
A Hard Day's Night-Searcher
Series: Dark Hunter [17]
Taken from the anthology My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding
A Hard Day's Night-Searcher - Sherrilyn Kenyon (taken from My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding anthology)
I'm going because I can't believe I've lived to see it," Dahlia said. "Also, I'm a bridesmaid, which is an honor. I have an obligation." She widened her eyes at her companion, to emphasize the point. She had big green eyes, so it was a vivid effect.
Glenda Shore choked on her sip of synthetic blood. "You're kidding," she said faintly. "You think this is an honor? Well, bite me. Being a bridesmaid means we have to mingle with the nasty things. Like that party tonight, at the Were bar. Taffy called me specially, but I put her off. I won't do it! It's bad enough, all the teasing I've gotten. Maisie called me 'Fur Lover'; Thomas Pickens gives wolf howls whenever he sees me. It's just humiliating."
Dahlia gave her head a practiced toss to flip her long wavy black hair back over her shoulders. She glanced down to make sure her strapless burgundy cocktail dress was still in place. There was a line between being adorably provocative and simply tacky. Dahlia was an expert at treading that line.
"I've known Taffy for maybe a couple hundred years," Dahlia said quietly. "I feel that I have to go through with this." She kept her voice casual; she didn't want to sound smugly superior. Glenda hadn't even been alive that long-or dead, rather. Neither had the other two females Taffy had asked to act as bridesmaids.
Glenda was a very young vampire, a flat-chested flapper who'd been turned during the Al Capone era in Chicago. To Dahlia's distaste, Glenda still liked wearing clothes reminiscent of the ones she'd worn while she was living. Tonight she was wearing a cloche hat. Conspicuous.
Oh, sure, it was legal to be a vampire now that the synthetic blood marketed by the Japanese had proven to satisfy the nutritional needs of the undead. But there was more to surviving as a vamp than slugging down TrueBlood or Red Stuff in all-night bars that catered strictly to vamps, like this one. There were pockets of humans who snatched vamps off the streets and drained their blood to sell on the black market.
There were other cults who simply wanted vamps dead because they'd decided vamps were evil blood-sucking fiends.
You had to learn discretion.
Besides various fringe groups of humans, you had to add to the list of vampire haters the Werewolves, whose ongoing feud with the undead occasionally flared into out-and-out war. Thinking of Weres brought Dahlia back to the subject at hand, her friend Taffy's wedding.
"Taffy and I nested together for a decade in Mexico," Dahlia said. "We were quite close. We went through the War of 1812 together; nothing cements a relationship like going through a war. And we've nested together at Cedric's for the past, oh, twenty years?"
"Where could Taffy have met such a creature?" Glenda asked, fingering the long, long string of pearls that dangled to her waist. Her eyes glinted with relish. This was as much fun as discussing a previously unencountered sexual perversion.
Dahlia beckoned to the bartender. "Taffy was always . . . adventurous. She lived with a regular human for ten years, once."
Glenda looked pleasurably horrified. "Do you think she'll wear white?" Glenda asked. "And our bridesmaid dresses... I bet we'll have pink ruffles."
"Why would it be pink ruffles?" Dahlia's mouth was suddenly pressed in a grim line. Dahlia took her clothes very, very, seriously.
"You know what they say about bridesmaid dresses!" Glenda laughed out loud.
"I do not," said Dahlia, her voice cold enough to goose an icicle. "I was turned before there was such a thing as a designated attendant for the bride."
"Oh, my goodness!" The younger vampire was shocked. And then delighted at the prospect of introducing her superior friend to the certainty of an unpleasant ordeal. "Then let's go find a church and watch a wedding. Well, maybe not a church," she added nervously. Glenda had been a Christian in life, and churches made her mighty twitchy. "Maybe we'll check out a country club, or find a garden wedding."
Glenda actually had a sensible idea, Dahlia decided. It would help to know the worst. And though all the bridesmaids were due at a party in honor of the happy couple, if she and Glenda hurried, they wouldn't be late.
"The big mansions on the lakeside," she suggested. "It's a June weekend. Isn't that a prime time for weddings in America?" Dahlia had a vague recollection of seeing bridal magazines on the shelves at newspaper kiosks when she'd been buying her monthly copy of Fang.
"That's a keen idea. Let's go!" Glenda was eager. The worst enemy of a vampire was ennui. Any new diversion was worth its weight in gold.
Since they were both gifted with flight (not all vampires possessed this skill), the two were able to reach the most imposing mansions in the city quickly. Glenda and Dahlia hovered over them to detect an outside celebration that might prove to be a wedding. At the VanTreeve place, they struck nuptial pay dirt. Tiffany VanTreeve was marrying Brendan Blaine Buffington that very night. The two vamps landed unobtrusively behind a tent set up on the grounds.
Dahlia eyed the scene critically, taking mental notes. The vampire sheriff of her area in the city of Rhodes, Cedric Deeming, was worried about giving a proper wedding in such a hurry. Though lazy and lax in many respects, Cedric was a stickler for protocol. He'd urged all the vampires who nested with him to bring home details of modern wedding proceedings.
Dahlia obediently began making mental notes. Close to the house, there were two long tables loaded with food and a huge cake, though the food was discreetly covered with drapes for the moment. There was a cage full of doves, with an attendant in coveralls. Perhaps these were intended for a ritual sacrifice? There were two phalanxes of white chairs on the lawn, arranged facing a large white dais adorned with banks of pink flowers. A long red carpet ran between the two sections of chairs, right up the steps of the dais, where a minister in a sober black robe stood waiting.
Note to self: Find some kind of priest. Wasn't Harry Oakheart some kind of Druid? Maybe he knew a ceremony.
A string quartet was playing Handel. (Note to self: Find musicians) Not only were all the seats full, but there was a standing crowd at the back.
"What a swell spread," Glenda whispered, eyeing the buffet tables. "I guess the wolves'l1 need food. Looks like we're expected to feed them. The sheriff won't like that. You know what a tightwad he is. At least Cedric won't have to provide food for half the guests." She winked at Dahlia, as if it were very funny that vampires didn't eat food. "And we'll need liquor for the Weres, and we'll need a big stock of blood. Maybe we could nip off the guests?"
Dahlia looked daggers at Glenda. "Don't even say it as a joke," she told the younger vampire. "You know what'll happen if we even suggest that to a breather. Follow the rules. Only from a willing adult!"
"Spoilsport," Glenda muttered.
"Cedric has already hired a caterer, a man who says he can do the whole thing, flowers and all. Cedric is so cheap, he took the lowest bid. No sit-down dinner, just. . . finger food." Even Dahlia could not suppress her smile at the term, and Glenda laughed out loud. A few of the guests turned to see who was so being so boisterous, and Dahlia slammed Glenda in the ribs with a sharp elbow. Everyone else present was being properly solemn. "But we have to do it properly," Dahlia said, in a whisper inaudible to the humans around her. "We can't be found wanting. It would shame Taffy, and the nest."
Glenda gave it as her opinion that the Weres should be grateful they were even being allowed in Cedric's mansion. "I'm surprised Cedric will acknowledge the wedding," she said.
The music gave a final flourish, and the guests rustled expectantly.
The two vampires watched the ceremony unfold: Glenda with a sentimental tear or two (tinged red) and Dahlia with fascinated horror. The groom, looking as though he'd been hit over the head with something large, took his place in front of the minister and stared down the strip of red carpet rolling between the two fields of white chairs. His groomsmen lined up on his side of the dais. At a signal that was invisible to Dahlia, who was stretching up on her tiptoes to see, the traditional music began.
"Here's the most interesting part," Glenda whispered.
One by one, the bridesmaids emerged from the white tent. Some were tall and some were small; some were buxom and some were slim as reeds. But the seven girls were all united in costume. Dahlia, the most elegant and particular of women, closed her eyes in appalled horror.
All the bridesmaids were wearing matching floor-length lime green silk sheaths. If you could strip the dress down to its basic essentials, it wouldn't be too bad, Dahlia thought. But the dresses were accessorized with lace gloves and tiny veiled hats pinned to each lacquered head. Worst of all, there was a gigantic bow perched atop each girlish butt. The waggle of each passing lime green rear end made Dahlia feel like weeping, too, along with some of the female guests-though Dahlia assumed they were crying for a different reason.
Glenda gave an audible snigger, and Dahlia despaired of ever teaching the girl manners. Dahlia herself was maintaining an appropriately pleasant wedding guest face despite the dreadful possibility that she'd have to wear such a monstrous ensemble. Though the prospect was a blow, Dahlia conscientiously remained to note the entire procedure. She was disappointed when the doves were simply released into the sky at the climax of the ceremony.
Long after Glenda had lost interest, Dahlia traced all the events of the wedding back to their human director, who was hovering at the rear of the gathering. Though the poor wedding planner was quite busy, Dahlia was ruthless (in a charming way) in getting the answers to several astute questions. She garnered information that made her feel that (if it had been beating at all) her heart would now burst.
"The groomsmen-those men up there on the husband's side-they'll be from among the groom's friends," Dahlia said, her hand gripping Glenda's shoulder.
"Well, sure, Dally," Glenda said. "Really, you! Didn't you know that?"
Dahlia shook her raven head back and forth. "Werewolves," she moaned. "They'll all be Werewolves."
"Ewww," said Glenda. "We'll have to let one touch us, Dally. Did you see that each bridesmaid took the arm of a groomsman on their way out of the . . . the . . . designated wedding area?"
And for the first time in her long, long life, Dahlia Lynley-Chivers said, "Ewww."
To cover her shame, she added quickly, "If you call me Dally again, I'll tear your throat out."
When Dahlia said something like that, it was smart to assume she meant it. Glenda said, "Well, I'm sure not going to any stupid Were party with you now."
Dahlia had to back down, something she was unused to doing. "Glenda," she said stiffly, "neither Cassie nor Fortunata will go, and I was relying on you. It's your duty as a bridesmaid to attend this party. Taffy said so."
"If you think we'll be greeted with open arms by a bunch of stupid Weres, you can think again, Miss Perfect. Open jaws is what they'll have." Glenda disappeared behind the tent to conceal her liftoff, and Dahlia watched her companion disappear. No doubt, Glenda would describe the bridesmaid dresses to any vamp who would listen.
With her little jaw set grimly, Dahlia Lynley-Chivers made her way to a part of Rhodes she seldom visited. This time, she took a cab. Humans became very upset when they saw her fly, and she was determined to do her best by her friend Taffy. Taffy had been born Taphronia, daughter of Leonidas, centuries ago. She'd been calling herself Taffy for the past forty years. Taffy and her fiance, Don Swift-foot (of course that was his pack name-his human name was Don Swinton), were celebrating their forthcoming nuptials at a bar in the Werewolf part of town. The whole wedding party would be there; at least, the whole wedding party was supposed to be there. Since the other bridesmaids had dropped the baton, Dahlia feared she'd be the only vampire in attendance. She had a wide range of curses at her disposal since she'd lived so long, and she voiced a few of them on the drive through the city. Luckily, the cabdriver spoke none of the languages she used.
Dahlia got out of the cab a block away from the bar. This area of Rhodes was a bit run-down, a bit seedy. The sidewalks were crowded, even this late at night, with bar-hopping humans, who didn't realize they were just on the safe side of the moon cycle. Of course, no one who lived in Rhodes realized they were partying in an area that had a high concentration of Werewolves. Humans didn't know about Werewolves yet. The two-natured had to retain their human faces on their nights out.
The bar, called Moonshine, was practically buzzing with energy and magic. Any humans who wandered in uninvited developed severe headaches, and went home early, as a rule. Moonshine was closed three nights out of the month.
Dahlia made sure her cocktail dress was smooth over her hips. Since she was representing her nest, she put on a little lipstick and brushed her rippling hair before she entered the bar. It was marked by a blinking neon sign formed in a white circle-representing the moon, if you had a lot of imagination.
"Tacky," Dahlia muttered. She read the notice taped to the door: Closed tonight for private party. Because she was a little anxious about entering a Werewolf-infested bar, she stood a little straighter on her spike heels-which brought her height all the way up to five foot one-held her head proudly, tucked her tiny flat purse under her bare arm, and marched inside, her haughtiest expression fixed on her heart-shaped face.
A chorus of so-called wolf whistles met her entrance. Of course, in their wolf forms, these guys couldn't whistle for diddly-squat; but they managed just fine in their human guise. Dahlia pretended to be deaf as she scanned the tiny bar for Taffy.
Really, you can't expect any better, she told herself. After all, true Weres were generally guys and gals with a keen interest in motorcycles and monster trucks. All the Weres in this bar were pure Weres, with two full-blooded parents. (Even Taffy wouldn't expose her friends to mongrels.)
Dahlia couldn't spy Taffy among the people, mostly male, crowding the bar, so she began to make her way to the only doorway not marked: Restroom.
A very tall and very athletically built male stepped in front of her. "Sorry, lady, this bar is closed tonight for a private party."
