Phoenix Fallen (21 page)

Daimen Cross stood in a small, windowless room. A concrete box deep underground. A fact that bothered him far less than the irritation of having his fun thwarted. That nigger vamp had got away, along with Rissa. He snarled and kicked the wall, not caring when pain flared up his leg. It only served to remind him of his own stupidity.

Rousseau.

It seemed he had been a little remiss in his recognizance, like a parlor soldier with no damn horse sense.

Throwing himself into a seat at the wooden table that filled the room, Daimen ignored the three others that sat there, watching him silently. It had never occurred to him the black man was somebody of significance. Daimen had never been one to follow human news, he hadn't even known what Phoenix Inc. was until two hours ago. He'd used Rissa's cell to call in a favor before stomping it to bits, knowing Rousseau wouldn't be one to just let him go. Getting out of sight had been of utmost importance.

He knew of the French vampire, of course. It was impossible to be a vampire and not hear of the Marquis. Whispers of him were practically passed down in the blood. And now Daimen knew why that dark-haired wench had looked so familiar outside the restaurant with Rissa. He'd had their picture pointed out to him in a newspaper just a week ago, but having Rousseau show up and force the curtain on his little act had been one helluva a kick in the teeth.

His fingers tapped the table consideringly.

The men at the table came to attention at once. They sat on opposite sides, a matched set. Both brunette, thin and peaky-looking. The woman facing him at the foot of the long tabletop was their polar opposite. Preshea Abbey. She appeared very young, only nineteen or twenty, but Preshea actually had nearly a decade on Daimen in vamp years. Born in the early Victorian era of England, she'd immigrated as a child to America. The story was she'd been turned by a vamp poising as a suitor.

That had to have been a shock for the little Victorian miss, Daimen thought, not for the first time, with a smirk on his lips.

Short, pleasingly round in all the right places and nearly as blond as Daimen himself, Preshea was as relaxed as the other two were tense. She eyed him from her chair as if he were a choice morsel that she was thinking about devouring. Piece by piece.

Preshea had been trying to rally him to her cause for over a year now. Daimen preferred to do things on his own hook, but Preshea and her resources could be damn useful at the moment.

Jonas and Lyle were nothing more than her lackeys, no matter how she liked to present them as equals. He suspected she had even turned the two brothers, though he didn't know for certain.

These three 'headed' the enterprise that was looking for him to be their poster boy. An underground movement, literally and figuratively, Daimen thought sourly, that purported anarchy.

They wanted freedom from the restrictive shade laws now enforced worldwide. The Retribution laws, a name not very PC, but quite apt. Humans had gotten downright nasty after the rampant bloodshed of the years following the Reveal. Bloodshed Daimen had participated in whole-heartedly.

But after the Conflicts, things simmered down. Shades may not have been licked, but they had definitely been cowed. It was no longer possible to have their fun in the grand style many had grown accustomed to.

Preshea and her gang wanted to turn as many humans as possible, systematically disrupt the balance of power the humans held by sheer numbers and make the world their own. A Utopian playground for shades where humans would be merely cattle, bred to feed and amuse the higher races. It was a tantalizing dream, but ridiculously unattainable. Daimen's lip curled.

He'd never been a joiner. Even in the War Between the States, Daimen had avoided enlisting for almost two years and then he'd deserted almost at once. Of a fashion.

Daimen had ridden with Quantrill for a time, though he'd lit out before the Lawrence massacre. Pity that. He'd have liked to been in on that blood bath, but regrets were not his style. Bow out of one act and right on to the next.

He still enjoyed a good bloodbath, though.

Daimen continued to stare at the blonde. He could use her, but how far? Preshea was no simpering girl, no matter what her appearance. Already in a few short hours they had told him so much. So much
juicy
information. He agreed with their cause, though he wasn't much interested in promoting it. Still, if two mutual ends could be served… he did appreciate elegant staging.

"This ball… the nigger will be there then?"

"Yes." Preshea blew a curl of golden hair impatiently away from one cheek. "Along with Rousseau and no doubt a few of Phoenix's prized
paras.
" She sneered the word, as if it coated her tongue with bile.

Daimen ignored that, he'd never thought of himself as a para anyway. He'd been born long before the word was invented. As a human, he'd never known why he had the ability to draw crowds so easily, or to entrance people with his voice. He'd thought of himself as charismatic, and had carried a fair amount of arrogance in that knowledge. But he hadn't gained full control of his powers until he'd been turned. Daimen considered himself
vampire
, first and foremost,
shade
second and
para
, not at all. He cared little for what others thought.

