The Vampyre Legal Chronicles - Marcus (2 page)

Cristophe's
dark brows met, his eyes narrowing and sharp as a blade.

He rudely
jabbed his cigar in Samuel's direction. "
You
have been
spending too much time with your new friend in the Vatican. Perhaps
you should join the church. With your vow of chastity you should
fit right in."

Samuel didn't
even blink.

"He is a good
and compassionate man."

"Makes a
fucking change," Cristophe shot back, not giving an inch. "Most of
them have been self-serving bastards who got high on wine, women,
and... power."

"You should
know since it takes one to know one. Things have changed, evolved,
since the seventeenth century, Cristophe. It is a pity you are
still so set in your ways."

Unoffended,
Cristophe flashed another toothy grin.

"One of these
days, when the world again goes to hell in a hand basket, you'll
thank me for my family's ruthless streak. And that time is coming a
lot sooner than you think."

Samuel opened
his mouth to respond, but Duncan had heard more than enough and
beat him to it.

"I'm too old
for this shit," he said, sounding like one of his four sons. The
words were murmured in a thick Scottish burr. "And we are running
out of time. It is true that, for most of our race, technology is
advancing at too fast a pace. Every day brings with it the
heightened risk of discovery."

Plus, it wasn't
only humans who were happy snappers with their cell phones these
days. Rebellious young vampyres (who were too stupid to live) were
walking a very shaky line with their sensational YouTube videos and
Facebook pages. Christ, his own sons were tweeting.

How the hell
had the fate of his species come down to... hash tags?

"We have fine
sons, Duncan," Cristophe growled, plucking the thought from his
head. "They will not let us down."

Perhaps.

Perhaps
not.

Not one of
Duncan's sons had taken the time to find their mate.

Actually, that
wasn't quite true.

His second son,
James, had found his, but he'd not taken that final step to bring
his wife into their world, to take her vein.

Duncan glowered
and glared in useless frustration.

The way his
sons dragged their feet was pitiful, it really was.

"Even though
their yearning is upon them, none are doing their duty," said
Samuel in the gloomy voice of doom. "I still say we must change the
law that permits them to take the vein of only
one
human
female. Our sons must spread their pure seed far and wide. Our race
must survive and prosper."

Duncan turned
his head. His eyes met those of his old friend and he read quite
clearly the guilt and anxiety in those cold grey eyes.

"We are
Vampyre, Samuel. When placed in a human womb our fetus are
parasites."

Duncan knew the
term
parasite
deeply offended his friend, but the truth was
the truth even if some found it unpalatable.

Samuel rose in
a smooth move. Even for a vampyre Prince he was tall, wide
shouldered, with long muscled thighs.

Now those cold
eyes were chips of solid ice.

"Our medics
report great success with a diet of pure vampyre hemoglobin."

Duncan kept his
voice low but the tone was implacable and diamond hard. "Fifteen
percent fatality is too high a price to pay."

His word was
law and they all knew it.

"Duncan is
right, Samuel," Cristophe said with an Olympian disdain. "We would
be no better than Ezekiel's Legion. Not one pregnancy they’ve
imposed upon a woman has come to term. And how many humans have
died because of it? Too many females have been taken, forced, into
slavery. It is an abomination."

Samuel spun
around, his pale eyes flashing with grief and fury.

"Do you think I
do not know that?"

Since he’d
heard it all before, Duncan gripped the shoulder of his old friend
in a gesture of support and solidarity.

"No one blames
you for the loss of our young. The guilt you carry will destroy you
one day. Let it go, Samuel. We need to trust in God and trust in
our sons. Between us we will prevail. Our laws are there for a
reason. One day Ezekiel will pay a heavy price for breaking those
laws."

At the mention
of the witch, Cristophe heaved his bulk out of the chair and cast a
probing eye towards the heavens. His dark gaze narrowed on the
hundreds of vampyre warriors stationed on rooftops for as far as
the eye could see. Warriors of their personal guard, the Centuri,
moving in a complicated dance on the top of New York City's highest
buildings. For this meeting the Centuri were on full alert and
combat ready in armour of black leather.

