Tempting Gray - Untouchables 02 (6 page)

Grayson insisted on being here for the process
as the Passers, ordained morticians, prepared the body.

A great fire crackled in the center of the
room. On top of a sacred stone pyre deep beneath the earth, Anita of Redenver
house’s body had been stripped, cleaned, and adorned in a fresh linen gown and
wrapped once more in gauze. They would place her body on the flames to place
her body to rest.

He’d watched in morbid fascination as they’d
sewn her head back onto her neck so they could properly wrap her body. Grayson
watched the whole process feeling raw inside and out.

It’d been three days since his
bruid
was
murdered in their own home. In the baby’s room.

His stomach churned like a wheel spinning in
water. His eyes hadn’t stopped burning from the time his tears began. He’d
cried a lot during the past few days. The tears just came, sometimes at
unexpected times, when he saw a photo of her or remembered something special.
Then, the waterworks would come. The cold numbness that weighed his body down
didn’t allow him to stop those tears, didn’t allow him to even care that he was
doing it.

His family kept talking at him. They wanted to
know so many things. Things that didn’t matter. But they didn’t see it that
way. They didn’t understand. They’d never lost a mate. Good, bad, or ugly, it
was his job to protect Anita. And he’d failed that job with staggering results.

Amazing how Grayson had spent his whole life
becoming a protector, a bodyguard. He’d always wanted to save lives. Sure there
was some bullshit psychology behind it. Dr. Rudy had already revealed Grayson’s
own inner-workings. Apparently Grayson felt the need to save those weaker than
himself. Even now just thinking the thought made him stand a little straighter.
It was true. The need to help others, to protect them, had been engrained in
him from the moment his mother’s drunken lover beat her. He’d watched that
beating in utter horror as a little boy. He didn’t even have to think hard to
conjure up that first time. He could still hear his mother’s cries as if they
were happening right now. The sound of flesh beating flesh in violence—could
never be unheard.

His mother had sustained a beating that day.
But the next time…the next time that nameless man came around, Gray had
reacted. He’d only been eight when he beat the man with a tree branch and threw
him out of their house. If the man hadn’t been as slobbering-drunk as he was,
he might have fought back better. Who knows how Gray would have turned out if
that night hadn’t happened? It’d changed him.

And now he stood at the next turning point in
the road. His life had come to a staggering halt the moment Anita died. Ahead
of him he could only see one path to take. Just as a kid, after that first act
of violence, Gray went deep inside his head and began planning.

He was going to kill the Donato family. They
wouldn’t receive easy deaths. No quick kills, but slow torture until they were
in so much pain they begged him for their lives. Only, they’ll never get it.
The Donato family will die.

Vampires and Weres filed into the mortuary in
stony silence. Family from both houses came. When the room was full, a Passer
picked up a wooden torch. The Passer wrapped the end of the torch in white
cloth, then dipped it in oil. Slowly, he walked to Grayson. Bowing his head, he
held the torch out. Grayson took the torch without a word.

All eyes were on him. He didn’t recognize most
of the faces. When his gaze finally stopped it landed on Anita. Wrapped in the
gauze, she resembled a caterpillar in a cocoon. Beautiful, yet alien.

As he lit the torch in the fire he couldn’t
help but wonder how his hands
didn’t
shake. Out of all the times in his
life he’d been scared now was the time when his hands stayed calm. His own body
made him feel even more like a failure. He should be shaking. Because he was
about to burn his
bruid’s
body to ash.

Two Passers stepped up to the stone pyre. They
carried a golden oil lamp in each hand; engraved on it was a prayer for the
deceased. They sang a slow song filled with ache and despair.

Grayson swallowed. A lump was caught in his
throat the size of a fist.

He took the three steps up to the pyre where
her body rested, peacefully. Maybe now she could find solace. A tear slid down
his cheek and splashed onto her body. He was supposed to say something. What
for? What good would it do? She was dead because of him. Because he hadn’t been
careful enough, smart enough…

Grayson realized he’d been standing with the
burning torch in his hand for some time before his step-mother came up beside
him. She startled him. Diane Blackmoore had grown to be as much like a second
mother as one could be. She’d already been mated to his father, Argonzo, when
Grayson was born. His father had several sons by several mothers. Only when they
reached a certain age did Argonzo fetch them away to give them better lives.
What a load of a shit.

How is this life possibly better than what he
could have had as a poor vampire living in Turkey?

Diane wore a black dress and veil. “It is time,”
she said gently.

Grayson gazed down at his dead mate. He still
couldn’t believe it, any of this. That he was here. That she was dead. That any
of this had happened stupefied him. This wasn’t how things were supposed to
happen. In such a short period of time his life had been spun upside down,
kicked inside out, and thrown into a burning hell.

