A Vampire's Honor (27 page)

“Original Vampires are the only ones permitted to do so.”

That was a distinction Aleksei had failed to mention when I'd asked him to tell me how to kill a vampire. “So what are you going to do? Stop him?”

“If it's not too late.”

“And if it is?”

Gabriel paused, pulling on a leather jacket. I noticed he'd also put on his heavy-duty biker boots. “There's a reason that only Original Vampires can take the life of another vampire.”

“It's one of your rules, isn't it?” He nodded and went to the far end of the closet, stopping just before the entrance to the panic room. I watched as he punched in a code on the keypad that opened the vault containing my jewelry and his watches. What, the Rolex wasn't good enough for this? “And if Aleksei kills Petrov, he's breaking those rules, isn't he?”

I knew the answer without being told. And I also knew the penalty for such a thing was severe. Gabriel pulled out a long, flat box that I didn't remember ever seeing before. He opened the lid, and the soft recessed light in the ceiling caught whatever was inside, making it glow with an iridescent radiance.

“Oh my God,” I said, unable to hide my shock and awe as Gabriel pulled the single item from its bed of deep blue velvet. It was a sword straight from the pages of King Arthur and the knights of Camelot. “Where d-did you get that?”

Gabriel took in a deep cleansing breath before looking at me, the glow in his eyes matching the lustrous sheen on the blade. “Before I was a vampire, Rowan, I was an angel . . . an avenging angel. The sword was gifted to me. It can only be wielded by my hand.”

Of course it was his. It explained the massive blue jewel embedded in the pommel, and the way he handled it with such grace and ease. I closed my eyes and swallowed down the lump in my throat. “What do you need a sword for?”

His lips pressed against my forehead, and the arm around my shoulders held me tight. “You know why.”

Yeah, I knew, or at least I had a pretty good idea. “Does Anasztaizia only think it's too late, or does she know?”

It was a moment before he said, “She doesn't know for certain.”

“But you think he's already killed Petrov, don't you?”

“It would explain why Aleksei broke his bond with her.”

“And now, because he broke your rule, you're going to go kill him.”

“Better I than another,” he said, moving past me, the big sword dangling easily from his fingertips.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “Even if Aleksei has killed Petrov, surely you can understand why. That has to count for something!”

“It does. It guarantees him a merciful death at my hand.” He paused in the open doorway and turned to face me. The tip of the sword rested lightly on the toe of his boot. It didn't look real. “I have no choice in this matter, Rowan. It doesn't matter what Petrov did to Aleksei or his sister or his family. His life was already forfeit because of what he did to you. And Kartel knew that, just as he knew placing Petrov under his protection tied my hands.”

“He knew Aleksei would go after him.”

“Yes, he knew.”

Clarity came to me like the proverbial bolt from the blue. It was all a lie! Kartel had never planned to protect Petrov; he intended to use him as bait. A sacrificial lamb staked out in the knowledge that Aleksei's sense of honor would not allow him to pass up the opportunity to right so heinous a wrong. And because Gabriel would have no choice but to enforce a law he was bound to uphold, he would carry the weight of having to behead the only vampire he had ever created. The effect would be devastating.

A double whammy, a huge cut-your-knees-out-from-under-you whammy. I closed the distance between us and put my hand on his arm. “Gabriel . . . did you ever consider that my kidnapping and Aleksei's disappearance—well, did you ever think that maybe both events are actually about you?”

A puzzled frown pulled his brows together. “What do you mean?”

I walked past him into the huge master bedroom we shared. I like to pace whenever I have a problem I'm trying to solve, and I needed room. More room than the closet, even with its generous dimensions, would give me. Funny thing was, Gabriel liked to pace as well whenever something was bothering him.

“We've been assuming my abduction was an accident, but what if it wasn't?” I recalled how my car had been deliberately blocked in, leaving me no choice but to take Anasztaizia's. “What if that was the plan all along? What if I really was the target? You'd be devastated by my death, and then, if word got out that it was the same Petrov who had murdered Aleksei's family, you know what Aleksei's reaction would be. As your only made vampire, he'd feel duty bound to go after Petrov—”

“As he has.”

“—as he has,” I agreed with a vigorous nod of my head. “And now his life is forfeit because of that. But tell me, Gabriel, how much time would you need to recover if you lost both Aleksei and me so close together?”

Gabriel caught me in mid-stride. “I would never recover from such a loss,” he said, horrified by the very idea. He turned my hand over and kissed the inside of my wrist.

“And I'll bet not only does Kartel know that, he's counting on it,” I said softly.

“Except you didn't die.”

