Moonlight and Diamonds & The Vampire's Fall (9 page)

“I didn't think I would see you again,” she whispered.

“You and me both, sweetie.”

“Désolé,”
she said softly and turned to him. “It means I am sorry.”

Stryke rubbed his scalp, winced, then splayed out his hand before him. “I know it's late, but I think you owe me some answers.”

She nodded. Shivered.

He couldn't stand there and look at her, fallen and so small. He crossed the floor and wrapped his arms about her, and she stood and pressed her breasts against his chest.

“You mean something to me, Blyss,” he confessed. “And if something bad is going on in your life right now I want to help. And that means you need to come clean about it all. You've got to trust me.”

Her fingers clung to his shirt, tugging, tears spilling hotly through the fabric. “Oh, Stryke, it's become so terrible and big. I can't do this alone anymore.”

He bowed his head and kissed her temple. “You don't have to. I'm here.”

“Were you able to track the demons and...?”

He knew she wanted to ask about the diamond. All he wanted to know was what it meant to her. “Dead end. We gave up. No sign of the diamond.”

Blyss's body went weak against his. She pulled him down with her as she collapsed. He lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. There, he sat on the bed and held her, sobbing gently, until they both fell asleep.

Chapter 8

S
tryke woke on Blyss's bed. They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms still dressed. His shoes were on. And everything he touched, lay on or could see was white. Oops. He carefully extricated his hand from under her shoulder but managed to wake her.

“Sorry,” he said.

She blinked lush lashes and yawned. “Morning?”

“Yeah, I fell asleep with you. Sorry, I should have kicked my shoes off. Just a little smudge on your bedsheets.”

“Doesn't matter. Oh. I must look a terrible mess. I'm still in my gown.” She sat up and caught her fingers in her tangled hair. “Oh,
mon Dieu
.”

“You look gorgeous, as always.”

“Please don't lie to me, Stryke. You don't owe me any kindnesses.”

He touched her cheek below a faint smudge of black makeup. “Your eye stuff is a little smeared, but it works for me.”

She touched her cheek and looked aside. “I'm so sorry. I promised I would tell you everything last night. I want to. I need to, but...” Her sigh rifled down his spine.

“Why don't I run out for some
pains au chocolat
and orange juice? That'll give you some time to freshen up, and then we can have a chat.”

“Thank you. Take the key lying on my vanity with you. You can let yourself back in. That'll give me a chance to take a shower.”

He kissed her at the temple, but she flinched. Probably because she suspected she looked a mess. There was nothing about Blyss that could offend him physically. But he was leery about what she would tell him, so he'd not overthink this.

Leaving her in the bedroom, he collected his suit coat and the key. Demon blood stained his white dress shirt, so he buttoned up the coat and strolled outside, through the courtyard and...

What was that scent? Smelled familiar—

Stryke felt an excruciating pain fire at the back of his neck. He immediately knew he'd been clubbed by something more than a fist—and then he blacked out.

* * *

Stryke came to and realized he was stumbling down a long steel-walled hallway toward a glass door. Not voluntarily, either. He struggled, but determined the men on either side of him were both taller, bulkier and stronger. The instinctive urge to shift to werewolf tingled at his bones, but he wasn't sure where he was and didn't want to risk wolfing out if there were humans near.

But if these guys were stronger than him he guessed they were not human. When he inhaled, the distinctive scent of sulfur coiled in his nostrils.

What was up with the demons lately? Since arriving in Paris, they had been pointed out to him by Vail and Rhys. They'd crashed the wedding last night. Blyss was somehow inextricably involved with demons.

And now he was being escorted by a pair of demons to the devil knew where.

A glass door opened automatically as they approached, and the demons shoved him through the doorway to stumble forward across a gleaming black marble floor. It was some kind of office. Two walls were all glass, probably many stories up. Rain sheeted the windows. At the opposite side of the room loomed a black desk with a silver lamp upon it and a sleek silver computer. Behind it sat a man with his back turned to them.

“What the hell?” Stryke asked.

The man behind the desk spun around swiftly and snarled. “You brought me
this
?”

Stryke tried not to take offense from the remark, but really? The man's coal hair was slicked back to expose small hematite horns at his temples. And on the knuckles he flexed were also small, gleaming growths that looked like hematite thorns and which Stryke sensed could serve a stinging punch.

