The Vampyre Legal Chronicles - Marcus (8 page)

"We do
not
work together, Anais. After today, and after what has
just happened between us, surely you understand that?"

Brain and body
still reeling after The Kiss, Anais struggled to think
logically.

He'd sacked
her?

Her career was
finished, over?

Then why had he
brought her out tonight to talk?

And what the
hell had The Kiss been about?

A quickie with
an ex-employee?

Her face
flooded with humiliation.

For the second
time in one day fury with him, and with herself for her response to
him, rose so fast in her lungs that her chest felt too tight.

"Go to hell,
Marcus."

Turning, Anais
dashed through the tables, through the too interested faces with
the raised eyebrows, past the sly laughs, the whispers, and headed
for the rest room.

Once there she
shot into a cubicle, banged the door closed, locked it.

With her eyes
tightly closed she leaned against the door, a trembling hand
covered her mouth.

What on earth
had just happened?

She couldn't stop
shaking.

Her breasts
were aching, throbbing with a need so extreme she crossed her arms
to ease their tender tips. What was happening to her? Maybe she was
sick? One minute she was hot, too hot. The next minute, she was
cold, icy cold. She shivered as her fingers again pressed against
lips still stinging by his kiss. Kiss? He hadn't just kissed her.
He'd possessed her, electrified her, devoured her right in the
middle of the dance floor and not only that, she'd been right there
with him every single step of the way. The hectic thump, thump,
thump of her heart, sounded too loud in her ears, matching the
pulse of her swollen lips. She licked her lips. Dear God, she could
still taste him, feel the pressure, the endless pleasure of his
mouth. Even now she wanted more, much more. Worst of all the pulse
matched the liquid beat between her legs, made her moan out loud.
But what terrified her most of all was the realisation that if he'd
stripped her and touched her and taken her right on the floor in
front of complete strangers she would have been utterly powerless
to stop him, to stop herself.

She simply
could not understand her behaviour.

At heart Anais
knew she was inherently a shy woman.

She'd certainly
never been promiscuous or wanted to be the centre of attention, so
why had she behaved like a tart with her boss in the middle of a
room full of people? What the hell had happened to her?

Behind her hand
she swallowed a cry when she remembered that Marcus was no longer
her boss.

In one day
she'd not only lost her job, she'd lost her self-respect, too.

Way to go,
Anais.

Hot tears
burned in her throat, in her eyes, and she battled like a warrior
to force back the pity party.

Anger and a
sense of disappointment with Marcus rose within her now.

How
dare
he put her in a situation like this?

Who the hell
did he think he was to treat her like a piece of meat?

Deep in her
heart she admitted now that she'd put Marcus Gillespie on a
pedestal. She'd admired his lethally sharp mind, admired his bone
deep work ethic, admired his values. Now she wondered how he'd
managed to hide the real man from her. For months she'd fought a
losing battle against his fatal attraction telling herself that the
mind was more important than mere looks. Well that theory had been
blown right out of the water in front of a room full of people, and
worse, Marcus's brother James.

Remembering the
clipped tone when James Gillespie had told them to get a room,
another wave of shame burned a searing path up her neck and flamed
into her cheeks.

Oh God, what on
earth was she going to do?

Deciding she
could hardly hide here all night, Anais took a deep cleansing
breath, flushed the toilet and opened the door.

At the sink to
her right, there was a tall woman dressed in black.

But Anais was
too agitated to look at her as she hurriedly washed and dried her
hands.

Pulling tissues
out of a box with an agitated hand, she blotted the perspiration
from her top lip. With a shaky hand she dabbed at her forehead, and
then her eyes rose to meet the woman's in the mirror.

She froze.

Anais stared
dead into the eyes of a killer.

***

"Get a grip of your
vampyre," James growled in Marcus's ear.