His brain knew it had to lower his arm to burn
Anita’s body. But, his body refused to move. He hovered above her beautifully
covered body. Weaved into the gauze were strands of gold thread and white lace.
Her face was obscured, but if he looked hard enough he could make out the
features of her face.

Lower your arm. You have to do it.

His hand made no intent to move. He ground his
teeth, gnashing molars into chalk.

“Son, it is time.”

Diane’s gentle words shook him. Shattered
something fragile inside him. It broke lose. Only then did he cry. Only then
did his grip on the torch waver. The flame danced nervously, flickering. With
each and every single breath he had to smell that foul odor. The filthy
stench
that covered her body. It smelled sickeningly sweet like lemons and flowers.
His gut churned and churned. Bile shot up his swollen throat which he swallowed
back audibly.

“I cannot,” he said.

He heard his step-mother moving, felt her hand
upon his shoulder. “I know you can.” Spoken from a woman who truly did know?
Because she lit the torch for his father. How hard that must have been for her.
He remembered how quiet she’d been, resolved. All this time he never knew that
on the inside she’d been screaming in agony.

She left him.

And, finally, Grayson lowered the torch. The
oil caught fire in a burst of light. The orange and red flames licked up her
body like a sickness. It began at her feet where the torch touched and crept up
her legs. The gauze blackened and curled like a dead spider tucking its legs
inward. Black smoke, smelling faintly of lemons and roses saturated the air in
a cloud.

As the flames climbed higher, grew hotter,
Grayson didn’t back away. The heat from the flames scorched him, made sweat
drip down his face, but he didn’t move. Not even when the flames died down and
her body turned to ash.

He’d been unable to save her from two
miscarriages that had doomed their connection. Then he’d been unable to protect
her from the alcoholism. Nothing he’d said or done was enough to make her want
to stop. The pain was too much for her. She hadn’t known a way to cope. And
then, in a final moment of failure, he’d gotten her killed.

A shell of a woman he’d loved lie on that stone
pyre. The white beauty from before turned a bitter black.

He didn’t say the words aloud. He said them to
her, wherever her spirit was.

I’ve always loved you, ’Nita.
Rest in peace. Your
death will be avenged.

With those parting thoughts, Grayson Blackmoore
left his mate’s side for the final time.

Three
Weeks and Four Days Later

The sun would rise soon.

That thought floated through Grayson’s mind as
he stepped into the clearing where Alpha Zeke Hunter’s tent stood. The alpha’s
guards already knew he was coming since he’d entered their land. One of the
guards, already shapeshifted into a grisly looking creature, bared its fangs
and growled, spittle foaming at the gum line.

Weres were dangerous creatures. Their bodies
could transform into vicious, smart werewolf animals. Only these creatures
barely resembled their namesake—the wolf. They were great hunters, fast in
combat, and if transformed, their teeth and claws could rip a man open.

Grayson strolled past the growling were with
little care. The only thing that interested him was getting in to see Zeke. A
guard came up to block his path. “State your business. Your stench is twisting
my nose hairs.”

“Perhaps that isn’t me you’re smelling but your
dog over there. Seems he doesn’t know the meaning of keeping one’s mouth
closed,” Grayson said.

The guard was a bulky, strong man with a bald
head. He carried an assault rifle strapped across his chest which would be
loaded with silver bullets.

“That’s Benjie,” the guard said.

When the guard waited as if expecting Grayson
to say something, he muttered, “Good doggie.”

“He’s my brother,” the guard responded. His
expression had gone from cool to frozen.

“Is this a family reunion or is Zeke here?”

The guard narrowed his eyes. What, it wasn’t
like Gray had time to fuck off. His mate’s body had been put to rest the nearly
a month before. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. All Gray could do was plan.
Finding the Donatos was out of his reach. He needed some help and the only
person he knew powerful enough to track the Donatos was the alpha himself.

“He’s here but if you want to see him you have
to do a little something,” the guard said.

“And what’s that?” Grayson asked with measured
patience.

He’s wasting my time. I could already be
talking to Zeke.

“Fight my brother. Rules are simple: you pin my
brother down, you win. If he pins you, you’re outta here. Got it?”

A fight just to see the alpha? Grayson cracked
his knuckles. Heady anticipation opened his veins allowing blood to rush to his
body. His fangs dropped as he scoped out his target—the salivating Were. “And
if I put him down permanently?”

The guard’s gaze narrowed. “Then you’ll be
joining him afterward, vampire.”

There was no bell to ring
ding, ding, ding
.
There was no referee to judge the match. And there was only one rule.

How
simple
.