“No, I didn't.” I stroked his cheek with the fingers of my free hand. “Petrov couldn't have known, not for sure, that I
hadn't
died; he only knew I was missing. Who knows what Rat Boy told him, and I figure one look at Gus had him pissing in his pants.” I paused as Gabriel nodded his head. “But he still didn't know if I was dead or not,” I finished.

“And he could hardly come here to see for himself—”

“No, but Kartel could.” Gabriel let go of my hand so I could resume pacing. I think he just liked to watch me go back and forth. My movement appealed to the real hunter that lived inside his skin. “It would explain his need to know how you had survived, and why he took such a risk to taste your blood.”

I stopped and pivoted on the ball of one foot. “He did take a hell of a risk, didn't he? To assault me more or less in front of you—it was absolute lunacy! And then the way he pushed Aleksei's buttons?” I thought back to how the blue-haired vampire had got up from his seat and positioned himself, as if telling Aleksei to take his best shot. It had all been a reckless move, a totally calculated reckless move.

“But Kartel knows why you survived, and he knows about your demon.” I really could have done without the possessive reference. “So now he can only hope to get rid of Aleksei.”

“Yes, but even so, I'm no threat to him. I never was. And he could certainly take care of Aleksei by himself if he really needed to. He is an Original Vampire, after all.”

“Except if he were the one to kill Aleksei, I might turn vengeful.”

“You'd be out for his blood.”

“And that's the last thing he needs.” Now it was Gabriel's turn to wear a hole in the rug. “He needs me to be so distraught, I'm of absolutely no use to anyone.”

“How much do you want to bet that Aleksei got some anonymous text message on his phone, telling him exactly where to find Petrov?”

“Pushing him into a decision that would leave me no choice but to take his head.”

“But now you do have a choice, Gabriel. If all of this has been orchestrated by Kartel, if he's been behind the scenes, making others dance to his tune, then it's time you found out why. What's he planning that he needs to go to such lengths to get you out of the picture? Why are you such a threat to him?”

I could see Gabriel's eyes begin to darken. He was angry, but not with me. He was livid that Aleksei and I might have been used in order to manipulate him. And now Aleksei had been backed into a corner and was a hair's breadth away from losing his life. If he hadn't already. Taking me in his arms, Gabriel kissed me hard and fast, and then turned to go.

“Gabriel!” He turned back to look at me. “Are you still intending to cut off Aleksei's head?” I asked worriedly, pointing at the sword.

“Not anymore.”

“Then . . . who?”

“Kartel,” he said, looking grim.

“So you think he's wherever Aleksei is?”

“If Kartel believes I have no other choice but to take the life of my progeny, he won't pass up the opportunity to witness it with his own eyes.”

“But you don't know where either of them are,” I pointed out.

“I have a good idea where Aleksei would go to stake a vampire,” Gabriel said grimly.

Still reeling from Gabriel's words, I asked, “Are you saying Aleksei intends to stake Petrov out in the sun?”

He nodded. “Yes, and he'll make sure it's a slow burn.”

I shivered. “Where would he go to do such a thing?”

“Death Valley,” Gabriel told me before kissing me quickly as he left.

Of course. What other perfectly appropriate place was there to stake a vampire?

T
omas drove Anasztaizia home. She didn't want to stay just in case she was totally wrong and Aleksei came home. None of us believed that, but I think it made her feel better if we pretended it could happen. Even if it was just for a little while. I hugged her and offered to stay at her place so she wasn't alone, but she politely turned me down. I think my presence was a reminder of Gabriel and worst-case scenarios. I understood, but I made her promise to call me if she needed anything.

I picked up the remote and turned on the TV, more to fill the silence around me than anything else. But all I found were sitcoms written for an average IQ in the teens or the latest crop of reality shows. Was there anyone who actually believed these shows were “real”? I turned the TV off in disgust and grabbed my purse and keys. I needed to get out of the penthouse.

I had no idea how long it was going to take Gabriel to get to California or what would happen when he got there. I'd been making a lot of assumptions, and now I was gripped by doubt. What did I really know about vampires? I might be living with one, bound to him even, but my knowledge of Gabriel's everyday world was still pretty limited. God forbid—what if I was totally wrong about Kartel?

But why?

I sighed and had to confess that no, it would not. The fact that someone wanted to hurt two vampires—one I loved and one I liked enough to care about—was enough.

Not gonna happen!

Yeah, you're saying I should hope for the best, but it would be stupid not to consider the worst. So, worst-case scenario—do you think Kartel will come after me?

My inner bitch is a pain in my head more often than not, but on rare occasions, like when it involves really important shit, she comes through for me.