“Uh, boss, you said to take him when he leaves the building.”

“I did not say
him
,” the demon said icily. Below the thorny growths on his fists were dark markings that looked like tattoos, but Stryke suspected they were much more evil in nature. Generally tats on a paranormal were magically enhanced. Bad mojo. “I told you to grab her when she leaves the building. Her!”

“Uh...”

Stryke cast a smirk over his shoulder at the idiot henchman who struggled for an answer to his idiocy.

“Who are you?” Stryke and the man behind the desk asked each other simultaneously.

“I...” The man stood, tugged at his neat black tie and said, “...am Edamite Thrash. Businessman. Collector. Purveyor of Essentials. And you...” The demon's left nostril nudged up. “...smell like a werewolf.”

“Stryke Saint-Pierre,” he offered, now unwilling to take offense from a demon's snide assessment of him. “Why the nab? Were you going after Blyss? Are you the one she was supposed to get the diamond for?”

Edamite's expression softened from tight disapproval to a surprising smile. “Ah. So you are colluding with her?”

“Colluding? I barely know her. Well—” No need to explain how well he knew her. And no matter how conflicted about the socialite he was at the moment, that was no reason to throw her under the bus to save his ass. “What's going on?”

“Where is
Le Diabolique
?”

“Is that the name of the black stone? I don't know. It was lost last night. A gang of your thugs came after it. Crashed a private wedding.”

“My thugs? I do not have thugs, Monsieur Saint-Pierre. They are minions. Tell me exactly who you believe was after the diamond.”

“If you don't know your own people, I certainly can't help you there.”

“Make him remember, Inego,” Edamite said curtly.

Stryke took a punch to the middle of his back, directly on his spine. The pain was beyond belief and he couldn't stand for the sudden loss of muscle control. He dropped to his knees as another thick demon fist swung up into his jaw. Blood trickled down his throat.

He caught the next punch with his palm. The demon sneered at him and narrowed its red gaze—and Stryke forgot about the other henchman, whose claws tore the side of his neck.

He dropped to his palms and spat blood onto the marble floor. These two did not fight fair.

“I don't know anything,” he managed to say, wincing at the stinging pain seeping from the cuts. His blood dripped onto the black floor. Assholes.

Swinging back his arm, he called up his claws and delivered triple slices across the face of one of the demons. The henchman stumbled backward, hand gripping the black spurts of blood.

“Cease!” Edamite called as the other demon growled and swung toward Stryke.

Stryke didn't take orders from a demon, so he gripped the henchman's wrist and snapped it back so quickly the bone broke and splintered out from the flesh. Shoving him off to lick his wounds by the other, Stryke turned toward Edamite.

“You next?” he challenged.

“Blyss,” Edamite insisted. “How are the two of you involved?”

Retracting his claws, Stryke growled deeply as he stood at full height and stretched back his shoulders imposingly. “I met her a few days ago. The diamond was a surprise.”

“So you're telling me Mademoiselle Sauveterre doesn't have the stone?”

Stryke shook his head. Though he knew little about this situation, the feeling that he needed to protect Blyss was strong. Had to be why she had been so frantic about obtaining the diamond. And he could only be thankful they had nabbed him by mistake.

“Are you threatening her?” He punched a fist into his palm. Thrash may look imposing but he wasn't half as built as he was, and Stryke was always willing to jump into the fray.

Laughing, Edamite gestured subtly with a forefinger.

Stryke was suddenly lifted by both minions and pummeled in the face, chest and gut. The punches came so rapidly, he couldn't return with defensive punches. It was all he could do to keep his wits about him.

“Hold him!” Edamite charged.

The horned demon leaned over Stryke and blew a gust of black smoke into his face. Sulfur entered his senses and clutched his brain, causing him to black out.

* * *

He came to outside. Sitting against a brick wall. In an alley, he guessed, for both directions to either side led down a narrow path and out to streets where cars passed by. The tarmac was wet and his pants leg and dress shirt were also wet.

Unsure what had gone down, Stryke suddenly had the thought that he'd left Blyss waiting for orange juice and pastries. How long had he been gone? Where had they taken him? He didn't know the city. And he'd blacked out twice, so he had no clue to his whereabouts.

And he hurt. Everywhere. “Damned demons.”