"Yes, I read the sign on the door."
"Then you're pretty slow taking a hint."
Dahlia looked up (and up) at the bright blue eyes in the broad face. This Were had thick, curling brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and he was clean-shaven. He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, a bit to her surprise, and a tight T-shirt and jeans . . . the jeans, now that she came to take a look, were pretty damn tight, too. And boots. He had on big boots.
Dahlia shook herself (mentally, of course). The rude jerk was waiting for her reply. "I am here seeking my friend Taffy," she said coldly, meeting his eyes squarely.
They stood stock-still for a long minute.
"A vamp," he said, loathing replacing the admiration in his voice. "Damn, I knew we shoulda put some new lightbulbs in this place. Then I woulda noticed how pale you are. What do you want with Taff? You gonna try to talk her out of marrying Don, too?"
If it was possible to get any stiffer, Dahlia did. "I am going to . . . actually, what I want with Taffy is none of your business, Were. I require an audience with her." Dahlia was so rattled by the Were's anger that she became colder and stiffer and caught herself reverting to former speech patterns.
"Oh yeah, and we're supposed to bow and scrape for the little madam?" he said. "You should get that stick out of your ass and behave more like Taffy. She doesn't act so snooty and superior. After all, what you got on us? We live longer than humans, and we're stronger than humans, and we can do all kinds of things that humans can't do."
"Excuse me," Dahlia said frigidly. "I am so not interested."
"I'll show you interested," the huge monster growled, reaching down as if he was actually going to pick Dahlia up and give her a shake. The next instant, he was looking up at her from the floor and his friends had leaped to their feet, their eyes glowing. Snarls issued from several male throats, and one or two female ones.
"No," called the man from the floor, just as Dahlia prepared to free her hands for fighting by tucking her tiny evening purse into the gartered top of her hose (a process that distracted the males for a few long seconds), "she's in the right, guys."
"What?" asked a blond man built like a fire hydrant. "You gonna let a vamp get away with putting you on the floor?"
"Yeah, Richie," said the man, getting up. "She did it fair and square after I provoked her."
The rest of the Weres seemed disconcerted, but they backed away a foot or two. Dahlia felt a mixture of relief and regret. Her fangs had extended as she readied to fight, and she would have enjoyed relieving the tension by ripping off a few limbs.
"Come on, little highness," Brown Ponytail said. "I'll take you to Taffy."
She nodded curtly. He turned to lead the way, and she followed right behind him. The crowd parted along the way rather reluctantly.
"Cold-blooded creep," said one Were woman. She was built like an Amazon, broad shouldered. Dahlia would have loved to flash out a hand and bury it in the Were's abdomen, but ladies didn't do such things-not if they wanted the truce to hold.
Dahlia was proud of herself when she didn't meet the woman's eyes in challenge. Instead, Dahlia kept her gaze focused forward. Which is no hardship, she had to admit to herself, as she examined the curve of the butt moving in front of her. It certainly was a prime one, packed into the worn Levi's in a most attractive way
Dahlia winced, realizing that she'd actually caught herself admiring a Were.
Her guide stepped aside, and Dahlia was relieved beyond measure to see Taffy sitting in a padded booth behind a round table with Don cuddling close to her right and another Were to her left. Dahlia barely kept her upper lip from drawing back in distaste. It was like seeing a racehorse cavorting with zebras.
"Dahlia!" shrieked Taffy. Her auburn curls were piled up on top of her head, and she was wearing a halter top and blue jeans, as far as Dahlia could tell. Oh, really, Dahlia thought, exasperated, remembering the care she'd taken to dress correctly. Taffy looks like a real human. Probably trying to blend in. As if she could.
"Taffy," Dahlia said, thrown seriously off track, "can we have a talk?" She didn't even want to acknowledge Don. He was as redheaded as Taffy, but his hair was short and rough looking, like the coat of a terrier.
"Hey, beautiful!" Don said expansively.
Dahlia gave Don a stiff nod of greeting. She was no barbarian.
Don had a beard, and bright filaments of red stuck out from the neck of his golf shirt. Dahlia shuddered. She was glad to look back at Taffy.
"You still got that cold bitch thing goin' on," Don observed. "Doesn't she, Todd?"
"She's got it down pat," agreed her guide. "Didn't even bother to introduce herself." Dahlia realized, with a pang, that the Were was correct. "She's a brave little thing, though," the Were went on. "Knocked me ass-backward."
Don grinned approvingly. "People should do that more often, Todd. It seems to soften you up."
While Dahlia tried to estimate how long it would take her to kill them all, Taffy was extricating herself from the booth, which seemed to involve a lot of unnecessary brushing against Don, with wriggling and kisses strewn in for good measure. This was the source of many teasing comments and much laughter from the assembled Weres.
I seem to be the only one who's in a had mood, Dahlia thought, and then without meaning to, her eyes met the tall Were's again. Nope, Todd was less than happy, too. Dahlia wondered whether it was the engagement between Don and Taffy or her own intrusion that had triggered Todd's irritation.
"This is my friend Dahlia Lynley-Chivers," Taffy announced to the crowd of Weres. "She's my maid of honor."
There was a smattering of polite response. Dahlia inclined her head civilly. She couldn't force a smile.
"Snotty-nose bitch," muttered the other Were sitting in the booth. He had dark curly hair and a pugnacious attitude. "Having one in the bar at a time is enough."
Dahlia's tiny hand darted out and dug into the Were's throat.
He gagged, his eyes going wide with shock and fear, and the atmosphere of the bar went into high gear.
"Dahlia!" said Taffy. "He didn't know what he was saying, Dahlia. Please, for me."
Dahlia released the dark-haired Were, and he collapsed against the wood of the booth, breathing heavily. There was an uneasy stirring among the denizens of the crowded bar.
"Thanks, honey," Taffy murmured. "Let's take this out on the sidewalk, okay?"
Her back as straight and her head as high as ever, Dahlia followed Taffy out of the bar, looking neither to the right nor to the left, ignoring the growing chorus of growls that surged in her wake.
"Smooth move, Dahlia," Taffy said, the words bursting out as soon as they were on the sidewalk.
"You were the one who invited me! If you weren't the one engaged to that. . . that dog man ... do you think I'd go inside such a place?"
"Where are the others?" Taffy lost her anger and looked a bit lost. Maybe she hadn't been quite as comfortable as she'd seemed, being the only vamp in a crowd of Weres.
"Ah, they couldn't make it." Dahlia couldn't think of any way to cushion the rudeness of Taffy's other bridesmaids and her sheriff, Cedric.
Taffy sighed. "I didn't think it was too much to ask, coming to a party in our honor to wish me well." Dahlia's cheeks would have flushed if they could have; she was embarrassed at the poor manners of her sisters. "I guess it's a measure of our friendship that you came inside to see me," Taffy admitted. "I know we're buddies. Please, help me get through this wedding with peace between our people. I want you there on my wedding day, and I want my other friends there, too, and the last thing I want is a bloodbath between the two tribes, us and the Weres, right there in Cedric's garden."
Cedric had offered the garden of his mansion as the locale for the wedding, to everyone's surprise. Cedric had told Dahlia, in his languid way, that he had been sure Taffy would cry off before the day actually arrived. Now that the wedding was fast approaching and still a reality, the notably lazy Cedric was scrambling to get the grounds ready and also calling in markers in an effort to assemble some of the more levelheaded vamps to act as security for the big night, which was shaping up to be the scandalous social event of the season in the supernatural world.
Ignoring the Weres who were peering out of the bar, Dahlia and Taffy began to stroll down the street, arm in arm, an old-fashioned habit that drew a few stares.
"Taffy, I'm worried."
"What about, Dahlia?" Taffy asked gently.
"You know that Cedric's mansion is in a turmoil of preparation," Dahlia began, trying to think of the best way to voice her concerns without sounding like a complete alarmist.
"I heard." Taffy laughed, her throat tilted back. "That old bastard! Serves Cedric right for making a promise he had no intention of keeping."
"Taffy, you've been with the Weres too much. Don't disrespect the sheriff so boldly."
"You're right," Taffy said, sobering quickly enough to satisfy even the worried Dahlia. "So, Cedric's in an uproar. What of it?"
"The Weres and the vampires aren't the only ones who may have heard of this wedding," Dahlia said. She was voicing something she'd not told anyone else, and her voice wasn't completely steady. "Since the Weres haven't come out yet, to the world it must look as though you're illegally marrying a human."
Vampires didn't have the legal right to marry in the United States, not yet anyway. Dahlia couldn't have cared less about her legal rights, since she knew how transitory governments were, but there was no denying it was sweet to be able to walk the streets openly, admitting her true nature, and to know that if she was killed, her death would be state-avenged.
Well, maybe, under certain circumstances.
The point was, society was moving in the right direction, and the backlash from this affair might knock all of them sideways.
"Who in the mundane world knows?"
"It won't make a difference if humans know it afterward; we can explain it wasn't a true wedding at all. Cedric can get reporters to believe anything. But if it becomes common knowledge beforehand, there'll be human reporters all over the place, and protesters, and who knows what else."
"Cedric's gardeners are human," Taffy said slowly. "The florist is human." Her face was utterly serious now, and she looked like a true vampire. They turned back to return to the bar.
Dahlia nodded, silently, knowing her point had been taken. She was thrilled to see Taffy looking like her former self, until she realized that though the familiar calculation had returned to Taffy's face, something had been taken away: the lighthearted joy that made the ancient vampire look so renewed.
"So, you're saying that we might need more security than Cedric's thinking of providing," Taffy continued.
Dahlia cursed inside. Her point had been that Taffy should call off this insane ceremony. But Taffy had simply not considered it for a moment. "Sister," Dahlia said, calling on the bond of the nest-mate. "You must not go through with this wedding. It will bring trouble on the nest, and . . . and . . ." Dahlia had a flash of inspiration. "It may bring the Weres out into the open before they are ready to be known," Dahlia said, confident she was playing a trump card.
"This is a big secret," Taffy whispered, and not even a gnat could have heard her whisper, "but in the next month, the Weres are voting at their council about that very issue."
It had taken years of worldwide secret negotiations to pick the moment for the vampires: months of coordination, selection, and a carefully composed text that had been translated into a myriad of languages. The Weres would probably slouch in front of the television cameras with beers in their paws and dare the world to deny them citizenship.
"Then delay the wedding until then," Dahlia urged, trying to ignore all these side issues and stick to the main point.
"Sorry, no can do," Taffy said.
It took Dahlia a minute to grasp the meaning of Taffy's words. "Why not?" she asked. She made her lips manufacture a smile. "I know you're not pregnant." Dead bodies, however animated they looked, could not produce live children.
"No, but Don's ex is." Taffy's face was grim as she looked down at Dahlia's stunned face. "We have to get hitched before she has the baby, or she can appear before the Were council and demand they reinstate her marriage. Don hasn't had a child with anyone else, and you know how the Weres are about the purebloods reproducing with each other."
Dahlia could not do something so gauche as gape, but she came close. "I've never heard of such a thing," she said weakly.
"None of us knows much about the Were culture," Taffy said. "Our arrogance keeps us ignorant." The two stepped off the curb to cross the mouth of the alley. The bright lights of the bar were only half a block away.
Dahlia brightened. "I'll kill her," she said. There, she'd solved the problem. "Then you can hold off on your marriage, or cancel it altogether. No need to get married, right? What does this bitch look like?"
"Like this," said a sweet voice from the shadows, and a young woman leaped out, the knife in her hand glinting in the streetlight. But as fast as the Were stabbed at Taffy, Dahlia jumped to intercept it. She deflected it with her bare hands, but not quickly enough. It lodged between Dahlia's ribs, and the strong Were woman began to twist the blade. Just in time, Dahlia gripped the Were's wrist, and neatly broke it before the gesture could be completed.
The woman's screams drew an outrush of Weres from the bar. They circled Dahlia, growling and snapping, sure that the vampire had attacked first. Dahlia herself was standing very still, trying to keep from shrieking. That would have been unseemly, in Dahlia's opinion, and she was a vampire who lived by a code.
Taffy was so shocked that she didn't react with the speed one expected of a vampire. Between trying to explain to her fiance what had happened and positioning herself to slap away the hands that would have struck Dahlia, Taffy was too occupied to evaluate Dahlia's plight. Oddly enough, it was Todd who calmed things down by silencing the crowd with a yell that was perilously close to a howl.
Into the hush he said, "Keep all humans away, first of all." There was a flurry of activity as the few humans who'd been drawn by the ruckus were hustled off, diverted with some story that would hardly make sense when it was reconsidered.
"What happened?" Don asked Taffy. Several female Weres were kneeling on the ground around the moaning ex-wife. The Amazonian Were called, "The vamp bitch attacked Amber and broke her arm!" A chorus of growls swelled the throats of the werewolves.