The anxiety in
his brother's voice managed to drag a deep breathing Marcus back
from the brink. The room was spinning, his heart battering so hard
against his ribs his fist rubbed the spot. He was in deep trouble.
His vampyre's roars of lust and need for its mate was raging in his
head, the beast threatening to take charge. To centre himself
Marcus stared hard at the floor and kept his mouth tightly shut to
hide his fangs. If humans saw his condition and reacted there was
the possibility of widespread panic. And that panic would feed his
vampyre's hunger.

What was
happening to him?

James took his
arm in a very tight grip to lead the way back to their table.

Using a
self-control he'd honed over hundreds of years, a control he
usually could rely on, Marcus fought a war of attrition with his
vampyre forcing it to calm the hell down.

He sat and took
a deep breath.

Reaching for
his wine glass, the way his hand trembled as if he had a fever
seriously unnerved him. The sting in his groin was so merciless he
wanted to whimper like a baby.

All he'd done
was kiss her.

One kiss.

And he'd gone
up in flames.

James picked up
the bottle, topped up their wine. "Get this down you. Your yearning
is taking over. It's hellish. This is what I've been trying to tell
you for months, you dumbass..."

"Good evening,
gentlemen."

The low voice
was one hundred per cent testosterone with the clipped chords of
the orient. Marcus wasn't so far gone that he didn't miss the
pissed-off tone either. He closed his eyes tight and wondered what
else could go wrong this night.

The man who'd
interrupted James's tirade looked like a movie star.

A harder,
younger version of Jet Li, with skin the color of milky coffee. His
jeans were butter soft black leather that rode low on his hips and
hugged lean but powerful thighs. His black short sleeved T-shirt
could have been painted on him showcasing hard-as-steel pecs. The
tattoo of a snake, a black mamba, wound its way around his right
tricep. In Chinese folklore the snake symbolised gracefulness,
wisdom, perceptiveness, gentleness and calmness. Well four out five
wasn't bad, no way in hell could the vampyre that stood before them
be called gentle.

On legs that
weren't quite steady, Marcus stood and in a gesture of respect he
bowed from the neck.

"My Lord,
please join us."

Another chair
appeared and the vampyre sat between Marcus and James.

Another glass
and a fresh bottle of wine was set on the table.

The waiter
poured wine into the glass.

And all the
while Marcus could feel the intensity of the Precedential Elder's
laser eyes on his face.

Shanghai was
Damasio Casta's city.

Eyes as cold as
ice stared into his.

"It appears you
need time alone, a time for reflection, Marcus. What the fuck do
you think you are doing? Are you trying to start a blood riot in my
City?"

"I apologise,
Damasio. Things got a little... a little..."

"Out of hand?"
the Precedential Elder finished for him.

"Something like
that," said a Marcus who simply wanted the floor to open up and
swallow him whole. God, his father was going to kill him for this.
Vampyre politics were complicated, as were rituals, manners, of
polite society. By almost losing it this evening, he'd brought
shame to his house, his family. Worse, he'd upset the woman who was
his bonded-mate-to-be, in public and in front of Damasio. Could the
night get any worse?

Damasio sipped
his wine and never took his eyes from Marcus's face.

Yep, the night
most definitely could get a whole lot worse.

"You are to be
congratulated on your choice of mate. She is incredibly beautiful,
Marcus," said Damasio in a silky voice. "But tell me, what were you
thinking to bring an uninitiated in here while you are in this
condition?"

Feeling like a
fool Marcus gave a jerky shrug. "I didn't know it would feel like
this."

Shaking his
head, Damasio took a deep sip of his wine.

"And you are
stupid enough to think the bloodstone will protect her?"

"No one dare
touch her," said Marcus, his voice no more than a low growl of
warning.

Dark eyes
stayed on his for two heart beats and then narrowed.

"I keep
forgetting how very young you are, prince. And how very, very
foolish."

Before he could
respond Marcus felt the hair on the back of his neck rise along
with an electrically charged sensation that trickled unpleasantly
across his skin.