He pushed up to a stand and spat blood to the side. Rubbing his neck, he felt the scabs from the talon cuts. Yeah, this was going to take a good day to heal and feel up to par. But at least he'd gotten in some good punches himself.

Edamite Thrash. Businessman and collector? Purveyor of Essentials? What the heck did that nonsensical bullshit mean?

Didn't matter. “If he's threatening Blyss, he'll have to go through me to even breathe her air.”

Stryke winced as he wandered down the alley. Right. The demon
had
gone through him and look who was bleeding now.

He should have wolfed out while in the marble office. Could have taken out those demons, no problem. But he still didn't have all the pieces to a strange and aggravating puzzle.

Blyss could provide some of those pieces.

Turning onto a main street, he caught his reflection in a storefront window. His face was mottled with bruises and his lips swollen. No black eyes, though. Score! Not. And blood drops dotted the front of his white shirt, some red, but more than most black.

“I need a shower.”

He tried to button up the suit coat but only one button remained. Wandering down the street, he tucked his head. Thankful his cell phone was still in a pocket, Stryke brought up the GPS app and within a few minutes pinpointed his location. A couple miles walk to Blyss's place. He'd stop at a McDonald's on the way and eat breakfast, then pick up the pastries and orange juice for her. It was already past noon.

He always kept his word. Even if it was a little late.

Chapter 9

T
hree hours after he'd left, Stryke arrived at Blyss's front door. She'd had more than enough time to shower, put on some makeup, get up her courage to reveal the big secret—and then lose that courage when she'd decided after hour two that he wasn't planning to return. That he'd given up on her. That he never wanted to see her again.

Smart choices.

So when her handsome werewolf lover stood in the doorway holding a bakery bag, a carton of orange juice and smiled through a pair of bruised lips, tears spilled down Blyss's cheek. She hugged him, crushing the bag against his chest, and held on longer and tighter than she probably should have. But it didn't matter. He was here. He hadn't given up on her. And she needed someone on her side right now.

“I didn't think you'd come back.” She sniffed away tears.

“Took a long detour.”

“I can see that.” She stepped back and studied his bruised face and then noted the bloodstains on his shirt. There were more than from last night. “What kind of a detour?”

He handed her the bag and orange juice. “It's an interesting story. I think it'll mesh with what you have to tell me. Or I suspect so. What's with the tears? You didn't miss me that much, did you, glamour girl?”

She nodded and sniffed away yet another tear.

He gestured beyond her. “Let's go sit down and talk.”

Blyss hurried down the hallway and put the juice in the fridge, leaving the pastry bag on the counter. She wasn't hungry. And if Stryke was, he could help himself. Taking him by the hand, she led him into the living room, capped by the skylights, which beamed in gorgeous bright daylight. It was too bright for her, and she had probably smeared her makeup when crying, but she resisted the urge to go check it.

It was now or never. She'd never gain his trust if she didn't lay it all out in the open.

“Were you really crying because you thought I wouldn't return?” He brushed his finger under her eye to wipe away a tear.

She nodded. “Men don't usually come back to me. Not unless they want something.”

“I do want something. The truth. Because these bruises? Got them from some demon thugs.”

“I don't understand.” She gently touched his cheek where the bruise was already green and fading. Werewolves healed quickly. “Why are demons after you?”

“They're not after me.” He sat on the sofa and patted the seat beside him. “They wanted you. But when idiots are sent to do a job...”

Blyss sat on her knees beside him, tucking her skirt along her legs. Stryke reached for the simple diamond suspended from a platinum chain about her neck and tapped it. It was the only valuable piece of jewelry she still owned. Her father had given it to her after a winning streak so many years ago.

“It's all about the black diamond, isn't it?” he asked. “And Edamite Thrash.”

At the mention of that name, Blyss gasped. She bowed her head, catching her breath. It felt as if her heart had leaped into her throat and swallowing it back down was awkward. “Is that who gave you those bruises?”

“I was knocked out in your courtyard as I left earlier. I woke up in a fancy office building and was escorted into the demon's lair. Thrash's idiot henchmen had been charged to bring you to him. And the diamond.”

She nodded and drew in a breath of courage. “I was supposed to bring him
Le Diabolique
—that's what the diamond is called—and my debts, both past and future, would be wiped clean. And since our gallery was exhibiting it, it was easy enough to steal. But getting it out of the building without causing suspicion was something else. Lorcan—you met my assistant—he doesn't know, and I didn't want him involved.”