Dahlia concentrated on her breathing. Though vamps healed with amazing speed, the initial injury hurt just as much as it would any other being. The blood dripped from her hands, but it was slowing. She held them out in the light, and the crowd murmured. Taffy exclaimed, "She did this for me!" and then became quite still. Her voice shaking with a very unvamplike quiver, Taffy said, "Dahlia protected me with her life. Not exactly in the bridesmaid description."
Don was clearly conflicted between the woman on the ground (whom Dahlia could see now was what she thought of as medium pregnant), his distraught fiancee, and Dahlia.
"Dahlia, what do you say?" he asked harshly.
"I say, the fucking bitch stabbed me," Dahlia said clearly. "And would someone please pull out this damn knife before I heal around it? I mean, just any old time will do, unless you want to moan some more over Little Miss Homicide there." It was convenient that none of them had heard Dahlia offer to take care of Don's ex a few moments earlier. It gave her the definite moral high ground. Pregnant women, after all, were revered by almost everyone, both supernatural and human, and Dahlia needed all the leverage she could get. Without moving, because the pain was so intense she might fall down, Dahlia scanned the ring of Weres blocking the group from the view of passersby. "Todd, would you do the honors?" she asked, biting her lips with the pain. "You might even enjoy it."
Todd looked like there was nothing he'd enjoy less.
He bent down to look into Dahlia's green eyes, narrowed with the effort of sustaining her dignity. "I salute your courage," he said, and then he put one hand against her abdomen and yanked out the knife with the other.
Dahlia would have collapsed to her knees (terribly embarrassing) if the big Were hadn't caught her.
The next few minutes were a dim blur for Dahlia. She heard Don's stern voice, even deeper than usual, ordering Amber to tell the truth. Amber, a medium-sized blonde with a large bosom, wept copious tears and told her own jumbled version of events. In this version, she just happened to have a knife with her, in fact, ready in her hand, when Dahlia had jumped her. As to why Amber happened to be there in the first place, she whined that she'd just wanted to catch a glimpse of Don. Even the Weres didn't believe that.
"An attack on the packmaster's wife is an attack on the packmaster himself," Todd said.
"Then this vampire is as much at fault for breaking Amber's arm as Amber is for trying to kill Taffy," said the Amazon, trying very hard not to smile. "Since Amber is Don's wife."
" Was Don's wife," the packmaster himself corrected. "Before the state and the pack, I divorced Amber. Her attack on Taffy counts as an attack against me."
"Does not," argued the Amazon. "You haven't married Taffy, yet."
"Oh, for goodness' sake," Dahlia muttered. "Bore me to death, why don't you."
She felt Todd's chest shaking, and realized he was laughing silently. The wound in her side was almost healed, but she took her time pushing away from the Were's support. He was warm, and he smelled good.
She looked down at herself, taking stock. Her dress was ruined. Ruined! And she'd just paid off her credit card bill! "My dress," she said sadly. "At least make her pay for my dress. Did blood get on my shoes?" She hobbled over to a streeylight and held out a foot in an attempt to survey the damage. "Yes!" she said, going from grief to outrage in an undead minute. The shoes were brand-new and had cost more than the dress. "Okay, that does it." Her head snapped up and she glared at Don. "Amber pays for my dress and my shoes, and she doesn't come within five miles of Taffy for a year."
She was speaking into a chasm of silence. At the sound of her crisp voice, all conversation had ceased. Everyone was staring at her, even the whimpering Amber.
Don blinked. "Ah, that sounds fair," he said. "Honey?"
There was another embarrassing moment when both Amber and Taffy believed this appellation referred to them and began to respond simultaneously. Don gave Amber a look of withering contempt, which prompted a fresh burst of noisy tears.
Taffy said, "That seems a very moderate sentence, to me."
Dahlia knew from her friend's mild tone that Taffy thought Amber should be drawn and quartered, no matter what her condition.
"Amber, do you agree?" Don asked.
"What about her paying my hospital bill? I have to get this wrist set, after all."
"That's stupid, even for you," Todd said, into the general silence. "Amber, one more offense and the whole pack will abjure you."
Dahlia didn't know what being abjured consisted of, but the mere threat was an effective deterrent. Amber was shocked silent.
Two of the Were women loaded Amber into a car and headed off, presumably for the hospital. The rest of the crowd dispersed, leaving Todd, Dahlia, Don, and Taffy on the sidewalk.
Dahlia held up a hand to examine in the light. The slash across the palm had completely healed, and when she touched the wound in her ribs, she only felt a slight tenderness. "I'll take my leave," she said. She wanted to divest herself of her ruined clothes, shower, and knock back a few pints of synthetic blood before dawn.
"I'll walk you home," Todd said. It would be hard to say who in the little crowd was the most surprised by this statement.
"That's not necessary," Dahlia said, after a second's recovery.
"I know you can carry me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes," Todd said. He looked down at Dahlia. "And I'm not saying I'm happy about my packleader marrying a vamp, legal or not. But I'm gonna walk you home, unless you fly away."
Dahlia's brows drew together.
"After all," he said, "I'm in charge of security for the wedding, and I'm the best man. Since you're the maid of honor, I understand, you'll be responsible for security on your side? We should talk."
Dahlia turned to Don and Taffy, who were standing hand in hand, looking shell-shocked. "I will see you tomorrow night, Taffy," the vampire said formally. "Don." She nodded at the packleader, still not able to think of a formal pleasantry that would suit the unsuitable alliance.
The big Were and the little vampire walked side by side for a few blocks. Everyone they met stepped off the sidewalk to give them room, and the odd pair never even noticed.
"You're quite articulate for a Were." Dahlia's voice was cool and steady.
"Hey, some of us have even graduated from high school," he said easily. "Myself, I made it through college without tearing up one single coed."
"I shared my brother's tutor until my parents decided that, as a girl, I didn't need to learn any more," Dahlia said, to her own surprise. To cover her confession, Dahlia launched into a discussion of the security measures for the wedding. The vampires would guard the doors to the mansion; the only people on the premises should be the invited guests and the catering staff.
"Are all the vampires living in the mansion invited to the wedding?" Todd asked, trying to sound casual.
"Yes," Dahlia said, after a moment's consideration. "We're all nest-mates, after all."
"How's that work?"
"Well, we live together under Cedric's rule, since he's the sheriff of this area. As long as we're nest-mates, we protect each other and come to each other's aid."
"And contribute to Cedric's purse?"
"Well, yes. If we stayed in a hotel, we'd pay for lodging, so that's fair."
"And do his bidding?"
"Yes, that, too."
"A lot like the pack does for the packleader."
"I had assumed so. What part will the Weres play in security?" Dahlia asked. Todd was asking entirely too many questions.
"There should be a Were at every door, too, along with a vamp. We need to make sure that one or the other knows everyone who comes into the mansion that day. This wedding isn't popular with anyone, vamps or Weres, and though Don is totally not worried, I am."
"None of the vampires are worried, except me," Dahlia confessed. They'd arrived at a side door to the huge house on a street in the heart of the haughtiest section of the city. Cedric had had centuries of savings to use in purchasing this prime piece of Rhodes real estate, and though having a vampire among them hadn't made the wealthy neighbors happy, the city's Freedom of Housing ordinance had reinforced the vampires' right to live where they chose.
Todd said, "Good night, dead lady."
"Good night, hairball," she said. But just before the door closed behind her, she turned to smile at him.
The day of the wedding closed clear and warm, ideal for the outside ceremony. Acting uneasily in tandem, the Were and vamp security teams had admitted the catering staff, scanning their ID cards quickly The teams paid more careful attention to the invitations presented by their own kind.
When Dahlia checked out the garden, the fountain of synthetic blood was flowing beautifully, champagne glasses arranged in a tier on a table beside it. It was a pretty touch, and Dahlia was proud she'd arranged it with the caterer, along with a groaning buffet for the Weres and a bar with drinks both alcoholic and nonalcoholic. Dahlia walked down the buffet, checking the stainless-steel eating utensils and the napkins and heated containers full of food. It seemed sufficient, though Dahlia was not much of a judge. The two servers stood stiffly behind the buffet, eyeing her passage with unhappy eyes. Every human on the catering staff was tense. They've never served vampires, she thought, and maybe the Weres are giving off some kind of vibration, too.
She wasn't a bit surprised to encounter Todd, who was making a circuit of the high brick wall that guarded the large backyard of the mansion.
"Where's your dress?" he asked. "I'm panting to see it." Dahlia was in a black robe, modestly tied at her waist. Todd was already in his tuxedo. Dahlia had to blink.
"You look good," she said, her voice almost as calm as usual, though her fangs were sliding out. "Good" was a definite understatement. "Like a life-size Ken doll."
"I can't believe you even know what a Ken doll is," he said, laughing. "If I'm a big Ken, you're a miniature vampire Barbie."
She'd been called worse things. She'd always admired Barbie's wardrobe and fashion sense.
"See you in a few minutes," she said, and went to get dressed.
Hanging over the door to the closet in Dahlia's little room was the bridesmaid dress. After a prolonged struggle with Taffy, Dahlia had talked her out of ordering pale pink with ruffles or pale blue with artificial roses sewn across the bodice. And no big bow on the butt. And no hat with veil. In fact, her nest-mate Fortunata came in just as Dahlia shimmied into the gown. Fortunata smiled at Dahlia's cautious look down the length of her body.
Taffy, despite her strange lack of judgment about this marriage, had finally had the sense to realize vampires would look ridiculous in innocent ruffles, girlish flounces, and insipid colors. The bridesmaids, four of them, were wearing dark blue square-necked long dresses that were form-fitting but not sleazily tight, and the spaghetti straps ensured that no one would lose whatever modesty she might possess. There were a few glittery sequins strewn across the chest to give the dress a little sparkle, and they were all wearing black high heels and carrying bouquets of pale pink and creamy white roses. Fortunata had just come from adding a little extra item to the bouquets, at Dahlia's request.
"Mission accomplished. Now I'm ready to fix your hair," Fortunata said, finding Dahlia's brush in the clutter on the dressing table. Fortunata had had a way with hair for centuries, and she brushed and pulled and twisted until Dahlia's black tresses were a model of sophisticated simplicity, with a couple of ringlets trailing here and there carelessly, to add just that touch of sensuous abandon.
"Not too shabby," was Fortunata's verdict when she and Dahlia stood side by side, and Dahlia had to agree. She felt a pleasurable tingle when she thought of Todd seeing her in the complete ensemble, and she hurriedly suppressed the reaction. Every time she viewed herself in a mirror, she felt a thrill of pleasure that the old canard about vamps having no reflection simply wasn't true.
The two bridesmaids united with the rest of the bride's side of the wedding party in the large common room at the back of the mansion. Taffy was in full wedding regalia, a pale redhead dripping in ivory lace. "She looks like a big white cake covered in icing," Fortunata muttered, and Dahlia, who actually agreed, said, "Hush. She looks beautiful." The long sleeves, the lace, the veil, the coronet of pearls . . . "We're lucky we're bridesmaids," Dahlia muttered. She drifted across the enormous, opulent room to gaze out the French doors at the scene outside. The French doors led out onto the flag-stoned terrace, and from the terrace down onto the lawn. The scene looked very familiar, with white chairs in two groups of orderly lines, with a red carpet bisecting the groups. Either the catering company Cedric had hired was the same one that had had the concession at the wedding Dahlia attended a couple of weeks before or the arrangement was standard operating procedure. Dahlia had dispensed with the doves, fearing some of the Weres would eat the birds before they could be released.
A fairy or two mingled with the crowd, carefully staying over on the groom's side. Fairies were notoriously delicious to vampires, and though everyone was sure to be on his or her best behavior, not every vamp had the same threshold of self-control. Dahlia recognized a goblin or two that Cedric did business with and assorted shape-shifters, including one dark exotic who changed into a cobra. (That had been a memorable sight on a memorable night. Dahlia smiled reminiscently)
Just then, a chorus of howls outside announced the arrival of the groomsmen, all decked out in their tuxes. Dahlia could distinguish Todd even at a distance. His burnished head was shining in the torches that had been set at intervals up and down the lawn. His glasses glinted. Dahlia sighed.
The music, provided by a Were rock band that was a favorite of the groom's, was surprisingly pleasant. The lead singer had a wonderfully tender voice that wrapped itself around love songs in an affecting way. He began to sing a number that she knew was called simply "The Wedding Song," because Taffy had dragged her along when she picked out the music.
Of course, the words weren't altogether pertinent since the subjects getting married weren't human. Don wasn't going to leave his mother, and Taffy wasn't going to leave her home. Taffy's home had slid into the ocean a couple of centuries before, and Don's mother was now pregnant by another member of the pack. But the sentiment, that the two would cleave together, was timely.
Just as Dahlia's eyes began to feel a little watery, Cedric appeared to give Taffy away. This was his right as sheriff, and Dahlia was proud that Cedric had stirred himself enough to be fitted for a traditional tuxedo. (He'd threatened to appear in an elaboration of his court costume from the time of Henry VIII.) The scene outside seemed to be boiling with activity, lots of the caterer's minions milling around. They needed to be more unobtrusive, Dahlia thought, and frowned.
