Cajun Gothic (Blood Haven) (22 page)

The two vamps were powerful, probably older than her, and looked
like they’d had military training at some point. Body carriage and impressive
personal arsenals gave that away.

Who are these guys anyway? They aren’t local talent. What the hell
has Samuels gotten us into?

If there’d been only one she might have considered immobilizing
him with a little interrogation thrown in now that her curiosity was aroused.
But the numbers didn’t add up in her favor, nor was time on her side.

She glanced toward what remained of the bridge, hoping against
hope that Smithy had made it and was lurking somewhere ready to jump in. Her
gut told her otherwise and that made her madder than hell.

She unsnapped the vest, spreading it so it hung open, the pockets
and throwing stars readily accessible. The Sig sat low on her hip. Removing it
from the holster, she chambered a round carefully, cringing at the distinctive
click.

The men paused their chatter and looked toward the remains of the
bridge, reaching for their weapons.

Striding out of the darkness she grinned, fangs fully extended,
and said, “Hello boys, were you waiting for me?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Debriefing

Pouting in the corner, Catrina shifted from one foot to another in
a jerky rhythm that sent her dreadlocked tubes whipping about her shoulders.

Clack, clack, clack.

Rinj gave Samuels a look, then turned to the girl and said, “Come
with me, my dear. I believe we have some unfinished business.” She muttered
something in a guttural tongue that left no doubt about what she thought of
that idea. Rinj laughed, genuinely amused. “I’m not sure that’s possible but
I’m willing to fi—” His voice cut off as the wall unit eased shut.

Samuels looked about the living room, not bothering to mask his
relief. His gaze settled on Reese momentarily, then moved on to Magda. The rest
of the human team had been debriefed and sent to patrol the area until backup
arrived. His own men sheltered in a safe house nearby, recuperating. Smithy was
the worst off but the others suffered infrared burns also.

He’d kept his promise but it had been a near thing.

Magda said, “I don’t think coming back to Damien’s place was wise.
We aren’t nearly secure enough…”

The Council head interrupted, “It’s secure. Trust me.” He settled
in a leather recliner, his face etched with weariness. “Let’s wrap this up. We
need rest and then we need to get the hell out of Dodge.”

“You still want to drag Damien to Gotham, after all this?” Magda
slurred the words, her body close to surrender to the daylight.

Reese stared in defiance at Samuels and agreed with Magda. “She’s
right. The elder escaped your noose. If you take Damien, you’ll open us up to
every fringe group from Houston to Shreveport.”

“Jensen will stay and assume temporary control. The situation will
be handled.”

Magda sneered at that suggestion.

He’s a fucking accountant. You can’t be serious.

He’s also a fucking ex-la basse police. Do not underestimate the
man, my dear. And whatever you do, never turn your back on him…

Samuels stretched his long frame and glanced at Reese. She nodded
and rose from the couch, taking her leave.

“I’ll be with you shortly, Captain. I just need a word with
Magda.”

When Reese shut the door quietly, Samuels gave his undivided
attention to the lean woman sitting in rigid defiance across from him. She
looked oddly androgynous, all angles and planes, pale skin framing wide,
luminous, angry eyes. Lethal in ways his men would never understand, let alone
match, she exuded sensuality and danger—an almost irresistible allure. How
Damien had managed to secure the loyalty of this warrior and a sideshow freak
would require contemplation, an exercise for later, for when he was more alert,
more focused.

I’m asking how… but perhaps I should be asking why.

Silence hung heavy in the narrow space between them. Finally Magda
broke the stand-off. “He won’t hurt her, will he?”

“The girl?” Odd that she was more concerned about
her
than
her Sire.

Peeved, Magda spit out, “Of course the girl. And her name’s
Catrina.”

Samuels grinned. “Yes, I know. As well as I know my own name. And
it’s not ‘fuckwad’, not unless you have plans…?” He liked watching the tiny
uptick to her upper lip as she fought back chagrin at being caught out. Like
all warriors she was stone cold in battle, her face a granite mask. But here,
with him, her emotions, and her thoughts, betrayed her at every turn.

Exactly where do your loyalties lie, I wonder?

With effort, he pushed his aching body out of the recliner and
towered over the warrior woman. “We’ll talk more tonight, Mags. Catrina will be
safe with Rinj, for now.”

“If he…”

“He won’t. You have my word.” Striding to the door, he gave her
one last instruction, “See to him, Mags. I need Damien back home, in
my
city. Last night was just the start, a mere coming attraction.”

Magda watched the power that was all that held their race safe
from annihilation slip through the gap in the paneled wall.

She whispered, “Yes, I’ll take care of him. I always do, don’t I?”

****

Rinj stalked the narrow hall dividing the main eating area from
their sheltered nook. Despite no longer requiring the long hours to recharge,
the man liked his beauty sleep, especially when his companion provided creative
entertainment.

Samuels held the door open and bid his second to enter. The sounds
of diners enjoying an expensive repast, cutlery clinking, a squeal as a cart
wheel jostled over the rough pine boards, the murmur of conversation, muted
laughter…

He liked this space, one of the few he’d regret losing should it
ever come to that. Over the centuries he’d learned not to get attached… to
things, to people, even to philosophies. But here, amidst the sensory delight
of aromas he could no longer appreciate except as a distant memory, he felt
strangely engaged to a world that threatened to render him and his kind
irrelevant.

They were few—his kind—their genetic material lost. Of all the
obscene punishments, losing his ability to create, truly create from his own
unfiltered DNA a replica of his gifts, his thoughts, his ambitions… that was
the ultimate denial of the self.