"All of us have
been blessed with fine sons, and God help me, two daughters,"
Cristophe growled in a hard put upon voice.

The Italian
accent was thicker whenever Cristophe mentioned his headstrong
daughters. The girls lived to give their sire a run for his money.
But the love he had for them could not be denied.

Duncan’s lips
twitched.

Even Samuel’s
icy demeanour thawed. "They honour you by the work they do." He
turned to face Duncan. "It must please you James has taken a
bride."

Duncan nodded.
"One down, three to go," he said. He didn't have the heart to dash
his friend’s hopes by telling him that James had not, as yet, taken
Charlotte’s vein. He'd never understand his second son's enthusiasm
for equal opportunities and women’s rights. Both ideas flew in the
face of their patriarchal society, their vampyre laws and were
downright... dangerous. James was determined that the ultimate
step, to bring the woman into their world, must not be forced upon
his bride and the love of his life.

It baffled
Duncan the way all his offspring, except for Marcus, strove to be
human.

They were born
vampyre so why the hell didn’t they embrace their race?

"He is the
eldest, why does Marcus tarry?" Samuel wanted to know.

Good
question.

Duncan wanted
to know the answer himself.

He
shrugged.

"He is busy in
China with contract negotiations for Constantine's pharmaceutical
acquisition. I did give him a gentle reminder. He says he has the
issue well in hand. He also told me to mind my own fucking
business."

Cristophe threw
back his head and roared with laughter.

He slapped
Duncan on the back.

"The woman he
has his eye on will need courage."

True.

Duncan
sincerely pitied the woman Marcus chose as his bonded mate.

Marcus was
ruthless.

Her needs would
not be an issue.

As far as
Prince Marcus Gillespie was concerned he took what he wanted and
damn the consequences.

Shanghai, The People's
Republic of China.

When Anais told people
she was soon to be a junior partner in the corporate law department
in the legal monolith that was Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch,
their first reaction was raised brows over eyes filled with a
healthy respect, followed by words of deep sympathy, "You're so
young. Poor you, what's it like working for Marcus Gillespie? Is it
true he's a complete bastard?"

All right,
possibly the phrases changed but the underlying narrative was the
same.
As the only woman on his team, how the hell did she deal
with one of the toughest misogynists in the business?
Those
comments made her want to hunt down and find the bitch who'd
labelled Marcus as a woman-hater, and slap her hard. Although
knowing Marcus, he'd probably have taken care of the bitch in the
first place.

Anais didn't
find it hard working for Marcus.

She found it
exciting, stimulating, challenging and on days like today...
exhausting.

On days like
today, Anais decided she more than deserved a pay raise.

"Didn't I tell you this
was a very bad idea?" Anais said in a furious whisper.

She lifted her
chin to look up into the gorgeous face of a man whose expression
might have been carved from solid rock. He was tall. Too tall. At
least six foot four and built like a linebacker for the New York
Giants. A linebacker dressed in the best lightweight wool by a
tailor in Savile Row. The jacket hugged those wide shoulders like a
lover, while the sharp crease of the pants showcased the brilliant
cut. Behind black-framed glasses, eyes of an undiluted blue sea
stared unblinking into hers. As usual when he looked at her like
that, as if he could see right into her very soul, the blood in her
veins seemed to shiver with a curious charge. After working for
Marcus Gillespie for six months, Anais told herself she should be
used to it by now. But instead of getting better, the sensation was
getting worse. And because the sensation was pressing buttons she
didn't want pressed, her mouth took on a stubborn line.

"Anais," his
deep voice rumbled in his chest. The curve of his incredible mouth
bore more than a hint of derision, of a deeply male
self-satisfaction... and of a decisive focus. "Now is not the time,
or the place, to discuss this."

Pulling out a
chair at the huge meeting table, he waited.

She hesitated,
more than aware of his height, the overpowering presence of the
man. He always made her feel like this. Young. Delicate. Even...
weak. That he could cause her to go through those sensations,
without frankly any effort, pressed another button and made her
chance a retaliation.