The music changed, and Dahlia recognized the signal. She snapped her fingers. The bridesmaids grew still, and Taffy stared around her, looking as though she was going to panic. Cedric was searching around in his pocket for a handkerchief, since he was prone to tears at weddings, he'd said. Though he was perhaps a foot shorter than Taffy, he looked quite dapper in his black-and-white. His gleaming skin and dark Vandyke beard and mustache made him appear quite distinguished, and if it hadn't been for a few niggling worries, Dahlia would have been very satisfied with the showing the vampires were providing. Cedric might not be a ball of energy, but he was handsome and had a polished turn of phrase that would come in handy at the wedding banquet.
"What's happening out there?" Taffy asked. "Do I look all right?"
"Don has come to stand by his friend the minister," Dahlia reported. She had to stand on her tiptoes, even though she was at a slight elevation, to see what was happening. Don's friend, who'd been chosen over Harry the Druid, was a mail-order minister who happened to have a wonderfully solemn voice and an appropriate black robe. The marriage wouldn't exactly be legal anyway, so appearance was more important than religious preference. "He's looking toward the house, waiting for you!" Dahlia tried her best to sound excited, and the other bridesmaids twittered obligingly.
"Here's Todd, coming for me," she said, making sure she sounded quite emotionless. This was the way they'd agreed to do it, each bridesmaid going down the aisle paired with a Were, echoing the bridal couple. "That sucks," Glenda had said frankly, but Dahlia had given the other bridesmaids her big-eyed gaze, and they'd buckled.
Dahlia held her bouquet in the correct grip, and as Fortunata opened the door, Dahlia stepped out to meet the approaching Todd, who offered his arm at the right moment. The assembled guests gasped and murmured in a gratifying way at Dahlia's beauty, but Dahlia wanted to record only one reaction. Todd's eyes flared wide in the response Dahlia had long recognized as signaling sure attraction. Dahlia suppressed a grin and tried her best to look sweet and demure as she reached up to take Todd's brawny arm.
He bent down to tell her something confidential, and she waited with the faintest of smiles as they walked slowly down the red carpet.
"The caterers," he whispered. "There are too many of them."
"I wondered," she said, keeping her face arranged in a smile with some effort. "How'd they get in?"
"The caterer's in on it. They all had ID cards."
"This may be more fun that we'd counted on," she said, looking up at him for the first time. He caught his breath. "Woman, you stir my blood," he said sincerely.
She put her own feelings into her eyes and felt his pulse quicken in response. She murmured, "Armed?"
"Don't think we need to be," he said. "Tomorrow night's the full moon. We can change tonight, if we throw ourselves into it."
"When do you think it'll happen?"
"When the bride comes out," he said.
"Of course." The fanatics would want Taffy most of all. What a triumph for them if they could destroy the dead thing that wanted to marry a living man!
"If you change . . . there can't be any survivors," she observed, her soft voice audible only to his sharp ears.
He smiled down at her. "Not a problem."
They'd reached the front of the assemblage now. Dahlia was close enough to notice that the waiting groom was trembling with nerves, though Todd's arm under her hand felt rock-steady. They were due to split up here, Dahlia going to the bride's side and Todd to the groom's. "Don't separate," she said at the last minute, and they turned to face the guests together, but no longer arm in arm. The pair following in their wake, Fortunata and the stubby blond Were named Richie, were quick enough on the uptake to follow suit, as did the other two couples.
Now they formed a wall in front of the groom, and all Dahlia's hopes for her friend's safety depended on Taffy getting down the aisle and gaining safety behind the phalanx formed by the wedding party.
The men and women in white jackets-who'd been setting up tables and ferrying food from the kitchen and setting up the blood bar and the alcohol bar-were now trying to subtly position themselves in a loose circle around the guests and the wedding party.
All Dahlia's suspicions were confirmed.
It didn't take the crowd long to smell something odd. A confused murmur had just begun to spread through the guests when an apparently unsuspecting Taffy stepped out of the French doors. Cedric followed right behind her, giving her room to emerge in her full bridal splendor.
The caterers drew their weapons from under their white jackets and opened fire. Lots of the bullets were aimed at the bride.
But Taffy wasn't there. She had jumped five feet up in the air, and she was hurling her bridal bouquet at the nearest shooter hard enough to knock him down. Her eyes were blazing. Her red hair came loose from its elaborate arrangement, and she looked magnificent, every inch a vampire: a vampire totally pissed off that her wedding plans were being ruined.
Dahlia was proud enough to burst. But there wasn't any time to revel in her pleasure, because just as Todd bent to the ground and began to turn furry, Richie's chest exploded in a spray of red and Fortunata gasped with pain as a shot penetrated her arm.
From her own bouquet Dahlia extracted the wicked dagger she'd gotten Fortunata to conceal in its center, and with a bloodcurdling battle yell, she laid into the nearest server, a pie-faced young woman who hadn't mastered the art of close combat.
Dahlia and the other vamps mowed through the white-coated gunslingers like scythes, and the huge bronze wolf by her side was just as effective.
Though they may have been heavily briefed on the evil and vicious nature of vampires, the attackers certainly hadn't counted on such an instantaneous and drastic counterattack. And they didn't know anything about Werewolves. The shock value of seeing many of the guests turn into animals rendered some of the gun toters simply paralytic with astonishment, during which moment the wolves rendered them-well, literally rendered them.
One fanatical young man faced Dahlia's approach and held open his arms to either side, proclaiming, "I am ready to die for my faith!"
"Good," Dahlia said, somewhat startled that he was being so obliging. She separated him from his head with a quick swipe of the knife.
When the fighting was over, Dahlia and Todd found themselves back-to-back on a pile of rather objectionable corpses, looking around for any further opposition. But the only live people around them were those of their own kind. Dahlia turned to her companion. "It appears there are no more objections to the marriage," she said.
From the expression on his muzzle Dahlia could tell that she'd never looked so beautiful to the big Were-even covered in blood, her dress ruined. Todd changed from a wolf into an equally blood-dappled man wearing no clothes at all. "Oh," Dahlia said, happily. "Oh, bravo!"
Dahlia had paused to take some gulps of the real thing (to hell with the synthetic blood fountain) during the slaughter, and now she was rosy cheeked and feeling quite invigorated.
"The knives were your idea, weren't they?" Todd said admiringly.
Dahlia nodded, trying to look shy.
"It's a human tradition that the best man and the maid of honor have a fling at the wedding," Todd said.
"Is that right?" Dahlia looked up at him. "But you know, there hasn't been a wedding yet."
They looked around them as they made their way to the terrace. Cedric and Glenda were sipping from cups they'd filled with blood that wasn't synthetic at all. Ever the gracious host, Cedric had uncorked some champagne and offered the bottle to Don. Taffy, hanging on to Don's bare arm, was laughing breathlessly. Her pearl coronet was still straight, but her dress was ripped in several places. She didn't seem to care.
Richie, the sole serious casualty on the supernatural side, was being tended ably by a little doctor who looked suspiciously like a hobbit.
"I now pronounce you man and wife!" called the Were friend who'd been the "minister" at the ceremony. He was as naked as Todd. He had his arms wrapped around the Amazonian Were woman, who was equally bereft of clothing. They seemed quite happy, but not as happy as Don and Taffy as they kissed each other.
The wedding was pronounced a great success. In fact, though it had been termed scandalous before it occurred, Taffy and Don's wedding turned out to be the social event of the Rhodes summer season, in certain supernatural circles.
The disappearance of the Lucky Caterer's entire staff was a nine-day wonder in Rhodes law enforcement circles. Luckily for the vampires and the Weres, owner Lucky Jones had kept the wedding off the books because she expected the humans would kill all the guests.
And it's true that, as Dahlia had told Glenda, going through a war together breeds comradeship; less than a year later, the same Were minister was officiating at Todd and Dahlia's nuptials.
The couple wisely opted to have a less formal wedding-in fact, a potluck. Dahlia had decided that, contrary to all social indicators, caterers were simply tacky.
Charlaine HARRIS, who has been writing books for twenty-five years, is a native of Mississippi. She has written the lighthearted Aurora Teagarden books and the much edgier Lily Bard series. Now she's working on a series about a lightning-struck young woman named Harper Connelly, and the Sookie Stackhouse books, which blend mystery, humor, romance, and the supernatural. The Sookie books are also being read in Japan, Spam, Greece, Great Britain, Germany, Thailand, Russia, and France.
In addition to her work as a writer, Harris is married and the mother of three. A former weight lifter and karate student, she is an avid reader and cinemaphile. Harris is a member of the Mystery Writers of America and the American Crime Writers League. She has served on the board of Sisters in Crime, and alternates with Joan Hess as president of the Arkansas Mystery Writers Alliance.
Isn't it great?" Rafael Santiago wasn't a religious man in any sense of the word, but as he read the short story Jeff Brinks had published in the SF magazine in his hands, he felt a deep need to cross himself. . . .
Or at the very least, club the college student over the head until he lost all consciousness.
Keeping his expression carefully blank, Rafael slowly closed the magazine and met his Squire's eager look. At twenty-three, Jeff was tall and lean, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He'd only been a Squire to Rafael for the last couple of months, since Jeff's father had retired. An eager young man, Jeff had been good enough at remembering to pay bills on time, run Rafael's business, and help to protect his immortal status from the unknowing humans. But the one thing Jeff had wanted more than anything else was to publish one of the stories he was always scribbling on.
Now he had. . . .
Rafael tried to remember a time when he'd had dreams of grandeur, too. A time when he'd been human and had wanted to leave his mark on the world.
And just like him, Jeff's dreams were about to get the boy killed. "Have you shown this to anyone else?"
Damn, but Jeff reminded Rafael of a cocker spaniel puppy wanting someone to pet his head even though he'd just unknowingly pissed all over his owner's best shoes. "Not yet, why?"
"Oh, I don't know," Rafael said, stretching the words out and trying to mitigate some of the sarcasm in his tone. "I'm thinking the Night-Searcher series you're starting might be a really bad idea."
Jeff's face fell instantly. "You didn't like the story?"
"Not a question of liking it really. More a question of getting your ass kicked for spilling our secrets."
Jeff furrowed his brow, and by his baffled look it was obvious the boy had no idea what Rafael was talking about. "How do you mean?"
This time there was no way to keep the venom out of his voice. "I know they say to write what you know, but damn, Jeff. . . Ralph St. James? Night-Searchers? You've written the whole Dark-Hunter/Apollite vampire legend, and I really resent your making me a Taye Diggs clone. Nothing against the man, but other than the occasional bald head, the color of our skin, and a diamond stud in the left ear, we have nothing in common."
Jeff took the magazine from Raphael's hands, flipped to his story, and skimmed a few lines. "I don't understand what you're talking about, Rafael. This isn't about you or the Dark-Hunters. The only thing they have in common is that the Night-Searchers hunt down cursed vampires like the Dark-Hunters do. That's it."
Uh-huh. Rafael looked back at the story again, and even with the magazine upside down his eyes fell straight to the scene. "What about this, where the Taye Diggs look-alike Dark-Hunter is confronting a Daimon who's just stolen a human soul to elongate his life?"
Jeff made a sound of disgust. "That's a Night-Searcher who found a vampire to kill. It has nothing to do with the Dark-Hunters."
Yeah, right. "A vampire who just happens to steal human souls to elongate his life as opposed to the normal Hollywood variety where they live forever on blood?"
"Well, that's just cliche. It's so much better to have vampires who have really short lives and are then compelled, against their wills, and by a hatred fired by envy, to lash out at the human race. Makes it so much more interesting, don't you think?"
Not really. Especially since he was one of the people caught up in that battle. "That is also the reality we live in, Jeff. What you just described is a Daimon, not a vampire."
"Well maybe I borrowed from the Daimons a little, but the rest is all mine."
Rafael flipped to the next page. "Let's see. What about the cursed Tyber race that pissed off the Norse god Odin and is now damned to live only twenty-seven years unless they turn vampire and steal human souls. Substitute 'Apollite' for 'Tyber' and 'Apollo' for 'Odin' and again you have the story of the Apollite race who turn Daimon."
Sighing, Jeff crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head in denial.
"And what about this part here where the Night-Searchers sell their souls to the Norse goddess Freya, who is a vibrant redheaded femme fatale dressed all in white, to get revenge on whoever caused them to die?"
"No one is going to figure out that Artemis is Freya."
Rafael growled at him. "For the record, unlike Artemis, Freya happens to be a strawberry blonde. But you were right about one thing. She is gorgeous and highly seductive. Definitely hard to say no to her."
"Oh." Deepening his scowl, Jeff looked up. "How do you know all that?"
Rafael grew quiet as he remembered the night he'd met the Norse goddess and she had tempted him well. That had definitely been one hell of a day. . . . "Freya's the goddess who hand selects warriors for Valhalla. Or in the case of myself, she wanted to take me off with her to her own hall and add me to her harem."