Tomas had yet to return from taking Anasztaizia home. It was self-evident that Gabriel had entrusted his sentinel with my safety; he was still here and not on his way to the Mojave Desert. I wrote him a note explaining where I'd gone and why. Something innocuous enough that he wouldn't feel the need to come after me. If Kartel did put in an appearance, it would only be because Gabriel was in no condition to stop him—a fact I was certain would not be lost on Tomas. I saw absolutely no reason for both of us to suffer at Vampire Smurf's hands. Without me to protect, Tomas would have a better chance of getting away.

I packed an overnight bag, taking longer than usual because I had to stop and make sure I wasn't hearing Tomas's footsteps every few seconds. The bag served no purpose except as a ruse. After reading my note, Tomas would check the closet and bathroom. I would take my toothbrush and hairbrush as well as a change of underwear, if nothing else.

Stopping at one of Greenley Heights's two premier five-star hotels, I made a point of engaging the desk clerk in conversation, telling her I was not to be disturbed and to please hold all calls, so she would be certain to remember me. After that, it was a piece of cake to just place the contents of my overnight bag in the hotel suite I'd booked myself into. Of course, if Tomas was bound and determined to see me, then he'd just use one of his mystical runes to open the room door and come in. But I didn't think he would. I was actually safer in a hotel surrounded by a few hundred guests and who knew how many staff than I was in the penthouse with just him. Not that he couldn't protect me. Of course, he could, but vampires have an innate dislike of crowded places. It was one thing for Kartel to take me by force from the seclusion of the penthouse, but a very different matter to drag me kicking and screaming through the lobby of the Royal Arms Hotel. And you better believe there was going to be a lot of kicking and screaming.

Satisfied with my subterfuge, I used the back stairs to the hotel garage and drove across town to the apartment Gabriel had bought me, taking a circuitous route just to be on the safe side. I'm not a very good liar. Actually, I'm total shit when it comes to coloring the truth. My mouth might say all the right words, but my face turns bright red. The equivalent of having the
L
word tattooed across my forehead. But by the time I pulled into the garage and waited for the door to close behind me, I was feeling pretty good about my chances of pulling this off.

It took me nearly five minutes to unlock my door. Didn't help that I wasted four and a half of them trying to force the wrong key. Once inside, I locked the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a sigh of relief. I had protected Tomas as much as I was able to. Of course he wouldn't be happy with me when he found out I wasn't at the hotel, but I figured by then this would all be over one way or the other. I'd either be asking his forgiveness or it wouldn't matter.

I dropped my purse on the chair and headed for the kitchen and the bottle of bourbon I'd bought as an apartment warming present to me, from me. As I got the bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass, my hands started to shake. So much so, I thought I might drop the glass or the bottle. One I could deal with, but the other would be just a shameful waste of good liquor.

I stretched my arms out along the length of the tile countertop and clenched my fists, allowing the physical reaction to my stratagem to work its way through me. Bowing my head, I sucked in a deep breath, counted to ten, and then exhaled slowly. I felt better. I held out my hands, pleased to see the tremors had subsided and I was able to open the bottle of JD with no problem. I'd just poured the generous amount I'd promised myself when a voice behind me had me clenching everything in the hope I didn't pee myself.

“I'll take one of those,” my demon said.

The glass in my hand didn't fall to the floor, even though the shock of hearing those rich, dulcet tones made my fingers release their hold. Instead it paused in mid-air, with the contents splashing upward over the rim suspended just as bizarrely. Like the face of a small child seeing a magician pull a rabbit from his hat for the very first time, my mouth dropped open, and my eyes widened at the unbelievable reality I was seeing.

I was vaguely aware that he had moved and was now standing close to me. I was also aware that the only place he could have come from was the narrow sliver of space that existed between the fridge and the wall.

Had he really squeezed out from that impossible slice of darkness?

Now I knew I was in trouble, because my inner bitch sounded impressed, and it takes a lot to impress her.

From the corner of my eye I saw his hand reach out and cup the floating glass in his palm, well-manicured fingers cradling the tumbler. The signet ring on his pinkie had a single stone, a ruby, and it glowed like a red-hot coal in the overhead light.

“Rowan . . . look at me.”

His voice was oddly compelling, and my need to obey was strong, but I couldn't take my eyes from the glass. I knew the moment I looked away, or blinked, I would miss seeing the magic behind the trick. And I really wanted to know how it worked.

“Rowan . . .” The sound of my name came from next to my ear, although he was still holding the glass, and I never saw him move. “Look at me, Rowan.”

I blinked and missed the secret to the trick. Shit.

The bourbon fell into the glass with a gentle sloshing sound, but not a single drop was spilled. I turned my head and looked at him, seeing the same figure that had invited me to take tea in a fantasy garden that existed only in the Dark Realm.

Only he'd taken more than tea. He'd taken a piece of my soul as well.