Gray spun around but he was too late. The Were
was already on its haunches, body curled and ready to strike. In a burst, they
both moved. Gray dodged slash after slash by using his speed to evade side to
side. With a vicious uppercut, he caught the Were’s chin, snapping his head
backward. A bone in its neck cracked in protest and the Were howled. Reacting,
the Were lurched forward muzzle-first. Gray doubled back to keep from having
his arm bitten off in a single bite.

The fight turned nasty. They both started
hitting faster. Things got dirty as they rolled in the dirt. Fighting a
four-legged animal was not Grayson’s preference nor specialty. The mangy beast
smelled like wet dog and foul breath.

Gray flexed the arm he had wrapped tight around
the Were’s throat. “Give in,” he demanded.

The Were squirmed and bucked. It cried out a
whinnying sound but did not relent. It snapped its teeth hard, chomping,
sending spittle down Grayson’s arm.

“You know that’s disgusting. Now give in.” Finally,
Gray maneuvered his legs into the mix until he had the beast fully in his
control. Getting low to its ear he hissed, “Yield, before I take your throat.”

The beast stiffened then finally stopped
fighting. It became docile in his arms. Grayson met the bald guard’s glare. “I
win.”

Behind the guard stood Zeke. The alpha was
grinning at the show looking entirely too pleased for Grayson’s liking. Gray
stood, brushing grass and dirt off his pants.

“Grayson Blackmoore, never thought I’d see you
gracing my doorstep.”

“Since when does a tent flap count as a door?”
Gray responded.

“Why do birds sing so gay?” the alpha responded.

Grayson’s hands curled into fists. “Now is not
the time for your foolery. My
bruid’s
been murdered.”

“And, let me guess, you need my help. Why, oh
why, are the Blackmoores forever landing at my doorstep?” The alpha sighed
wearily. “If not for the great kindness in my soul your brother would not be
working under me right this very minute.”

“What happened between you and Dom is just that—between
you two. I could give a shit. Did you not hear what I said, alpha? My
bruid
is
dead. Now are you going to see me or what?” Grayson was done with Zeke’s
ridiculous conversation. There was never sarcasm or humor in Zeke’s voice. He
used the same southern-boy charm to talk about a stupid door as he did committing
torture. It was because of the madness; it had messed up his mind and given his
eyes an irrational glint.

“I know your
bruid’s
dead. It’s all over
V-Society
magazine.”

Boom. Boom.
An invisible sledgehammer slammed
against each of Grayson’s temples making every second an agony. His body was
sore in a few places from the fight. The blood on his hands looked like spilled
wine. His situation, the recent events in his spiraling life, made Grayson’s
fuse grow shorter and shorter. His hand itched to curl into a tight ball and
hit something.

The alpha spoke of the famous vampire magazine.
V-Society
was little more than a gossip column for paparazzi to stalk
the vampire elite—the
ton
. The Blackmoore name filled the pages, or so
Gray had been told. He’d never seen a page of the magazine in his life. Could
give a shit what people thought of him.

“Come in, Gray.”

Zeke entered the tent and Grayson followed. The
room was cramped with several desks. It looked like a president’s office. Zeke
went to the desk in the center of the room, pulled the chair back from it, then
hopped onto his desk. He sat on it with his legs crossed Indian-style. “I can
barely contain my excitement. Please do tell me what’s brought you here.”

“I need you to track down Vincent Donato and
his son, Jericho. And I need it done today.” The words came off strange on his
tongue. When Grayson swallowed it felt rough. Cotton mouth. Just great. He
pulled a cigarette out and lit it. Only two left. Even better.

When’s the last time you fed?
Fuck off, he growled at
himself.

“Why oh why would I do that for you?” Zeke
asked. He looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Because I can pay you. You were elected
recently. The kind of donation I can pay will help your campaign.” The cig
tasted bitter. The clove flavor instead tasted surprisingly of lemon. Smoke
singed his dry throat, chafing it. Lemon…the scent of roses and lemon still
hadn’t left him. It was in everything. Even after changing clothes and
showering, he could smell it—smell her. His hand shook as he pulled hard on his
smoke.

“I’m president of the Were and vampire council,
Gray boy. I really don’t think I need your money.”

He wanted to scream in the man’s face or lash
out in some way, but he couldn’t do that. Instead he forced himself to show no
response. “You owe my family. You owe Dom after what you did.”

Zeke suddenly came to a stand. “I owe you
squat. I won that race fair and square.”

“You cheated.”

Zeke shrugged. “Hey, it’s all semantics.”

His smoke was at the end, nothing more than a
roach now. “I don’t have time to waste,” Grayson said, his voice raw with
emotion. “Either you’ll help me or you won’t. But I need an answer right now.”

“A’ight, the answer’s no.”

“The answer’s yes,” Grayson corrected. He took
a threatening step forward. That painful beat at his temple hammered away.