Jeff gaped. "And you chose to fight for Artemis instead, what kind of stupid are you?"
There were times when the kid could be eerily astute. "Yeah, well, in retrospect it was a bad bargain on my part. But at the time Artemis was offering me vengeance on my enemies it seemed so much more appealing than being Freya's love slave . . . which gets back to Freya being Artemis in your story."
"But you just said she's not Artemis and she comes after warriors, too. So it could happen. She could make a bargain like the one I wrote about in my story."
And icicles could grow on the sun. Freya collected warriors, she didn't send them back to the mortal plane to fight Daimons/vampires. Artemis did that. But not willing to argue the point anymore when it was obvious Jeff didn't see it, Rafael moved on to the next similarity. "And what about this? Ralph-Jesus, boy, couldn't you come up with something better than a bodily function to name me-was a Caribbean pirate, son of an Ethiopian slave and Brazilian merchant. . . ." He glanced down to read the description: "At six six, Ralph was one to intimidate anyone who saw him. With his shaved head that was tattooed with African tribal symbols given to him by a Shaman he'd met in his travels, he walked the earth as if he owned it. But more than that, the black tattoos blended at times with his dark brown flesh, making the two of them seem indistinguishable from each other as if he bore some kind of alien skin."
Unable to read another word of the description that was so eerily close to himself that it made him want to choke his Squire, Rafael let out a disgusted breath. "While I'm both flattered and highly offended, I can assure you, this won't win you a Hugo or Nebula nomination."
Jeff pulled the magazine out of his hands again in a high-handed manner. "I resent that. It's a great story. And you don't exactly have those tattoos, either, now do you?"
Rafael's right eye started twitching from the aggravation. "I have intricate scroll work tattooed up my neck to the base of my skull and like Ralph"-he growled the word-"I have them on both arms. They're close enough to what you describe. No matter how you disguise this trite bullshit, it's my life, Jeff. Penned in an awkward manner. It's things I didn't want to see in black-and-white print. You're lucky after three hundred years that I've mellowed. In my human days, I'd have slit your throat, pulled your tongue through the opening, and left you tied to a tree for the wolves to eat."
"Ew!"
"Yes," he said, taking a step toward the overgrown adolescent, "and effective. Trust me, no one betrayed me twice."
"What about the guy who killed you?"
Rafael's eyes flared as he fought his urge to kill the boy. It was a damn good thing that he liked Jeff's father and the man had served him well for over twenty years. Otherwise Jeff would be meeting with an "accident" right about. . . oh, now.
Taking a deep breath, Rafael asked in a tone that belied his anger, "I only have one more question. What's the circulation on this rag?"
Jeff shrugged. "I don't know. About one hundred and fifty thousand worldwide, I think."
"You are so dead."
"Oh, come on," Jeff said, dismissing the very real danger he was facing. "You're overreacting. No one is going to care." The best place to hide is out in the open. Haven't you ever heard that? Step out of the Dark Ages, Rafe. Everywhere you look there are vampires and a whole counterculture dedicated to them. Open your mouth to a woman, show her your fangs, and she'll beg you to bite her. Trust me. I have a fake set I wear to parties and use frequently. Nowadays being undead doesn't get you killed. It just makes it easier to get laid."
Rafael shook his head. "That argument has reached a whole new level of lame."
"Please, spare me that, old wise one. There's a whole new school of thought going around about how best to protect and hide you guys. If we start telling people about the Dark-Hunters, but make them think it's a book series or some urban fantasy thing, when they actually meet one of you, they'll just think you're either actors or roleplayers. Or at the very worst, they'll think you're insane, but never will they believe you're real."
He was seriously considering getting Jeff a CAT scan to make sure the kid still had a brain. "What Einstein came up with this?"
"Well. . . originally it was Nick Gautier."
"And the poor man is now dead. Shouldn't you guys be following someone else's ideas?"
"No. It makes perfect sense. Get out of the basement, Rafe, and hang with the new generation. We know the 911."
Rafael snorted. "It's 411, Jeff, and you don't know shit. But you are going to need 911 once the Council learns about this."
"I'll be fine, trust me. Nick and I aren't the only ones who think like this these days."
Those words had no sooner left his mouth than Rafael's cell phone started ringing. He checked the ID to see "Ephani." An ancient Amazon who'd crossed over almost three thousand years ago, she was definitely an acquired taste. But even so, he liked her a great deal. Pulling the phone off his belt, he answered it.
"What's up, Amazon?" he asked, stepping away from Jeff while his Squire continued to admire his story in the magazine.
The kid had no sense of self-preservation.
"Hey, Rafe. I-um . . . I'm not sure how to break this to you, but do you know what your Squire's been up to lately?"
Deciding to play it cool, Rafael cut a glare at Jeff. "Writing the great American novel, what else?"
"Uh-huh. Have you ever read one of those novels he's been working on?"
"Not until today. Why?"
She let out a long sigh. "I'm assuming you have a copy of the Escape Velocity magazine with his story in it, right?"
"I do."
"Good, then it won't come as a shock to you to know that my Squire just left and she's heading over to your house to have a talk with Jeff. If I were you-"
"Say no more. He's leaving the country even as we speak. Thanks for the call, Eph."
"No problem, amigo."
Hanging up the phone, he narrowed his eyes on Jeff. "That was Ephani warning me that you're about twenty minutes from dying."
Jeff's face turned stone white. "What?"
He nodded. "Her Squire, Celena, Ms. Blood Rite, I-kill-anything-that-breaks-formation, is on her way over here to have a word with you. Since Celena isn't real big on conversation, I'm taking that as a euphemism for 'kick your ass.' "
Rafael paused as those words conjured one hell of an image in his mind-Celena kicking his ass in that pair of stiletto corset boots she often wore. And in his mind she was wearing nothing but a thong. . . . Yeah . . . that was something he definitely wouldn't mind.
A native of Trinidad, Celena had the most perfect mocha complexion he'd ever seen. It was so smooth and inviting that it begged a man to taste it.
And her lips . . .
Angelina Jolie had nothing on her. She moved slow and seductive like a cat and he'd spent more than his fair share of time wanting her to rub that lean, curvy body of hers up against his.
But unfortunately, she was a Squire and he was a Dark-Hunter. By the rules of their world, she was off limits to him, and though Rafael didn't give two shits about most rules, Celena lived for them.
It was a crime against nature in his opinion that a woman that fine couldn't be corrupted.
"What do I do?" Jeff asked.
"Well, not to insult a man who looks like a rocket scientist in comparison to you, but. . . run, Forrest, run."
"But I didn't do anything wrong. It's a new era where--"
"Do you really want to argue that point while someone, who is only a few minutes away, is speeding over here to most likely kill you?"
Jeff paused for a single heartbeat before common sense finally seized him. "Where should I hide?"
If it wasn't for the fact that as a Dark-Hunter Rafael was impervious to illness, he'd swear a migraine was starting right behind his left eye. "Get to the basement and hide there. Don't make a peep and don't leave until I tell you it's safe."
Jeff nodded before he ran for the door. Two seconds later he was back. Rafael watched him with a frown as he searched around the room until he located the baseball bat he'd used yesterday at the batting cages. He picked it up and cradled it to his chest before he headed back toward the basement.
"What are you doing?" Rafael asked.
"Protection."
Yeah, right. Celena was highly trained and deadly. A whack with the bat would only piss her off an instant before she jerked it out of Jeff's hands and beat him with it, but far be it from him to tell Gomer that.
"Hide well," Rafael said, exaggerating his voice.
Jeff nodded again before he dashed down to where Rafael's bedroom and living area were.
Pressing the heel of his hand against his brow where the imagined pain seemed to be located, Rafael glanced around the parlor of his Victorian house to make sure that Jeff hadn't left anything like his underwear lying about. The boy was a good Squire in that he kept up the appearance that someone lived in the house who actually aged but seriously sucked when it came to general housekeeping.
At least for once the place was decent. Except for the Xbox that Jeff had left stretched from the plasma TV to the leather sofa. Rafael had just turned the game off and put it away when he heard a fierce knock on his front door.
Rafael straightened his shirt before he sauntered over to answer it. He could already see Celena's curvy outline though the frosting on the glass. The porch light highlighted her medium brown hair that she wore pulled back from her face to trail in a ponytail of small braids from the crown of her head.
Her lips were perfect and outlined in dark red glossy lipstick. She had catlike almond-shaped eyes and an attractive mole right above the left arch of those lips.
Damn, she was the finest-looking woman he'd ever seen. Opening the door, he gave her the sexiest smile he could. "Hi, Celena."
But she was all business. Her dark brown eyes didn't even glance his way. They went straight past him, into the house.
"Where's Jeff?"
"Don't know."
That finally succeeded in getting her to look at him, but then she quickly glanced away and continued to search the house with her gaze. "What do you mean, you don't know? After dark, a Dark-Hunter is always supposed to know the whereabouts of his or her Squire."
"Ah, c'mon," he teased. "You don't really tell Ephani every place you go after dark, do you?"
"Of course I do."
She tried to step past him, but he quickly blocked her way and kept her outside on the porch.
"So what do you want with Jeff?" he asked in a nonchalant tone.
"That's Squires' business."
"Really? I thought anything that concerned a Hunter's Squire also concerned the Hunter, since he's my partner, in a purely platonic sense."
The edges of her lips twitched as if she found something funny about his words.
He couldn't explain it, but he really wanted to see a full-blown smile from this woman. "What?"
One corner of her mouth lifted into an attractive grin, but it still wasn't the smile he wanted to see from her. The kind that would light up her eyes and make her laugh. "I was just thinking about Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash-the pirate's credo."
He laughed at that even though he should have been offended. "Jeff is too hairy for my tastes. I much prefer a woman's smooth skin . . . the softness of a female body. I never was one to cuddle a porcupine."
Celena swallowed at the seductive tone in Rafael's deep voice. The sound of it had always reminded her of James Earl Jones, except Rafael's was marked by a heavy Brazilian accent. One that sent a chill down her spine.
She knew she had no business even looking at him with anything remotely similar to lust, and yet the man set her hormones on fire. Especially that wicked scent of masculine power tinged with Brut aftershave. It was a deadly combination.
Not to mention the fact that he was wearing a tight black V-neck sweater that only emphasized how perfectly formed he was. It clung to every dip and bulge of the muscles on his body. How was a woman supposed to keep her mind straight when a man like this was in front of her?
Clearing her throat, she forced her thoughts back to business. "Where is he?"
A devilish glint taunted her from the midnight depths of his eyes. "Tell me what you want with him and I might tell you where he is."
Narrowing her gaze, she found it difficult to maintain her outraged anger while he looked at her with that playful air. And that seriously annoyed her. "I'm here to take him into custody and deliver him to the Council."
"Well, that sucks." Even though his tone was sincere, she could tell he was mocking the Council and their orders. "Bank robbery, handing out the passwords for the Dark-Hunter Web site, carjacking, mugging, cats mixing with dogs, and now this . . . writing a short story. High crimes all. You get the rope and we'll hang him for it. God forbid the whole twelve subscribers of that magazine should actually read a fictional story and think it real."
She glared at him. How dare he make light of this. "It has a substantial readership."
"And Jeff used a pseudonym for not only us but himself as well. As the kid says, what better place to hide than under people's noses?" Even as he said that, he couldn't believe he was backing Jeff's story. But then that was what friends should do for each other. "It's nothing to worry over."
"Nothing?" She was aghast at his light tone. How could he write this off as if it were nothing more than a simple hangnail that bothered them? "He's exposed us."
"No, Talon getting filmed in the middle of a hissy fit in New Orleans exposed us. Zarek getting caught on tape exposed us. This is minor. I mean, damn, Acheron was able to cover up all the others with little incidence. This, too, shall pass."
Not bloody likely. "This is entirely different."
"I agree. Jeff is mortal and only has a handful of years left to him, whereas Talon and Zarek have an eternity to continue being stupid. Let's not shorten the kid's life any more than we have to, shall we?"
He did have a point, but she hated to admit that. Besides, that didn't matter. She was here to do her job. Rafael didn't control her. She was a representative of the Council. "What happens to him isn't my decision. It's the Council's. I'm merely here to collect him."
"He's just a kid."
"He's only two years younger than I am and he's certainly old enough to know to keep his mouth shut."
"Haven't you ever done something you knew you shouldn't and then regretted it?"
She didn't hesitate with her answer. "No."
"No?" he asked incredulously. "You've never once broken a rule, lied, or got away with anything?"
"Only once in junior high when my sister came home late, because I didn't want to get her into trouble. Then one week later, she did it again and was injured in a car wreck, trying to get home before dawn, which taught me the value of lying to help someone. Since then I've never told another one and I don't intend to start now. I have integrity."
"Wow. You have one boring life."
"I resent that."
Those dark eyes teased and tormented her with a mixture of amusement and pity. "Resent all you want, but it's true. How have you managed to live such a perfect life?"