"Yes. No doubt." He thought of the man in the woods who had run him to ground and his fingers stopped tapping the table. The elemental would no doubt be invited, yes? And his pretty nigger wife, too. Hmm. He wondered if the woman with the haunting blue eyes who had shot him would be there as well and a smile split his lips.

So much the better if he could make a clean sweep of it… Daimen cleared his throat.

"Still, it is the perfect time to strike. So nicely high profile, yes? If we could draw Gentry away from the party... I've an idea that would crush their little celebration and get your cause the attention you all are so hungry for." The other two made interested murmurs, but a snort from the blond had them going silent again.

She had straightened at last. Her gaze held a modicum of disdain. "Are you forgetting Rousseau?"

"No,
cher
. I have an idea for him as well." He winked at her.

"Who would be stupid enough to go after Rousseau?" The blond sneered derisively.

"Oh, not stupid,
cher,
try
devoted
." Daimen's smile held the pure satisfaction of a cat licking cream off its whiskers. "I have the perfect pet for this, one that will be happy to be let off her leash at last." He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. He grinned up at the dusty ceiling. "And if the fates are very kind, perhaps she will serve another purpose as well."

"You would be sending this pet to their death, you know that?"

Daimen's head lowered and his grin grew. "But of course. That is part of the appeal. She's become very tiresome over the years. I find it gratifying that her last act should be to serve in so many different ways."

"That's rather cold." But her eyes no longer held disdain but the glow of admiration.

Daimen's own eyes found the ceiling again. It was satisfying to get his way, but more satisfying to know that he would finally get his time alone with that grown-up nigger brat. In fact, if he orchestrated this right…

His eyes widened as a perfectly delicious idea started to form, one they'd
never
see coming.

Daimen couldn't help it, he laughed out loud.
Laissez les bons temps rouler,
indeed. This was going to be his best show ever. And he had a full week to make sure it went off perfectly.

Rissa looked at the mirror. Straightening the heavy, beaded bodice of ivory dress that clung tightly down to her waist, then flared out in a dozens of layers of cream and coffee tulle to float down to her ankles.  She pulled one coil of bright red hair, watching it bounce back to join the handful of others she left artfully free from her up-do.

She didn't really want to go to the Summer's End Gala, but it had been impossible to deter Kelsey. The woman was a force of freaking nature. And a good friend, Rissa had to admit.

They had known each other less than a week, but Kelsey had rapidly gained a foothold in her heart. One that Fannie had a head start on. Both women had been there for her the last week. Helping her deal with the fear of knowing that Daimen was not only out there somewhere, but that he'd never intended to relinquish his hold on her. He'd just been setting a stage as always. Waiting for the opportune moment.

Her lips tightened and in the mirror, her icy-blues x-rayed her own soul. Because even that horrific fact didn't hold a candle to the worst of the pain inside her.

Jules.

His absence from her life was a gaping wound that hurt every moment. Like the breaths that she didn't need to take, but did anyway, because the body insists on doing what it was created to do, even when there is no point. She ached for Jules, unable to help herself, even though she knew it was over.

Fannie and Kelsey didn't talk about him when they visited. They knew it only hurt her. Rissa did gather he wasn't doing well. Spending every hour with Miles, trying to run down Daimen's whereabouts. She hoped they would find him soon. Not for her sake, but because it would hopefully give Jules some peace.

Maybe killing Daimen would silence the screams in his head. Screams she knew had to have returned when he left her.

Blinking fast, Rissa turned away from the mirror.

It was time to do this, damnit.
She slipped on her fanciful satin slippers and grabbed the beaded drawstring bag that matched her dress. Head high, Rissa left the room as if preparing to walk on stage.

Curtain up.

Kelsey watched Miles fasten his cufflinks, the small masculine chore mesmerizing her. She loved watching Miles, the elegant, yet caged way he moved. All that power tightly leashed. Pure predator in Hugo Boss. Her tummy tightened and fluttered.

He raised an eyebrow at her from across the room.

"You just got into that dress,
mon coeur.
Are you sure you want to be stripped out of it again so soon?"

She laughed, but turning away from him was an effort. They already christened the suite at Phoenix in
every
possible way; down to the walls, the floor, the shower and the Jacuzzi. Lately Kelsey had been craving Miles even more than usual. And her usual was pretty intense.