“You needed to hand it off to an unsuspecting party for a clean getaway.”

She nodded.

“So our little tryst in the gallery office was a ploy to sneak the diamond into my pocket?”

“It started that way.”

It was never going to sound good, no matter how she put it. But truly? Something about Stryke Saint-Pierre begged her to let him know her truths. All of them, even the dark, ugly ones.

“You were a dupe I picked out from the crowd. And yet, I keep returning to you for a reason.”

“Because you were looking to reclaim the diamond.”

“That's one reason.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. “Seems like the only reason to me.”

“I could have broken into your apartment and searched your closet. I didn't need to spend more time with you. I certainly didn't need to have sex with you again. And again. I—I wanted to.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Do not tell me you actually feel something for me. I won't buy it.”

“I do.”

“Please. Miss Precise and Always In Control? Your whole life is planned down to the last detail like your perfect hair and impeccable makeup. I'm one of those details.”

“I know it won't hold weight against my confession of using you, but, Stryke, there is something about you. I admire you. And I, well... Let's say when I take a lover it's for one purpose.”

“Which is?”

“Because I want something. Material items. Valuable jewels and gifts. I like to be spoiled. I've established a particular lifestyle that enjoys fine things. Sex is a means to getting what I want. But with you...” She dared to meet his brown eyes. “I don't want anything.”

He met her gaze with a challenging glare that cut through her heart as if with a silver blade. “Except a large black diamond that glints red and which all the demons in Paris are hungry to get their hands on. Blyss, this is wild. I want to believe you, but this is really...” He sighed. “...fucked.”

“I used you to get the diamond out of the gallery. I'm not proud of that, but it was a necessary evil. But believe me, every time we've been together, I was using you for my heart.”

He scoffed.

“I like you, Stryke,” she rushed out. “Every chance I've been with you was a selfish grasp at something good.”

He rubbed his palms over his face. “I like you, too. Despite getting a feeling, that first night, that something weird was up after finding a big black diamond in my pocket.”

That he had kept that knowledge a secret when he'd found her snooping in the closet made him as devious as her. Almost. All right, not at all. He was trying to figure things out and had every right to do so.

“I told myself it was probably something Vail left in his pocket,” he continued. “But when I found you in the closet looking for the suit, I knew it had been you. That's why I invited you to the wedding and put out the idea that Vail might be wearing the suit. And when I saw you with Vail...”

“I'm sorry. I was desperate. I need that stone.”

Stryke sighed and shook his head. “I don't know what it is, but there's something about you that keeps me coming back.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Then be honest with me, Blyss, and tell me what I really want to know. Avoiding talk about werewolves bothers me.”

“Stryke, I...can't. Not right now.”

“Uh-huh. You're asking a lot of me. But if I can shove that elephant in the room aside—which is going to be tough—right now, you need to tell me how you got involved with Edamite Thrash. And what, exactly, this diamond means to him and all the rest of the demons. When I told him demons crashed the wedding, and that I suspected it was over the diamond, he got real nervous. I don't think the demons who showed at the wedding were his thugs.”

“You think demons that
don't
work for Ed are the ones who crashed your aunt's wedding?”

Blyss turned on the couch and tapped her lip with her finger as she thought about it. She'd only ever seen one or two henchmen, as Stryke named them, when she had to go to Edamite's office for business. And none had ever come to her home.

They'd taken Stryke from the courtyard? Why hadn't Ed waited for her to bring the diamond to him as they had agreed?

“Ed told me it holds a demon within,” she murmured.

“The diamond?”

“Yes. Some evil, powerful demon. I assumed he was going to release it. But that didn't concern me. I just wanted to hand it over to him and...”

Stryke's phone rang but he ignored it. “So if there's some demon trapped inside the diamond, that might be reason for other demons to want it, as well. And maybe they wanted to get to it before Thrash could?”

“It's possible. It's a guess. I don't know much about demons and what they do. Ed is like this kingpin sort of demon. He's got a firm grasp on most of the demon activity in Paris. He also collects all sorts of paranormal ephemera. Dangerous stuff. He buys and sells it like a drug dealer.”

And she knew all too well how desperate a person could get for the drugs Edamite sold.