And that she resented even more. "It's not perfect. It has moments of. . ." She paused as she realized what she'd almost let slip. There were times when she really hated how uptight she was. But every time she'd ever tried to do something that was even remotely fun or even the least bit dishonest, she'd paid for it in the worst sort of way.
Like the time in high school when her sister had talked her into skipping school. They'd no more than driven down the street when her sister had plowed into the side of a Mercedes. Or the one time Celena had cut a man off in traffic only to get a flat tire immediately.
She had bad karma, which kept her perpetually toeing the line. If she'd been Jeff, the moment they published that story she'd have probably died of ink poisoning or something equally as bizarre.
But this wasn't about her. It was about a man who'd broken his Squire's oath, and he needed to be reprimanded.
Rafael tilted his head as he waited for her to finish her sentence. She was thinking of something, and from the darkness of her eyes and the furrow of her brow he could tell it was painful for her. "Of?"
Her expression turned blank. "Nothing."
Rafael gave her his best smile as he considered a way to save Jeff and to get him the one thing he wanted most. . . more time with a woman who tempted him.
"C'mon, Celena. Learn to live a little."
"I have rules to follow and a job to do. Surely even you can appreciate that."
"But don't you want to break free and have some fun just once in your life?"
She didn't answer, but by the look on her face he could tell that he was getting to her.
"Look," he said, trying to weaken her even more, "let's make a deal. Give me a week and if I can't get you to break one single Squire's rule, I'll hand Jeff over and let you hang him. . . . Hell, I'll even buy the rope. But if I do get you to break a rule . . . one teensy little rule, you'll let him go."
She shook her head. "It'll never work. The Council won't wait a week."
"Sure they will. Tell them you can't find him and that you're looking for him."
Her face hardened. "I can't do that. It's a lie."
She was a tough one. He'd never met anyone with so much resolve to do the right thing before. But then again, he'd been a pirate in his mortal life and high moral fiber wasn't exactly something they had a plethora of. In fact, those possessed of that madness usually found themselves killed off fairly quickly.
It was part of what he found so fascinating about her. How could someone live her life as she did? He didn't understand it, and a strange part of himself wanted to.
It was the same part of himself that wanted to know more about this woman other than the fact that she looked edible in those black jeans and crop top.
"You know," he said playfully, "it's not a lie. You really don't know where he is, and I can make sure that he runs from you for eternity."
She let out a tired breath as if she were suddenly tired of fighting him. "Why are you doing this?"
For once, Rafael was honest. "Because as stupid as he is, Jeff is a friend of mine, and I'm not going to hang him out to dry."
Celena had to admire that. Many Dark-Hunters could care less what happened to their Squires. To them a Squire was a servant, plain and simple.
"C'mon, Celena." He gave her a wink. "It's the only shot you have at getting him."
"And if I don't break a rule in a week's time?"
"I'll hand him over."
She cocked her head as she considered that. Rafael wasn't exactly known for keeping his word. "You swear?"
"Every day."
She hissed at him. "That's not what I mean and you know it."
For the first time, his handsome face turned completely serious. "On my word as a pirate who died defending his crew, absolutely."
He said it with such conviction that she found herself actually believing it. Besides, he was right. If he wanted to hide Jeff, there wasn't much they could do to reclaim him. And knowing the two of them, Jeff and Rafael would probably rub all their noses in it, too.
"Okay. I'm going to trust you. In seven days, I'll be back to collect him. Have him here and waiting."
She turned to leave only to find Rafael's hand on her arm, pulling her to a stop.
"Whoa, wait a sec, love. You don't think it's that easy, do you?"
"How do you mean?"
That devilish gleam returned to his midnight eyes. "There can be no faith without doubt. No strength without temptation. In order for this bargain to stand, you have to be here so that I can oversee your behavior myself."
She stiffened at his implication. "My word is gold."
"And usually mine is pyrite. At the moment, though, to see this through, I want you here to serve me. It's only fair anyway, since you're the reason I'm being deprived of Jeff's service, such as it is."
"Who will look after Ephani?"
"Call in a substitute. That's what you would've had to do to find him anyway, right?"
Celena was beginning to hate this man. "You can't be serious."
"Quite. Now is it a deal, or not? Think quickly before I change the terms again."
And he probably would, too, just to annoy her. "Fine, it's a deal." And yet even as she said those words, she had the sneaking suspicion that she'd just signed her soul away to the devil.
As soon as Rafael had Celena out of his house, he rushed to the basement only to find Jeff lying back on his black leather sofa, feet up on the coffee table, playing his PSP as if he didn't have a care in the world. It was so unbelievable that Rafael stood in the doorway for a full minute, staring with a slackened jaw.
Jeff was the kind of man that as pirates they'd have buried alive in the sand and left to rot. Why? Because people like him really were too stupid to live. It was a public service to speed them to their graves.
Honestly, the temptation to kill him was there and it was strong. Damn strong.
Yet again, Jeff was lucky Rafael had mellowed tremendously over the centuries. Not to mention the small fact that Rafael wanted an opportunity to break at least one more major rule before one of them died.
Jeff had no idea that he owed his life right now to the fact that Celena had the most tempting lips this side of paradise and if Rafael wanted a taste of them, he had to get Jeff out of here before she returned.
Rafael grabbed the tiny remote from the table to his left and turned the PSP off.
"Hey!" Jeff snapped, looking up. "I was on level four and I didn't save it."
"Screw level four. I need you to get out of here, pronto."
"And go where?"
"My boat in the marina."
Jeff curled his lip in distaste. "And do what?"
"Live through the night, which is more than you're going to get to do if you don't stop lipping off. Now get up and get started. I've bought you some time, kid, but it's finite. You have to go lie low for a week."
While Jeff made juvenile noises of discontent, Rafael's attention fell to his laptop, which was on the table at Jeff's feet-that should do to keep him occupied and out of trouble.
At least until the poor bastard published something again.
Picking the laptop up, Rafael handed it off to Jeff. "Go write your great American novel, but for God's sake, do what everyone else does and make the whole story up."
Jeff grimaced at him. "You know I get seasick."
"You'll survive seasickness. Lead poisoning's another matter. There's enough staples and such on board that you should be fine. Keep your ass below deck and if you so much as look at the helm, I'll cut your head off myself. You're not to go joyriding or anything else on my boat-it really is worth more to me than your life. Do not leave the lower deck under any circumstances barring fire, and whatever you do, keep a bucket nearby and don't puke on anything."
Jeff screwed his face up as if that were the most sickening thought he'd ever had. "But I want to stay here."
"And people in hell want ice water and if you don't go to the boat, you'll probably be able to take it to them in person in about twenty minutes. Get out, Jeff. Now."
Jeff started to grumble as he got up, then caught himself. "Can I take the PSP?"
"If it will speed you on your way."
"You got any more games for it?"
Raphael growled low in his throat as he picked the small black game case off the coffee table and chucked it at him. "Anything else?"
"A hooker would be nice."
"Jeff. . ."
"I'm going; I'm going."
The pain in Rafael's skull returned as Jeff made his way back upstairs at a pace that would make a slug proud. Oh yeah, they'd have sacrificed him on the main deck ten seconds after boarding.
"Could you pick up the pace, Jeff? We only have another eight or nine hours until daybreak."
He cast a grimace at Rafael over his shoulder. "You're such a bossy asshole."
"Comes with being a pirate captain . . . which my father was, too, by the way. He wasn't a merchant like you have in your story. He ate those for breakfast."
Jeff actually stopped on the stairs. "Really?"
"Jeff!" he snapped. "Up. The. Stairs."
Mocking his words, Jeff finally managed to make it up to the door. It took about fifteen minutes to get him packed and out of the house, along with more warnings about what Rafael would do if Jeff so much as scuffed a board on his boat.
Jeff had only been gone at most five minutes before Celena returned. Rafael had to force himself not to glance down the street after Jeff since it was obvious the two of them must have passed each other on the road. But unlike Jeff, Celena was quick on the uptake and would realize why Rafael was looking north.
No doubt she'd catch the snail and salt him well.
"Welcome back, my lady," Rafael said as Celena adjusted the black backpack on her shoulder as she neared his door.
She only grumbled in response as she stepped past him and entered his house. "I can't believe I have to do this," she said under her breath.
He was a bit stung by her words until he realized she still wasn't looking at him. In fact, she avoided it with such determination that it made him smile. No woman did that unless she was interested and was trying to fight it.
"Let me show you where to bunk."
Celena stepped back so that Raphael could lead her toward the mahogany stairs in the middle of the house. She really did hate being here. How could she serve a man who distracted her so much? And as he headed up the stairs and she had an unobstructed view of that tight, perfectly formed butt, it was all she could do not to reach out and grope it.
This was wrong on so many levels. How had she allowed him to talk her into this?
It's the only way to get Jeff. Or was that just an excuse so that she could be here with him? Not wanting to even consider that thought, she forced herself back to business. She'd have to keep her thoughts on her work and not on how good Rafael looked while dressed all in black. . . .
Or more to the point, wonder what he'd look like without those clothes on.
He took her to the first room on the left. "This is the guest room, not that I ever have guests, except for . . ." He glanced at her and winked. "We won't go into that, but it's clean and well kept."
"Thanks," she said, stepping inside to find a room that was decorated in Victorian antiques. It was actually quite lovely, with heavy burgundy drapes and gold brocade Chippendale chairs. The Victorian tester bed held a matching burgundy and gold bedspread that looked lush and inviting.
Not half as inviting as it would be with a naked Rafael in it, but what could she do?
Ask him to join you?
Yeah. Shaking her head at her errant thoughts, she set her backpack on the mattress, then turned to look at Rafael, who cut a tempting pose in the doorway. With him dressed in black pleated pants and a black sweater that clung to his body, it was hard to think straight. Which meant she needed to get him out of here before she lost all sense of her duties and succumbed to the idea of stripping him bare.
"Shouldn't you be out patrolling?" she asked.
"Still too early. Besides, there hasn't been much Daimon activity lately." He crossed himself. "Since Danger died, it's been unnaturally quiet."
"Yeah, that's what Ephani says, too. It's like they've moved on, which is weird. You'd think killing a Dark-Hunter would have invigorated them."
Without commenting, he moved closer to her ... so close that the scent of him invaded her senses. More than that, it warmed her completely. There was something calming about that scent of Brut and man. Something tempting and sinful.
It kept her spellbound as he paused right beside her and lifted his hand to brush a stray braid from her shoulder. Her heart racing, she couldn't move. All she wanted was to feel him touching her.
A small smile hovered on the edges of his lips as he dipped his head toward hers. She knew he was going to kiss her and still she couldn't move.
Not until his lips parted and she glimpsed his fangs.
He's a Dark-Hunter.
That jolted her enough that she could take three steps back. "We should reorganize your house while I'm here so that it's more efficient."
Rafael bit back a foul curse. One more second and he would have had her. "House is fine."
"No. No, it's not. Do you even have an evacuation plan for what to do if it were to catch fire during the daylight? You know you could roast and die quite easily, then you'd be a soulless Shade and screwed for eternity."
That went over him like a cold shower. Now there was something he'd never thought about before, and he was pretty good at putting together disaster plans.
"It happens a lot with these older homes," she continued. "What with their faulty wiring and all. I heard of one Dark-Hunter who died like that just last year."
"Who?"
"I can't remember the name, but it was one of the Dark-Hunters in England. Total barbecue. You can check it on the Web site."
He'd really rather not. No Dark-Hunter liked to read about the death of another one. It brought home that even though they were technically immortal, there were still things out there that could kill them. And having died already, it wasn't something Rafael wanted to experience again.
Still, she didn't relent. "You should contact a friend of mine. He specializes in fireproofing underground bunkers for Dark-Hunters. He can put in a sprinkler system and-"
"You're rambling."
"No, I'm not. Dark-Hunter safety is a Squire's number one priority. In fact, I'll call Leonard first thing in the morning and see when he can come out for an estimate. We should also make sure that you have a roll bar in your car in case you flip over in a wreck. Oh, and a steel bar shield on the driver's side in the event you run up under something, so that you can't be decapitated."
Without conscious thought, Rafael's hand went to his throat. Damn, the woman gave paranoia a whole new meaning.
"We should also look into the history of this house and make sure that it was never used as a bed-and-breakfast."
"Why?"
"If property has ever been used as a community place such as a boardinghouse, restaurant, or anything open to the public, then the Daimons can enter without an invitation. You don't want them barging in on you and killing you, now do you?"
"Not really."
"Then we need to do a property search. Unless your last Squire did that."
"No."
She tsked. "I need a piece of paper. This is going to take a while."
And by the time she fished that paper out of her backpack and started making a list, Rafael felt ill. The woman should work as a Codes Inspector. Jeez. She thought of dangers that had never occurred to him.
She even went outside and inspected the grade of his basement, which wasn't high enough, in her estimation. After all, according to her, a foundation shift could cause a crack that could theoretically expose him to daylight.
Not bloody likely, but she seemed determined to ferret out any possible-heavy emphasis on the "possible"-threat.
