Intrigued, he decided to play with her to see what more he could discover. “Ah, you may not want my company, but you don’t have much choice in the matter right now. Best to try and enjoy it. After all, it could be worse. I could just get up, walk away, and call in the cavalry. They want you back, and they’re looking for you. I’m in a position to know, being a Shade.” He tilted his head, saw her shoulders stiffen, and smiled. Being a cat-shifter had earned him no love in his long life, but becoming a Shade had at least gotten him some healthy respect.

“By the way,” he continued conversationally when she said nothing, “is that a
wig
you’re wearing? It’s bloody horrible.”

As a method of getting her to look at him again, the combination of a thinly veiled threat and an insult worked like a charm. As a way of endearing himself to her, not so much. Still, Damien felt another fascinating punch of desire as he got to take in the Grigori woman’s face up close. She jerked her head to the side to glare at him, those brilliant amethyst eyes reflecting both anger and fear. Damien ignored both for the time being, allowing
himself to peruse her delicate features: the aquiline nose with a stubborn little point at the tip, the pink rosebud lips, finely arched brows, and long, dark lashes. Her face was a perfect oval, set off by high cheekbones, and the emotions it reflected were as transparent as glass.

In some odd way, Damien found her reaction to him refreshing. In his line of work, honesty, in any form, was a novelty.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you won’t leave, then I will.” She started to rise, but Damien’s hand shot out to catch her arm, squeezing just enough to make it uncomfortable.

He leaned in so that only she could hear him. “I don’t think so, love. Fortunately for you, I’m in a giving mood this evening. Entertain me for a bit and I may decide to let you go… for now. What do you say?”

Damien watched her go through outrage, uncertainty, and finally a cautious sort of resignation. Such a face, he thought wonderingly. She must be a terrible liar. And that had to be a problem for her, since who could help but look at her all the time? What else had he ever seen that was quite so worth looking at?

It was an unbidden thought, and disturbing. Damien brushed it aside and concentrated on the matter at hand. He’d seen plenty worth looking at, he reminded himself firmly. Particularly in the female department. And women like this, obvious innocents, had never been his cup of tea. Too much damned work for too little payoff.

Slowly, the tension beneath his hand eased, and the woman sank back down onto her stool. Damien released her reluctantly. His hand tingled where he’d touched her. For a moment, her awkwardness vanished, and the
woman looking back at him was every bit as cold and ancient as her dynasty mark proclaimed her to be.

He wondered fleetingly if playing with a Grigori this way was wise, then brushed it aside. He’d lived for centuries doing just as he liked, and it had served him well enough. Why stop now?

“I’ll stay. For now. But I’m not going to entertain you… cat.” Her gaze dropped to the concealed top of Damien’s right collarbone. There, beneath his shirt, was the mark of his bloodline, a trio of entwined black cats fashioned into a Celtic circle. It branded him as Cait Sith, a cat-shifter.

And without looking at it, she shouldn’t have been able to tell so quickly.

“How did you know?” Damien asked.

The woman shrugged, a dainty lift of shoulders exposed by the sleeveless little black dress she wore. The movement made him look below her neck, which he instantly knew he shouldn’t have done. He could stay distracted for weeks by the wonders showcased by that dress. With some effort, he dragged his eyes back up to meet hers.

“I’m good at indentifying who’s who,” she said, her tone defensive. “I studied.”

“Really. And what identified me?”

She turned her head to glare into her drink. “Does it matter? You’re just going to make fun of me, whatever I say.”

The accusation startled him… more because she was probably right. And for whatever reason, the knowledge bothered him.

“I won’t. I’m genuinely curious.”

She didn’t even look at him. “I doubt that. You’re just bored. Go away.”

Damien watched her face, seeing the frustration likely borne of fumbling her way through modern vampire society without a lifeline for at least a couple of weeks, and something in him softened. He didn’t bother to try and analyze it, but his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he sought to reassure her.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me. But I’m happy to drag this out if you’d rather.”

She looked up at him through long, dark lashes with such world-weariness that he had to fight back the urge to pull her into his lap and nuzzle her. The idea had some merit, actually… but Damien was pretty sure that would just put them back at square one. The longer they looked at one another, the more Damien had the unnerving sensation that she was sizing him up, judging him by some measure he couldn’t begin to guess at. The intensity of her focus on him was as pleasurable to Damien as a caress. To his shock, he had to swallow back an inadvertent purr. He didn’t purr for anyone.
Anyone.
And certainly not for something as cheap as a little attention.

At last, she relented with a sigh. “It’s your eyes, for one thing. The pupils do some interesting things in the light. They’re very feline, if you look close enough. But mostly it was just the way you move. I’d read about it, but the words didn’t really do you justice.”

He lifted his brows, surprised by the simple honesty of her answer. “Oh?”

She nodded, obviously an eager student of a subject Damien was inclined to find ridiculously flattering. He didn’t think any woman had ever remarked on the way he moved before… out of bed, that was.

“Yes,” she said. “Very graceful, very sinuous. Very…”
She trailed off, and it seemed she’d been about to say a lot more than she’d intended. Damien watched her pale cheeks flush again.

“Well. It’s unique anyway. So…” She looked a bit at a loss, grabbed the martini she’d been nursing, and took a large gulp. Then she looked at him over the rim of the glass, eyes glittering in the dim light, and Damien found himself momentarily lost again. All vampires were beautiful. It actually got boring after a while. But this one was damned near a work of art. Sculptors would have carved her likeness on temples; famed poets would have composed masterpieces extolling her beauty and then drank themselves to death over her. He could imagine it easily.