“Another Armani?” I asked, referring to the expensive cut of his dark suit. After Gabriel found out that my demon favored this particular designer, he'd asked Tomas to remove everything in his closet that bore the same name. I really hoped the demon wouldn't make Gabriel give up anyone else, especially not Tom Ford, because I liked the way Gabriel looked in his designs.

“Yes,” the demon whispered in my ear, lengthening the last letter so he sounded like a snake. “I remember how much you admired my wardrobe the last time we met.”

I forced myself to make a slow sweep from head to toe, taking in the stylish cut of his glossy black hair to the Ferragamos on his feet, making sure I paused and frowned every now and then. The same snowy-white shirt was a backdrop for the same blood-red tie, adorned with the same tie clasp and cufflinks, both accented with rubies. “Funny, in this light you look more like a used car salesman,” I said, being deliberately rude.

“Only if I were selling you a Veyron or a Maybach.” The apparent lack of brand recognition on my face made him laugh. “Still, if the Armani bores you, perhaps something different.”

The sudden odor of sulfur made my nose sting and my eyes water. I coughed and reached for the kitchen roll, tearing off a square and using it to wipe my eyes. So much for waterproof mascara. Once everything was no longer blurry, I stared at him and gasped. He looked exactly like every medieval illustration of the devil I'd ever seen, complete with horns and cloven hooves.

It was fascinating . . . and disgustingly revolting at the same time. From the waist up he looked like a man. A powerfully built man, with the well-defined muscles of his upper torso a testament to his fearsome strength. From the waist down he had the muscular hindquarters of an animal that bore a definite similarity to a goat. He was covered with a pelt of black hair from his hips down to—
are we really seeing this?—
the cloven hooves that supported him.

His sex was enormous, almost comically so, and completely unavoidable. It hung from the dark fur so the head of his cock twitched against what would have, should have, been his knees. I defy anyone, male or female, not to have stared at it. I swear it looked as if it had a mind of its own, and I'm not completely certain it didn't, but all I could do was thank God it was flaccid. I didn't even want to imagine how it would look erect.

I forced myself to look up at him. To stare at his face. His upper body might look human, but there was nothing human that I could see in the bone structure of his skull. The elongated jaw and sloping forehead told me there was more animal than modern
Homo sapiens
in their formation. His skin was charred, although I saw no blisters or obvious burns; still it did seem to be stretched tightly over his bone structure. As if he was wearing a mask that was just a touch too small, but had been forced to fit.

His eyes, beneath heavy dark brows, were black-rimmed and glittered red and gold, reminding me of the flames in a fire. His ears were strange, pointed at the tip with lobes so long they brushed the tops of his shoulders. And then there were the horns: solid-black protrusions that erupted from his forehead, twisting up over his head in distorted corkscrews.

He smiled at me, a flash of brilliant white made even more dazzling because of the blackened lips that surrounded them. Only he seemed to have far too many teeth crowding his mouth. Razor sharp and glistening with saliva, they looked like daggers.

“Is this image more to your preference, Rowan?”

His voice was gravelly and harsh, but before I had a chance to respond, he held out his arms and twirled for me. A demon parody of a nervous first date seeking approval.

And he did. Emerging from the thick glossy pelt, it moved, twisting around his waist as he pirouetted, his cloven hooves making a surreal clopping sound on the tiled kitchen floor. I shuddered and knew I had to get rid of this
thing
before I vomited.

“The concept of subtlety really is beyond your grasp, isn't it?” I added enough sarcasm to make the twirling come to an end. “What are you supposed to be? Some sort of bad Halloween costume?” He leaned toward me, bringing his face close to mine. His eyes didn't just look like fires; I could see actual flames moving in their depths. “And what's worse,” I continued, “you stink!”

The last thing I expected to do was make him laugh. Throwing back his head, he let out a great, belly-roaring sound that reverberated around the entire apartment.

“Not to your taste, eh?” he said as his mirth died down. “Perhaps this, then. They do say the third time's the charm.”

He vanished in a puff of smoke—literally!—and materialized in the middle of the living room, and once I turned the corner it was easy to see why. His wings were enormous, requiring more room than the cramped quarters of the kitchen to open fully. The breath caught in my throat.

They were stunningly beautiful.
He
was stunningly beautiful.

Black and glossy, each feather was tipped with red and shone with an iridescent luminosity. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and stood with his legs slightly apart, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet as he watched me, assessing my reaction.

I hated myself for the way I was responding to him. His physical appearance was all male—except for the wings, of course—but even those I could relate to. How could I not? Formed from the same ball of light that had made Gabriel, he and my vampire lover were, for all intents and purposes, brothers. Looking at him, I could so easily see Gabriel standing in his place, dazzling as the angel he had once been, only with wings that were neon blue instead of glorious black.