By the time ten o'clock rolled around, he was more than ready to begin his patrol. He came up from the basement to find an arsenal on the table.
Two daggers, three stakes because two could break in a fight, a Daimon tracker that he'd always profaned using, a Kevlar jacket, his cell phone, and a watch were all laid out for him.
When she lifted the Kevlar to help him into it, he merely stared at her. "Bullets can't kill me."
"No, but they do hurt. The Daimons could, in theory, shoot you until you're too weakened to fight them and then behead you."
He shook his head at her as he again declined to put on the jacket. She was perturbed as she set it aside while he hid the daggers in his boots.
"Want to put a cone around my head like a dog to make sure that they can't decapitate me while we're at it?" he asked sarcastically.
"I would," she said to his instant incredulous dismay, "but Ephani got really angry when I tried that with her, so I learned that it's more important for you to blend in than protect the neck. But I do have this." She pulled a thick black steel collar from her pocket. "If you wear it under a turtleneck, it's not so obvious. Kind of medievally looking."
He had no response to that. It was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard. In fact, as he tucked the stakes away, he had to force himself not to use them on his latest menace. . . .
Her.
She handed him the watch. "I double-checked the sunrise on weather.com <http://weather.com> and cross-checked it with the meteorological society and my friend who's an astronomer to be sure it was accurate. It's at six fifty-nine A.M. sharp. I've already set the alarm to give you a twenty-minute warning." Next, she held out a piece of paper. "Here's a list of how long it will take you from various parts of the tricity area to get back here. I'll keep an eye on your tracers to make sure that you have adequate time to make it back home without threat or harm."
Then she handed him a folded-up black body bag. "And in the event you can't make it back, zip yourself up in this and press the panic alarm I added to your key chain. Then I can come get you home before the daylight makes you burst into flames."
Again, he was speechless.
She picked up his cell phone. "I preprogrammed my number in on the speed dial under one and Acheron under two. Did you know you didn't have any numbers listed as 'ICE'? You should always have an In Case of Emergency contact number. So I put mine in for that, too."
"What about Jeff?"
"Since he won't be with us much longer, I didn't bother."
This was madness. No wonder Ephani hadn't fought him on having Celena replaced for a week. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the woman was insane.
"Anything else, Mom?" he asked.
"Yes. Play nice with the other kids and don't let the Daimons get the drop on you. Use the tracer so that you know where they are at all times."
Raphael couldn't get out of his house fast enough. So much for his thoughts about trying to seduce her. He'd rather face the Daimon horde blindfolded and with both hands tied behind his back.
More than that, he'd rather go babysit Jeff. If anyone had ever told him that he'd prefer the lazy, lackadaisical boy to the hot Caribbean sex goddess, he'd have laughed in their face.
Now he could appreciate Jeff's laid-back nature.
Maybe it's just a ploy of hers. . . .
He paused at that thought. Maybe she was just doing this to drive him away. It was possible.
Very possible.
Oh yeah, he was on to her now. It made total sense.
Fine then. Two could play this game.
Getting into his car, he smiled. "En garde, ma petite." They were about to go to war, and at the end of this, he was going to win.
Rafael wasn't winning his war. He was losing it miserably and not even with style. No matter what he tried, Celena circumvented his best efforts. The woman was a machine, and after forty-eight hours of having her in his house, he'd had enough.
Sitting on his couch in the basement an hour after sunset-because, quite frankly, if he went upstairs, he might kill her-he called Ephani, who answered on the third ring.
"Come get your Squire," he said without preamble.
Her tone was dry and snide. "Hi to you, too, Rafael. Nice to hear from you."
"Cut the crap, Eph, and come get her before I kill her."
"She making you crazy?" He could hear the humor in her voice.
"You think? How do you stand it night in and night out and not lose your mind?"
"She's a little obsessive, but-"
"A little?" he asked incredulously. "The woman makes a serial stalker look like a Boy Scout."
Ephani snorted. "She's not that bad."
"Oh yes, she is. Trust me. I almost lost my head to a Daimon the first night she was here."
"How so?"
He clenched his teeth at the memory. "Picture this. There I am in the alleyway, sneaking up on a group of Daimons who have this college kid trapped between them. Just as I go to make my move to save the kid, the phone rings with Ms. I-have-no-purpose-save-to-make-you-crazy calling to tell me that according to the tracer she has on me it's time for me to head home so that I won't get caught out in daylight."
Ephani was laughing so hard that he wanted to reach through the phone and choke her.
"It's not funny."
She kept laughing.
Rafael let out a disgusted sigh. "Did she reorganize your kitchen and fill it up with wheat germ and shit? I tried to explain the whole I'm-immortal-I-live-forever to her, but she doesn't get it. She said that even immortals need to eat healthy foods."
Still Ephani was laughing.
And still Rafael wanted to kill the Amazon as well as Celena. "This really isn't funny, Eph."
"Oh yeah, it is. Gah, Rafe. You're such a man."
"And I'm going to take that as a compliment."
Clearing her throat, Ephani finally sobered. "There's a few things you need to understand about Celena."
"You mean something other than she's nuts?"
Ephani tsked at him over the phone. "She's not nuts."
He glanced up to the ceiling. No doubt Celena was up there right now doing something extremely odd in order to protect him, the immortal warrior. "I think I'll reserve my opinion."
"Trust me, Blackbeard. She's not nuts."
"Then what is she?"
"Scared." The word surprised him, Celena certainly didn't act that way. "Have you tried to ask her anything about her family?"
"A couple of times, but she won't talk about them."
"That's right and do you know why?"
"She's nuts?" This time he said it with a little less enthusiasm.
"No . . . she's scared."
But that didn't make sense to him. "Of what?"
"Of losing the people she loves, so she tries to keep up walls to protect herself. If she doesn't talk about people, then they can't be close to her. But it's a crock. I know this because when her father died a year ago, it almost killed her. She still cries about him in the middle of the day when she thinks I'm sleeping."
The news floored him. That was so opposite of the hard-nosed woman upstairs. There was nothing vulnerable about her, and honestly, he couldn't imagine her crying about anything. "Celena?"
"Yes, Celena. And do you know why she's so anal about her duties?"
"She's nuts?" He was back to being convinced. Anyone who executed their duties to such an nth degree wasn't normal.
"No," Ephani said in an irritated tone. "Like Jeff she's from a Squire family. The Dark-Hunter she grew up with was killed eight years ago because he was cornered by a group of Daimons and executed. If that wasn't bad enough, the first Dark-Hunter she was assigned to died because she couldn't make it back before sunup. Celena tried to get to her in time, but there was no place for her to hide, so she turned into toast minutes before Celena got there. The Council warned me when they sent her over that she was a bit. . . traumatized by the event. Hell, if you think she's bad now, you should have seen her when she first came to work for me."
If she was worse, then he was grateful he hadn't met her then. But all that actually explained a great deal about her psychosis.
"And she must really like you to be so paranoid that she's calling you all the time to make sure you get back home in time. She's not that bad even with me." Then she added under her breath, "Then again, I always follow her patrol plans and get back before she freaks."
Rafael was quiet for a second as he considered Ephani's words. "That puts a lot of perspective on her, doesn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," he said with a sigh, "I won't kill her tonight."
"Please don't. All in all, I'm rather fond of her, and I have to say I much prefer her to the one I'm dealing with right now. This one's kind of lazy. She even balked at making my scrambled eggs with cheese and onions in them."
Rafael laughed at that. "I guess it's what you're used to."
"I guess. But send Celena home soon. I miss her."
He shook his head. "By the way, thanks, Eph."
"No prob. Just take care of my girl."
"Will do." Rafael hung up the phone and tucked it back in his pants pocket. His mind whirling with what he'd learned, he headed upstairs to find his "breakfast" waiting.
Grabbing a piece of bacon, he had to admit that this was the one thing he liked about having Celena around. Unlike Jeff, she was up all night with him and made sure that he had plenty of food prepared. She even packed him a snack bag to take with him. Of course it was full of wholesome foods that he poked at like an alien life-form, but it was a nice thought.
"Hi."
He swallowed his bacon as she brought him a glass of orange juice. "Hi."
After he took the glass, she lifted a notebook up from the table. "I've made notes on your patrolling patterns. I've noticed that you tend to stay here in Columbus around campus until about midnight and then you head over to Starkville. I was thinking that-"
He took the pad from her hand and set it aside. "I like my pattern, Celena."
"But it would be safer for you to patrol Starkville first and then head back this way."
"And I was a pirate who laughed as he died and spat in the face of my killer. Safety's not my concern."
"It should be," she insisted.
"Why?"
Her brow creased by worry, her face held a very faint hysterical note in it. "Because you could die and become a Shade, wandering the earth with no body and no soul, in constant pain and misery. Wanting food. Wanting someone to hear you. Wanting someone to just touch you and having no one able to see you. To-"
He stopped her words by laying his fingers on her lips. Personally, he didn't like the gruesome image she painted with her words. "It's okay, Celena. I'm not going to die."
But he could see the pain and fear in her eyes. "That's why you should rethink your pattern."
Moving his fingers from her soft lips, Rafael dipped his head down to capture her mouth only to have her retreat from him again.
He let out a tired breath. "Don't you ever date?"
"Not anymore. To bring an outsider in could threaten the safety of Ephani. What if I were on a date and she needed me?"
"What if a meteorite fell through the house right now and flattened us both?"
She actually glanced up at the ceiling.
If it wasn't so serious, he'd laugh. "Celena, you can't go through your entire life worrying about what might happen." He closed the distance between them. "Any more than you can go through life alone. Trust me on this one. It's lonely as hell."
"You live that way."
"Not always. I do reach out to someone from time to time."
Instead of comforting her, those words brought out her anger. "And I'm not your one-night stand. We both have duties to attend to. Oaths to uphold."
"I would kiss you anyway, but I have a feeling that if I tried-"
"I'd kick you in the nuts and tear your ear off." There was no mistaking the sincerity of her angry tone.
"That would hurt."
"That's the idea."
Rafael shook his head at her. She was saucy, and as she walked away from him he couldn't help the heat that flooded his body. Everything about her appealed to him on a primal level.
Honestly, he was losing his mind being this close to something that tempted him while unable to touch it. No wonder the Council preferred to assign only Squires who were the opposite sex of what a Dark-Hunter lusted for.
I can't take it. He needed some distance from her.
"I'm going to kill Daimons now."
"But it's early."
"I know. But I have a feeling they're out already and I need to patrol." Or stay here with the hard-on from hell until he lost what little sanity he had left. As Oscar Wilde once said, he could resist anything except temptation.
Before Rafael could make it to the door, his phone rang. Without looking at the ID, he answered it.
"Rafe?" It was Jeff whispering in a panicked tone.
"Yeah?"
"There's a group of Daimons here at the marina."
"It's too early for them to be out."
"Tell them that!"
"Calm down and tell me what's going on."
"It's spooky as hell. There's some kind of party going on at the houseboat next door that started at sundown and I just saw six of them heading for it."
"All right. Lie low and I'll be there in a few minutes."
Celena frowned at the concern in Rafael's voice. "Is there a problem?"
"Major Daimon alert."
Before she could ask anything else, he was gone, but his words rang in her ears. Major Daimon alert. . .
This could be bad.
You're a Squire. Her place was at home, especially after dark. And then she saw Eamon's face in her mind. His smiling face as he teased her about not eating peas.
"Did ya do yer homework, lass?"
God, how she'd loved that man. He was like an older brother, a best friend, and a father all rolled into one. And in one heartbeat, the Daimons had killed him.
Let's face it, with the exception of Ephani, you've had a bad run with Dark-Hunters. The more she cared for them, the more horrible their deaths.
And she loved Rafael. She'd loved him since the first moment she'd met him after she moved to West Point, Mississippi. He was intelligent, smart, and he had a wicked sense of humor.
Now he was going to fight the Daimons. Alone.
A thousand scenarios went through her head, with all of them coming to one single conclusion.
Rafael dead. Panic set her heart to beating furiously as she looked about his home. She couldn't pack up another Dark-Hunter's home. She couldn't hold another vigil service to pay respect to someone she loved.
She couldn't.
And before she could stop herself, she grabbed the tracer off the table and her keys.
When Jeff had said that there was a group of Daimons heading for a party, Rafael had taken that to mean that there were only six Daimons at a human party. You know-a regular party with teenaged or college-aged humans groping each other while drinking heavily. The kind of party that he normally crashed so that he could protect the humans from the Daimons who wanted to feast on their souls.
What the rocket scientist had failed to mention to Rafael was the small fact that the Daimons were headed into an Apollite wedding reception. Something he, himself, hadn't realized until he'd walked onto the boat that was filled with tall, gorgeous pale blond preternatural people.
Oh yeah, the six-foot-six bald black man dressed all in black leather really didn't blend into the overdressed crowd of Nordic vampires. And Rafael had to admit that right now looking at the Apollites and Daimons who were staring angrily at him made him feel like the last steak in the Kennel Club.