Apparently, as
did Damasio who jolted upright, dark eyes filled with excitement,
before he spun in his chair. "Can you feel the pressure change in
the atmosphere?"

James stood,
vivid blue eyes raking the room for the threat. "It feels like a
thousand pin pricks rolling over my skin," he murmured in a low
voice.

Damasio's black
brows rose.

"Excellent
description. Have you experienced it before?"

James shook his
head.

"No."

Now Damasio's
eyes slitted as they stared out of the window into the night.

"Remember it
well, prince. It is the only warning we will receive."

Damasio rose,
his eyes went sharp and predatory as they scanned the room, the
cavernous ceiling.

The unpleasant
sensation slowly eased away and left Marcus curiously tired. It
wasn't a sensation he was used to. The Vampyre Elder stood
absolutely still with his head tipped to the side as if listening
for something.

Marcus wanted
answers.

"A warning of
what?" he demanded to know.

Damasio
shrugged.

"Something.
Nothing. With magic who knows"

Magic?

Marcus didn't
believe in magic. Magic was for bedtime stories, fairytales, to
scare the young.

Without saying
a word of farewell, Damasio was surrounded by his personal guard as
he walked away.

Frowning, James
watched Damasio's progress through the room.

"Cryptic
bastard, isn't he?" he said as he took his seat. Then he turned to
look at Marcus. "I'm hearing rumours of Legion activity in the City
tonight. And Anais is attracting too much of the wrong type of
attention. Take her back to the hotel."

But Marcus
wasn't listening.

His vampyre was
suddenly on a heightened state of alert and then he felt it. A low
rumbling that rose through his feet, into his legs and up his
torso.

The building
began to tremble and the noise bellowed in his ears.

"What the hell
is that?" James yelled.

The earth
shuddered beneath their feet as a roaring sound became
deafening.

Earthquake?

Vast crystal
chandeliers on the ceiling were shivering in a crazy dance as
glasses toppled on tables to smash on the floor.

Women started
to scream, and all Marcus could think about was Anais as he raced
to the last place he'd seen her.

The female who was
standing in her personal space with blood red eyes staring holes
right through her, was not human. She was
not
human. Her
logical mind might be telling her she was wrong, but Anais knew it
with every beat of the racing thump thump thump of her heart. The
creature was tall and rail thin, almost six feet in height. She
wore a black silk cheongsam, which looked as if it had been painted
on curves a supermodel would be proud of. The sleek hair was as
blue black as night and pulled back severely from her face in a
tight high tail. Her pale skin was so flawless she appeared
almost... alien.

Unblinkingly,
the creature stared at Anais and cocked her head in a way that was
utterly inhuman.

Those
unemotional eyes never left hers, not once. They studied Anais now
as if she was something smeared upon a Petri dish. And the scent of
her breath was... odd... not unpleasant. The aroma forcibly
reminded Anais of freshly butchered meat.

''So, the
chosen one of a prince." Her voice was low and Anais caught a
rhythmic idiom... European? The female's slim white hand lifted,
long fingers moved as if to touch the bloodstone which felt warm
against her chest. But those fingers hovered and stopped just
short. Anais couldn't tear her eyes from the too long fingernails
painted poppy red. Then those fingers went into a claw shape. "You
are weak, feeble," the woman said in a tone dripping with contempt.
"But not yet bound to him. Fascinating."

Bound to
him?

Bound to
whom?

Mouth bone dry,
Anais spoke, "I think you've made a mistake. I don't know any
prince."

The woman's
strange eyes went wide with something like surprise and then her
mouth curved and it was the most horrific thing Anais had ever
seen. Needle sharp fangs, dazzlingly white, glinted against the red
of her lips. Anais couldn't move. She was paralysed to the spot.
Terror clawed at her belly, at her throat. The need to flee took
over as Anais spun toward the door to find the creature now
standing before her. The cry of alarm that escaped her throat had
the creature's eyes glitter with sheer malice.

She stepped
into Anais and sniffed the air, like a lioness scented prey.