Smoothing the deep wine-colored silk of her simple sheath dress, her fingers trembled with that need and she resisted the urge to laugh again. Because it really wasn't funny at all. Kelsey was pretty sure she knew exactly where her spat of increased wantonness was steaming from.

Fear.

Misplaced fear, of course. It was simply that she and Miles had wasted far too much time apart. Over a decade with broken hearts. Despite his insanely long life, Kelsey knew those ten years had been just as drawn-out and agonizing for him as they had been for her. Having him back in her life, and knowing just how endless and beautiful that life could be…

It was an overwhelming joy that constantly buzzed in the back of her mind these last couple months. Like the sun on your face after years in the dark…

Not the best metaphor for a vampire, maybe. Kelsey smiled wryly, then her smile faded.

But seeing Jules struggle, and his and Rissa's pain…

It didn't just make her sad and angry for
them
, it made her selfishly terrified. People could lose their way so easily, or lose each other. In all sorts of horrible ways. Kelsey thought again of the splattered remains of the vampire in that awful trailer and she shuddered.

In an instant, Miles was behind her. "What is it that has you so unsettled lately, Kels Bells? I am not complaining about the sex part, mind you," he tucked his chin against her shoulder, his breath feathering her ear.  "But there is something
else
here, something darker. Tell me." He nipped her ear sharply when she didn't reply and Kelsey yelped, turning in his arms.

"Okay, damnit. It's just hard to believe this is all real sometimes. That you're here again. That you're
mine
. I thought I'd lost you forever, Miles. I'm scared I could lose you again. So damn scared."

His eyes softened and he pulled her close, so that her next words came out muffled against his throat. "Isn't it that way for you at all?"

"Non."
His voice had gone hard. Miles pushed her back abruptly, holding her by her bared shoulders. "It is
not.
You and
moi,
it was always meant to be,
mon amour
. We just lost our way for a time,
oui?
But now that we have found each other again, there is nothing on this earth that will part us again. Not ever, Kels Bells. I promise you that." There was no room for argument in his tone.

Kelsey knew how Miles felt about lying, but she also knew how very much he loved her. Her fingers tightened in his shirt. She wouldn't tell him that was a promise that even
he
couldn't keep, but her undead heart thrummed with traitorous fear as they left the suite.

Scott ran a hand through his curls nervously.

"Quit it, mister. You're gonna mess up your 'do." Fannie scolded.

He gave her a sideways look. "I am a man, Fan. I don't have a goddamn 'do'." Scott had felt off from the moment he woke up this morning. Like a dog that senses an earthquake coming and slinks around whining on his damn belly.

He rolled his shoulders and tried to shake it off. Everything was fine, damnit. Cross was so deep underground that even Rousseau hadn't heard a peep. Bad in some ways, yeah. But good in others. No doubt the freak was far from here right now, wishing like hell he'd never tweaked the tail of biggest, baddest tiger in the shade world. Cross would keep right on hiding, if he knew what was good for him. Being in Rousseau's sights had to be a hell of an uncomfortable place to be.

It just bothered him. That weird look of recognition in the vamp's eyes when Scott had come around that trailer. Like Cross
knew
him from somewhere. It…

Fannie's lips twitched. "Could have fooled me, as much time as you spent in the dang mirror earlier."

"Well, I can't shame my woman, now can I? I got to look pretty for you." He winked at his wife and she grinned at him, her dark eyes sparkling. Fannie looked beyond pretty herself, full-on gorgeous in a copper-colored wonder that left her back bare to the waist and highlighted every delectable curve of that body he loved so much.

"You got that straight." Her eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. "Settle down, Toby. Tighten that belt back up." They were headed to drop Toby off at his grandparents on their way downtown.

Every year Phoenix Inc. rented the Skydeck at the Willis Tower for the ball. Kelsey had always said it was a political move, not using Phoenix's own building on the outskirts of the city, but rather integrating themselves into Chicago in the most visible way possible. Not to mention the money spent in catering, decorating, wait staff and etcetera went a fair way to endearing them to many downtown businesses.

"Yes, mama." Toby's sigh was determinedly petulant as he tugged on his loose seatbelt. "I don't know why I can't come to Mister Julie's party, too. I don't wanna to go to Memaw's all by myself." Tish was having a sleepover with her bestie and Scott knew his son felt more than a little lost without his twin. Despite how the twins prized their individuality, any significant time apart made them both a little twitchy. Toby more so than Tish. His eyes narrowed on the small face with its trembling lower lip.