The alpha tossed back his head with laughter. “Nah,
I got better things to do,” he said scratching his ass. “I bought a new pair of
sneakers I need to break in.”

He had to tell himself to breathe. In and out.
Don’t
lose it. Just keep your cool.

“I will pretend to ignore the insult you lay
upon my dead
—
by implying your shoes are more important than her vengeance.”

“Don’t you mean
your
vengeance?”

He paused, thrown off. But then he righted
himself. “If you won’t do it, I need someone. We both know Weres make the best
trackers. I need someone who can find the Donatos. Someone with a lot of
experience. That’s you.”

Zeke bowed dramatically, smiling big. “I do
appreciate the compliments, dear boy. Makes me feel young.”

“I am not a boy,” Grayson gritted.

“You are compared to me.” Zeke hopped down from
the desk. A commercial on the TV had caught his attention. A glazed, faraway
look came over the alpha’s face making him appear only slightly less dangerous
than he really was.

“Help me and I protect you personally. I will
guard you with my life. I am the best. I could take down any of your guards
before they knew what happened.”

“Ah, such braggery. I love it!” Zeke rubbed his
chin in thought. “A job offer. I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that out of you,
Grayson. However, I’m afraid I’m not hiring at this current time. On the other
hand, I might be able to help you.”

Grayson’s gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say I know someone whose tracking
skills make me look like a pup.”

“Who” “Well, see, we might have a problem here
because I just hired her for a job myself,” Zeke said.

“Then why even tell me about it?” If he ripped
out his hair right now, maybe some of the steam building up in his head could
escape.

“Hey, hey, hey, now. All things in life are
negotiable.” Zeke pressed a button on a phone turning on an intercom. Anita’s
life hadn’t been negotiable, he wanted to say.

A woman’s voice answered on the other end of
the line. “Yes, Bossley?”

Zeke looked disappointed when Gray didn’t smile
at the secretary’s apparent nickname for the alpha. “Get Donahue here, now.”

“On it,” the woman answered and the line
disconnected.

“There you go, my boy. She’ll be here soon.”

Grayson rubbed his temple—hard. “I’ll pay
anything. Listen, I don’t need her for long. This isn’t a vacation I’m going
on. Two people, that’s all I’m searching for. After that, it’s done.”

“If I had a dime for every time someone thought
it’d be ‘done’ after collecting vengeance. See, that’s the thing with vengeance.”
Zeke walked over until he stood uncomfortably close. “After it’s over and
whoever you want dead is nice and dead, the hot spot is still there. It doesn’t
go away.”

Grayson took a step back to give them room. “What
hot spot? What are you talking about?” He heard a feminine voice outside the
tent. Good, at least the other tracker was here. Gray wouldn’t leave here
without hiring the best tracker.

Zeke formed a loose fist and pressed it to his
chest. “Here is where it hurts. It burns, yah? That’s what I call the hot spot.
That place right near your heart. It can suffocate ya, or kill ya. It grows
there and you think it’ll go away, but it doesn’t. You’ll wait too, days after
you’ve killed ’em. You’ll start to think that maybe it just takes a little time
for it to settle in before the hot spot goes away. But that’s the shit of it,
Gray. It doesn’t disappear just ’cause you killed the guys. It’ll go when it’s
ready.”

The hard-hitting words took him aback. He was
still reeling when the tent flap suddenly pulled back revealing the tracker.
For a moment, he was frozen in time. His eyes only briefly swept over face and
form to find her familiar before darting to her hair. That hair. It sprung to
mind a mass of blonde waves strikingly similar. As if feeling his gaze on her,
the woman looked up at him—and froze, her mouth forming an
O.
That look
cemented the memory from a night so long ago, he’d nearly forgotten.

“I see you two know each other,” Zeke said
pleasantly.

She swallowed. “No, I don’t believe we do.”

There was something in the air. It made each
breath he took feel short, not enough.

“Then let me introduce you to my pal, Grayson
Blackmoore. Gray this is Oprah.”

She actually gasped when Zeke said his name. “My
name is not Oprah,” she said quickly. A blush stained her cheeks. “Please, call
me Arabella.” She smiled at him.

More and more he couldn’t catch his breath. She
was beautiful. Of all the stupid, traitorous thoughts he could have, why this one,
why now, why
her
? He hadn’t seen her since the night of his mating to
Anita. That night had been a night of firsts. It was the first time he’d met
the girl with golden hair. It was the first time he’d met Anita Redenver, and
it was the first time he’d ever kissed a girl. The first kiss he’d ever had
with someone not his mother was with this girl. Only she was no longer a girl.
The years had changed her. Her beauty had only grown, giving her a full,
womanly appearance. It fit her.