"I'm perfectly
capable of sitting myself."

A flicker of
surprise in those amazingly blue eyes.

"Rude, Anais.
Sit."

She sat.

He bent down
and the wonderful scent of his signature cologne, spice and male,
made her take a deep inhale.

His deep voice
whispered in her ear.

"What happened
to self-preservation? I've never known you to argue with me."

With Marcus,
she'd learned never to prevaricate or even attempt to fool.

"I wouldn't say
we were arguing. In this particular matter, I wish you'd listen to
me."

He sat next to
her and she noticed his mouth curve, as if he found her
amusing.

"We will talk
later. Perhaps over dinner."

She
blinked.

Dinner?

What the hell
did that mean?

They'd never so
much as shared a coffee.

However, she
had no time to dwell on the shock that Marcus had asked her out to
dinner with him. The Chinese trade delegation had arrived back in
the room after a lengthy break and she rose with the rest of her
team as the bowing and scraping began again.

According to
the glossy travel brochure, Shanghai was an exotic bustling
metropolis.

And, according
to the same brochure, the seven stars Mandarin Orient was one of
the top hotels in the world. After ten days and eleven nights, all
Anais had seen of the bustling metropolis was the ride in the back
seat of a sleek limousine from the airport through dark, damp
streets. All she’d seen of the hotel was her bedroom in the
luxuriously appointed penthouse suite, the corridor and the
excitement of the glass elevator. And as the only woman in the
negotiating party, she'd been condemned to this meeting room for
days. A meeting room humming with such an overabundance of male
testosterone it made her skin feel itchy.

She reminded
herself that she was coming to the end of a six month probation
period for the next step in what promised to be a stellar career.
If
she kept her nose clean for the next twenty-four
hours.

Excitement
fizzed in her blood.

Success was so
tantalizingly close, she could almost taste it.

Like the rest
of the team, her working uniform consisted of conservatively cut
bespoke suits. Today her skirt suit was made of the finest Italian
wool and designed by Armani. The color, black, was almost the same
shade as the inky hair tied at the nape in a long tail. Her silk
shirt was the color of bone, collarless, and buttoned to the
neck.

Fourteen people
sat at the massive round table. Under the blank masks of carefully
polite smiles and nods, there buzzed a tension filled with latent
hostility. A hostility that now whipped through the cavernous space
like a living, breathing entity. A hostility that emanated from the
big man sitting next to her. Tension coiled in Anais's belly, too,
as it trickled a skinny worm of sweat between her shoulder
blades.

Things were not
going well.

Marcus was
sitting to her right

The way he held
himself, shoulders stiff, back rigid, signalled loud and clear to
Anais that Marcus was not amused with the ducking and diving of the
slippery Chinese minister for trade.

And the way
Marcus was blanking and ignoring her, he was not pleased with
Anais, either.

Her heart beat
faster as her brain tried to work out where she'd gone wrong.

For the life of
her, she couldn't work out a single misstep.

Anais inhaled a
deep breath and gently exhaled.

She did it
again and ordered herself to calm the hell down.

Hadn't she
told
Marcus in New York that it was a bad idea she accompany
him to China?

Hadn't she?

Had he listened
to her?

Nope.

Because he
never bloody listened. Because Marcus Gillespie was the knower of
all things.

He was never
wrong.

He was always
right.

And he was
driving her crazy.

Anais never,
ever, lied to herself.

She knew, deep
down where it really mattered, that the reason Marcus drove her
crazy most of the time was because, in spite of giving herself a
stern talking to on an almost daily basis, she adored him. Since
Anais was self-aware, too, she admitted that that adoration was
mixed with a healthy amount of... wary apprehension. No matter how
hard she tried, and she couldn't quite put her finger on
why,
Marcus Gillespie not only intimidated her, but sort
of... scared her, too. Anais just could not understand it. She'd
never been afraid of anyone, certainly not of a mere man (no matter
how drop-dead-gorgeous) in her life.