"Are you out of your mind?" Scott let out a low, incredulous whistle that had the preschooler straightening in his seat, eyeing his dad in the mirror. "You got the sweetest deal of all of us."

"Why?" Toby's tone was suspicious.

"Why? You get Memaw and Gramps all to yourself for the whole night. No Tish means no
sharing,
buddy boy. Not tonight. Gramps will let you pick the movie, you'll get the blow-up bed all to yourself, and I even heard a rumor that Memaw baked chocolate crinkles this morning."

"She
did?"
Forgetting himself, Toby uncrossed his arms and leaned forward in his seat. "Those are my favorite!"

"I know. Mine, too." Scott said mournfully. "You will save your poor ol' dad a couple, won't you, buddy?"

Toby lowered his chin and narrowed his eyes. "Nope."

Dear god, it's mini-me,
Scott thought. With that flash of love that hits all parents at unexpected times, squeezing the heart dry.

Scott blinked before letting out a dramatic gasp and clutching at his chest with one hand. "C'mon man,
chocolate crinkles."

Toby giggled. "Okay, I'll save you
one.
"

"One? Cold, cruel son of mine."

"Oh,
daddy.
Fine. Three. But that's
it."

"That's my boy."

Smiling now, Toby slipped on his headphones. Soon his feet were swinging back and forth, his eyes closed, fingers tapping contentedly.

Fannie put her hand on Scott's knee and squeezed. "Magic Man," she whispered.

He gave her a grin, his earlier nerves forgotten in the warmth of her smile. "That's why you married me, Sarsaparilla."

"Nah, that was your magic
fingers,
but hey, I'm not complaining… What the hell? Who's that?
Scott?"
Fannie's voice went high and Scott's eyes darted back to the roadway.

They were coming up on the trellis bridge over the old railroad tracks. The purple haze of twilight deepening into full-on night. Streetlights popping on like fireflies signaling all over town. A big, black Escalade was parked broadside, cutting across both lanes at the top of the bridge, but it was the man in front of it that held Scott's attention. The man with pale blonde hair and the unmistakable silhouette of an Uzi raised in one hand.

Daimen Cross.

Without a word, Scott slammed the car into reverse. Too late he saw the spike strip laid across the road and cursed. It caught the front tires before the gear could fully take, but he managed to back up even as the tires let go. The car shook.

"Fannie. Call Jules.
Now."
His voice was cold and calm.

Scott could hear her gasping panic over the squealing as he tried to continue the 180 on the remaining two tires, but a glance showed him she already had the phone in hand.
That's my woman.
Jules was on speed dial, #4. It should only take a few seconds, but of course with the party he might not pick up at all...

Pushing aside that for now, Scott focused on his driving. He almost had the car pointed back the way they came, sparks flying as metal screamed against asphalt. If he could just…

Another tire let go. Then the back windshield exploded. Toby, who had only just raised his curly head, his expression puzzled, let out a shocked scream as glass rained over him.

"Mama!"

Fannie reached back for him, trying to yank him forward into the front seat, but the belt he tightened a few minutes earlier had locked down on his small body.

"Toby, push the button!" Scott barked. He reached under the seat as he stomped on the brake. His fingers closed over his Sig Sauer, hitting the release that slammed the butt into his hand.

"Jules!" Fannie's voice was frantic as she yelled into the phone while continuing to pull at Toby's clothes with one hand. Her frightened eyes flickered to Scott's.

"Tell him it's Cross. We're at the 7th St overpass…"

But before Scott could finish, Fannie's door was wrenched open.

The weapon in his hand came up automatically, an extension of his limb. Cross smiled through the open door, his own gun pointed at the back of Fannie's head. "Oh now, let's all just take it easy, neg. You ain't got no plants to call on here, so just hold up and think this through, alrighty?

"You can't kill me with that thing, but I sure as shooting can get both of them and you, too, in one spray from this thing." The vampire gleefully waggled the automatic. "But that isn't what I want. I got plans, you savvy? Just go on and let me take your missus for a little ride, you hear? Or things are gonna get real mean, real fast. That's all I want. Just to take her for a
ride."
His thin lips twisted and Scott's head started to pound. No.
Fuck no.
Why did he want Fannie?

But Scott knew why, if not what. This was punishment for his participation in Rissa's rescue and the scene in the woods and something more…something to do with the man's obsession with Jules.