Again Stryke's phone rang, and he checked the screen, but then directed his attention back at her. “How did you get involved with Thrash?”

A fourth and fifth ring sounded. “Would you please get that?”

Reluctantly, he answered. “Hello? It's Rhys Hawkes,” he said to her.

She could hear the other side of the conversation because the volume was turned up high.

“Hi, Rhys. Wild wedding last night, eh?”

“Indeed.”

“I hope Johnny and Kam are okay?”

“They're fine. Everyone is fine. Just a few scratches and a lost deposit on the building. I understand the woman you invited to the wedding may have had something to do with the demon attack?”

Stryke met her gaze. “I don't know, man.” He ran a palm over his short-cropped hair. “Whatever was up last night, she's an innocent. I know it.”

Blyss clasped his hand and he squeezed, then winked at her.

“As I've said, there was no harm done,” Rhys's voice echoed out. “Normally, I would let it go. Keep a vigilant eye for demons in the future because you know, things happen. But not after what happened early this morning.”

“What's that?” Stryke stood, wandering to the window that looked out over the vast sea of Haussmann rooftops.

“Hawkes Associates was robbed,” Rhys offered. Blyss had to tilt her head to hear it all. “I found the safe in my office open. The safe I use to store items until they can be placed in a permanent position in the warehouse.”

“What was taken?”

“Only one thing. Which is odd, considering the valuable jewels and coins I store for my clients. The silver scepter was stolen.”

“Wait. Didn't I just accept a scepter from Tor for you?”

“The exact one. The one missing some stone or jewel in the top.”

Stryke turned to Blyss, raising an eyebrow. She shook her head, silently conveying her confusion. She was hearing only about half the conversation now.

“It's a demon scepter,” Rhys offered. “So it makes me wonder if that's what the demons were after last night at the wedding. But then I tell myself, no, they must believe I wouldn't walk around with a scepter in hand. So are the two incidents related? I don't know.”

“I'm talking to Blyss right now. Can I call you in a bit, Rhys?”

“Sure. I wanted to let you know what was stolen, see if you had any thoughts. It could be entirely random. I'll have to mark it as a loss.”

“Right.”

“Though, if you had the time, it might not be a bad idea to try to track the scent trail. I can pick it up, but since you handled the scepter most...”

“That's a good idea. I can come over right away. I'll see you soon, Rhys. Thanks for letting me know about this.”

“Sure thing.”

“A scepter?” Blyss asked after Stryke had hung up. “I don't understand.”

“It was a fancy silver thing. Like something a king holds when he sits on his throne. But it was missing the main piece. You know the top of the scepter is usually clasping a big jewel or probably—”

“Le Diabolique?”

Stryke nodded. “Did Edamite mention anything about a scepter?”

“No, but again, it wasn't important to me to ask questions.”

His discerning look said so much, but Blyss wasn't ready to tell him all. “Rhys wants me to come over and try to track it.”

“I'll come along.”

Stryke lifted a hand, as if to stop her. He gazed into her eyes for so long, she felt his touch, and it was more gentle than she'd expected. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. You know more than I do. I think it would be a good idea for you to come along. Two noses will serve better than one.”

* * *

Stryke picked up the trail from the massive safe where Rhys had temporarily stored the scepter. With Blyss at his side, they tracked outside, around the building and down a street for half a mile before he paused and had to focus on the scent of sulfur in order to determine if the trail turned left or right.

“What do you think?” he asked Blyss as he clasped her hand. Focus was required not to get lost in her gorgeous scent. “Left or right?”

“Don't ask me.”

He turned to look into her eyes, seeing the glamorous socialite and not the werewolf he expected. She was decked out in a classy black dress and perfect makeup. The shoes were killer, but she'd said she could run faster than he could when he'd questioned whether she could keep up.

“Don't you have the scent?” he asked. “I saw you lean over the storage box in the safe. It's a distinct odor.”

She shook her head and brushed a curl of hair from her long lashes. “I'm just following you.”

“But I thought you were helping? Blyss, didn't you pick up the scent in the office?”

She shook her head again.

Hadn't she tried to focus on the scent? Or was she so distracted by the crazy goings-on lately that she couldn't find that focus? So much about her baffled him. And there was yet much to learn. They hadn't finished their conversation. She still held secrets. And he guessed those unspoken words were about her werewolf.