Yet here he was, living proof it could, and did, happen. He and
Damien, two brothers, not of the same blood but birthed, not hatched like
specimens in a petri dish. Unique in every way. Condemned by the same fate.

Samuels shook off his destructive thoughts and motioned Rinj to
sit at the round table taking up much of the room.

“Would you like something to drink, my friend?”

Rinj settled gingerly onto the thick cushion, his brow furrowed in
pain.

Samuels smirked and observed, “You are wearing your gi this
evening. I take it you had a pleasant…” he turned his face away, not wishing
for his second to see his enjoyment at the man’s predicament, “…um, interlude?”

Rinj growled, “Bourbon, neat and make it a double.” He grimaced,
then said, “Fuck that. Just bring me the bottle. And oxy, all you can dig up.”

Samuels issued a silent order and continued his train of thought,
“Well, she didn’t kill you like she did that hapless human. What was his name,
again?” He knew the man’s name because Reese had reamed him a new one at the
loss of Lance Corporal Walkens, but he liked deviling Rinj. He hadn’t liked the
price Reese enacted as payment for the loss of one of her best men and
occasional lover.

Rinj wriggled in the seat, clearly uncomfortable.

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Rinj glared and gave him the bird. “Sorry,
I forgot about your… appetites.”

The man looked contrite, almost embarrassed. “I couldn’t even if
I’d wanted to.”

One of the human wait staff knocked politely and when Samuels bid
him enter, the male sidled through the door bearing a tray service. He set it
down on the table and filled two heavy crystal tumblers with a caramel-colored
liquid. From his breast pocket he withdrew a plastic vial and set it at Rinj’s
elbow.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, Marco. I think we’re all set.”

They watched the older man leave their sanctuary and turned their
attention to sipping the fragrant whiskey. Rinj popped the cap on the vial and
dumped the pills on the linen tablecloth. He fingered each in turn, his eyes
greedy.

“Not too many of those, my friend. I need you alert, not floating
in la-la-land.”

“Damn it, Samuels. You have no idea…”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I-I can’t, not exactly. I saw what she did to the human. I
thought she’d just drained him, though how she managed without opening an
artery I’ll never know.” He sighed. “When I got there, the man was already too
far gone. I tried to stop her. But…”

“But what?”

“He didn’t want me to. He begged me not to touch her. He knew he
was dying. He didn’t care.” Rinj chugged his drink and poured another. “Good Kami,
he was in a place I’ve only dreamed about.”

“And so you had to test it for yourself.” Samuels’ tone indicated
he thought that was beyond foolhardy, even for one as strong as his second.
“You know, Rinj, she’s just been turned. She has no control whatsoever. She
needs guidance, she needs to learn to curb her inhibitions.”

“That’s where you’re, we’re, all wrong. She was in perfect
control, she knew exactly what she was doing. She could have stopped. She chose
not to.”

“And you know this how…?”

“Because she didn’t drain me. She took me there…” His body
vibrated, eyes nearly rolling back in his head, the memory so powerful he
groaned in an agony of desire. “Not even you could resist. Not even you.”

Samuels hoped that wasn’t true but his second wasn’t prone to
exaggeration, except in the pursuit of earthly pleasures… and pain. He asked,
“Do you know why?”

“She’s Roma.”

“We know that.”

“But she’s more.” Rinj slipped two pills onto his tongue and
washed them down with the bourbon. He stood and came around the table to face
his master. Untying the fabric belt he spread the jacket, revealing lean
muscling with a soft patch of black hair trailing down past the elastic and
rope belt on the cotton duck pants. “You need to see this.”

Rinj untied the rope and slid the pants past an erection that had
obscenely tented the soft material.

“Jesus Christ, what in hell did she do to you?”

“Other than the best blow job I ever had? If I had to guess, I’d
go with venom or some other magick.”

Samuels shifted back, uncomfortable at what his most trusted
advisor was revealing to his eyes. He was repelled and curious and aroused, a
fact he’d do anything to hide except that Rijn read every thought, felt every
emotion.

“We’re blood bonded. Why can’t I feel that too?” Samuels pointed
to the weeping wounds, puncture marks festering and secreting dark fluid, more
than, less than blood, so engorged it was nearly blackish purple.

“Oh trust me, you do not want to feel this. Maybe then, but not
now.”

“Why aren’t you healing?”

“Now there’s the real question, isn’t it? It’s been almost… crap,
nearly six hours and I’m still swollen and leaking like a sieve and wanting to
fuck the knotholes in that goddamn paneling.”

With exaggerated care, the man drew the cloth over the sensitive
flesh, moaning softly as he adjusted the material and tied the rope in a loose
knot.

Samuels pulled his cell phone out and flipped it open.

“Wait, who are you calling?” Rinj’s voice held back barely
contained panic.

“Dr. Farnum. And then Damien.”

“I don’t need…”

“What you’ve got is priapism and if you don’t see to that…” At the
question on Rijn’s face, he said, “We need Damien to feed you. I can’t because
of our bond. And don’t argue.”

Rijn looked about the room, eyes wild with fear. “What do they do
for this, this … condition.”

Samuels shrugged. “Aspirate it I guess.”

Rinj stopped in his tracks, his demeanor morphing from abject
terror to interest in a flash.

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yes, Farnum will draw out the excess blood. You’ll be fine.”

“With a needle… a really big needle?” Samuels shrugged. “Will it
hurt?”

Samuels stared at his friend, then smiled. “Yes, it will hurt like
a son-of-a-bitch. Now go downstairs and wait. I’ll send Damien and the doctor
down when they get here.”

Rijn gathered up the bottle and tumbler but Samuels snatched the
pills away.