It was so silent, the only sound he could hear, even with heightened hearing, was his own heart beating. Though there was blood in their goblets-he could smell it-there didn't appear to be any humans around who needed saving.
Except for, maybe, him.
One of the Apollites closest to him arched a brow before he spoke. "Bride's side or groom's?"
"I'm with catering," Rafael said in a flat tone.
A Daimon stepped forward to give him a cold, feral once-over. "Yeah, you look like food to me."
The Daimon female beside him smiled, showing off her fangs. "We can't really eat him, since his blood is poisonous to us, but killing him should have some entertainment value. What do you think?"
Yeah, he'd walked right into the lion's den. There were at least twelve Daimons that he could sense. And another twenty Apollites. Normally Apollites didn't fight against Dark-Hunters, since Dark-Hunters were forbidden to touch them until they stopped feasting on fellow Apollites and began feasting on human souls, thereby becoming Daimons. Then it was open warfare between them.
However, this group didn't seem too concerned with keeping the unspoken truce between Dark-Hunters and Apollites. They truly were bloodthirsty.
And now they were attacking.
Reaching under his coat, Rafael grabbed his steel stake and plunged it into the heart of the first Daimon to reach him. With an anguished cry, the Daimon exploded into dust. Two more came at him. He caught the first one a quick hit that sent him flying backward, into the arms of another Daimon, while he flipped the second one over and stabbed him straight in the chest.
Before he could straighten up from the kill, the Daimons overran him like ants over a sugar cube. He hit the ground face-first as they clawed at him. He could feel something biting into his back that felt like a knife wound, but it was hard to tell as he struggled to get them off him.
Celena knew she was breaking the rules, but Rafael didn't have to know it. All she was going to do was make sure he was okay, then head back to his house. No one would ever know what she'd done. No one.
She parked her car as close to the docks as she could before she took off running toward where the tracer in her hand said Rafael was. A thousand fears shredded her as she relived the night Sara had died. Celena had been trying to get to her. They'd been on the cell phone together as she raced to make it in time.
The last sound she'd heard had been Sara screaming as she burst into flames.
Grief threatened to overwhelm Celena. She couldn't lose another Dark-Hunter. And especially not Rafael. She'd loved him far too long to let him die.
With no clear thought of what she had in mind to do to help him if he was in trouble, she ran onto the boat, then skidded to a stop.
It was total chaos.
But more than that, there was no sign of Rafael anywhere. He appeared to be buried by the large stack of Daimons and Apollites in the center of the boat.
Her eyes welling with tears, she met the gaze of a woman in a wedding dress for only an instant before she pulled a stake out of her coat.
"Rafael?" Celena cried, heading for the fray.
A Daimon turned on her then. Celena kicked him back and kept going toward the largest group of them. She knew that was where Rafael had to be.
She couldn't see anything as she pushed, kicked, and fought until she finally saw what she'd come for. Rafael knocked a Daimon off him while another was trying to pin him to the ground. But what made her panic swell most was the Daimon coming toward them with an ax.
If they managed to cut off Rafael's head, it was over.
The Daimons pulled back as someone grabbed her from behind. Reacting on pure instinct, Celena head-butted her assailant with the back of her head and launched herself at Rafael who still lay on the ground. From the corner of her eye, she saw the ax falling.
She curled herself around Rafael's head and waited for the pain of the ax slicing through her.
It never came.
There was a sudden silence that rang out as everything seemed to freeze into place. Her heart racing, Celena opened her eyes to see the Apollites and Daimons staring above her. She rolled over to find the Daimon who'd held the ax. Only now the ax was gone.
It was in the hands of the groom who stared not at them but at the others with a stern glare. "Enough!" he roared. "This is supposed to be my wedding!" He looked over at the bride, whose face was pale, her delicate lips trembling. "And you're upsetting Chloe. I've only got five more years with her before I die and the last thing I want is to have what few memories I have left ruined by a bunch of bloodthirsty assholes." He picked out with his gaze the ones who must be Daimons. "No more bloodshed!"
The Daimon next to Celena curled his lip. "He killed my brother."
The groom snarled. "Your brother was a dickhead and he's lucky I didn't kill him. I told all of you that you weren't to cause any problems tonight, didn't I?"
The Daimon turned sheepish.
The groom tossed the ax overboard before he approached them. To Celena's complete shock, he held his hand out to her.
She exchanged an uncertain look with Rafael before she reached out, clasped the groom's hand, and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
"You can't let him go," another Daimon sneered.
"It's my wedding. I can do what I please. This is supposed to be a night of celebration-"
"Then let's celebrate by killing a Dark-Hunter."
The groom looked disgusted. "Someone stake that bastard, please, and for the sake of the gods, dust Benny off the table by the fountain. That powder's disgusting and it's getting into the blood." He helped Rafael up. "Don't worry. It's not human blood. It's ours."
Rafael wasn't sure what to think as he faced the Apollite in front of him. They could have killed him and Celena both. He was having a hard time believing that they would just let him go.
"Why are you doing this?" Rafael asked.
The groom looked back at his bride. "Because life's too short to spend it fighting when you could be holding the one you love. And love's too rare to squander it with petty concerns." He took his wife's hand in his and held it tight. "I'm lucky I have Chloe and I have no intention of letting a war I didn't start rob me of one second of my time with her. Go in peace, Dark-Hunter."
Rafael was surprised by his words, but even more so by his charity. "You're a good man."
The Apollite scoffed. "I guess we'll see in about five years, huh? If I die peacefully, then I'm good. If not, then we'll face each other again as predators." He indicated the ramp with a jerk of his chin. "Now go before I change my mind."
Deciding not to press his luck, Rafael draped his arm around Celena and held her close to him to protect her as they made their way off the boat. He didn't stop walking until they'd made their way over to the dock by his boat. He paused at the prow to turn back and see the Apollites and Daimons resuming their party.
"That was flipping amazing!" He looked up to see Jeff in the shadows.
He reminded Rafael of a kid who'd just got away with something. "I thought you were dead. Man, I was in the process of calling Acheron for help when I saw the two of you leaving. How did you manage it?"
Instead of removing his arm from around Celena, Rafael leaned his head against hers. "Luck . . . which I'll take over skill any day."
Jeff's face sobered as he realized Celena was there. He actually gulped. "I'm dead, aren't I?"
Rafael held his breath as he met Celena's speculative gaze. He expected her to shove him away from her and go after Jeff.
Instead, she wrapped her arm around Rafael's hips. "I made a deal with Rafael, and it seems you're safe from me."
A small smile hovered at the edges of Rafael's lips as he stared at her in the moonlight. "Go home, Jeff."
"Okay, let me pack and-"
"No," he said sternly. "Go home right now and don't stop until you're safe in your room. You can get your stuff later."
He could tell Jeff wanted to argue, but luckily for his Squire, the man caught the tone of his voice and immediately left. And as soon as he did, Rafael did what he'd been dying to do. He finally kissed Celena.
Celena moaned at the taste of Rafael as his tongue swept against hers. He cupped her face in his hands as she inhaled the sharp scent of his skin and aftershave. It was a breathtaking combination, and all she wanted to do was peel his clothes off him and lick every inch of his body.
She knew she had no business with him, and for once she didn't care about rules. The Apollite had been right. There were some things more important than something so trivial.
Rafael pulled back from the kiss. "Why did you come for me?"
"I was afraid you were in danger."
He shook his head at her. "You know that was amazingly stupid of you. I'm rancid meat to them, but you . . . you're a buffet. You're damn lucky they let you go."
She smiled up at him before she repeated her earlier words. "Yeah, well, I'll take luck over skill any day."
He laughed before he kissed her again. "And that still doesn't tell me why you came after me. You broke a dozen rules by following me tonight."
And for some reason that didn't bother her. Nothing had mattered to her except seeing him safe. "I know, but I couldn't let you die."
"Why?"
She bit her lip as the reasonable side of her brain begged her not to say anything else. But all the years of her hiding her emotions for this man rushed to the forefront, and after being with him for this last week, she couldn't hide it anymore. "Because I love you."
Rafael couldn't have been more stunned had she stabbed him. He stood there in complete shock as he watched her eyes dilate ever so slightly. In all the centuries he'd lived, only one other woman had ever said those words to him . . .
And she had died in his arms on their wedding night under the assault of his enemies.
He'd never had the chance to taste her. Never had a chance to show her just how much he loved her.
He wasn't going to take that chance with Celena. His body burning, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her on board his boat.
"What are you doing?" she asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Carpe noctem. I'm seizing the night. But most of all, I'm seizing the woman in my arms."
Celena didn't say another word as he took her below the deck. As soon as they were out of the sight of any passersby, she literally ripped the shirt from his back so that she could finally touch the body that had haunted her dreams for the last few years.
Her career as a Squire was over, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered right then was being with Rafael. She shivered as he pulled her shirt over her head and cupped her breast through her bra.
Closing her eyes, she savored the heat of his hand as he pushed the satin aside to touch her flesh. She captured his lips with hers as she feverishly opened his fly, then dipped her hand down to touch him. He hissed in response, making her soar in satisfaction.
"Boy," he whispered against her lips, "When you break the rules, you seriously break the rules."
Celena didn't respond as he pulled her pants down her legs. She sucked her breath in sharply between her teeth as she saw him kneeling on the ground at her feet. Lifting her foot, she let him remove her shoes, which he tossed over his shoulder before he undressed her.
His dark eyes flashed an instant before he reached up to remove her panties. Her entire body burned as he bared her to his hungry gaze. Reaching down, she traced the outline of his lips as he gently tongued her fingertips. She'd dreamed of this moment a thousand times.
He was the main reason she'd never really dated. After she'd met him, other men never seemed to compare. They weren't as handsome. Weren't as dangerous.
Weren't as forbidden.
And now she was finally going to know what it felt like to hold him. . . .
Rafael couldn't breathe as he slowly rose to his feet. He still couldn't believe that Celena was here with him. That she who lived for rules and regulations was willing to sacrifice her Squire's oath.
His heart pounding, he reached down to brush his hand against the softness of her abdomen, then lower to the short, crisp hairs until he found what he sought. He groaned at the sensation of her wet heat against his fingers while she stroked him with her hand.
Unable to stand it anymore, he pinned her back against the wall and kissed her passionately.
Celena clung to him as she lifted one leg to wrap it around his hips. Taking the invitation, he drove himself deep inside her.
Rafael's head spun as an unimagined ecstasy tore through him. Celena had almost died to protect him. No woman had ever done such a thing for him before. Her strength, her courage . . .
It was unlike anything he'd ever known.
And now she met him stroke for stroke as they made love furiously. He smiled as each thrust was punctuated by the sound of the beads on the ends of her braids scraping against the wall.
Celena buried her lips against Rafael's throat as she forced herself not to think about what was going to happen tomorrow. She couldn't stay with him. She knew it. He was a Dark-Hunter. But here for the moment, he was hers, and that was all that mattered.
Arching her back, she cried out with every powerful thrust of him inside her as she clutched him to her. He dipped his head down to capture her breast and tongue it in time to his strokes. She cradled his head to her as her body was overwhelmed by pleasure. With every stroke it increased until she finally couldn't stand it anymore. Her body burst into a thousand tendrils of ecstasy.
Rafael growled as he felt Celena climaxing. Wanting to give her even more, he quickened his strokes and watched as she threw her head back and moaned.
His smile faded as he lost himself to his own orgasm. Burying himself deep inside her, he shook with the force of it. Her breathing ragged in his ear, she gently stroked his back as he slowly drifted back into himself. This was one of the most amazing moments in his life. Not because of the sex, but because he was being held by a woman who was willing to sacrifice herself for him. A woman who was willing to break the rules. . . .
Most of all, a woman who loved him.
He kissed her tenderly on the lips. "Don't leave, Celena."
"I'll be here until morning."
"No," he said, his voice thick with the emotions that were churning inside him. "I mean don't leave. Ever."
Her mouth opened ever so slightly. "What are you saying, Rafael?"
"I love you."
She couldn't believe her ears. It was more than she'd ever hoped for. "You don't have to say that."
"It's not that I'm saying it. It's that I'm feeling it."
Thrilled by his words, she squeezed him tight. "So what's to become of us now?"
"Looks like I'll be joining the human race again."
"Are you sure?"
Rafael grew quiet as he considered it. If he continued being a Dark-Hunter, he'd have to let her go.
The Apollite's words rang in Rafael's head. He'd been alone for all these centuries. Not once in all this time had any woman ever made him feel his emotions more strongly than Celena. She made him crazy, angry happy. . . .
But most of all, she made him feel like he could fly.
He didn't want to live without this. Without her.
"Yeah, I'm sure. That is, if you're willing to take Artemis's test."
"For you, my pirate, I'd walk through the fires of hell."
C
elena stared at Acheron, the Dark-Hunter leader, as he explained that in order to free Rafael from Artemis's service she would have to kill him. "You've got to be kidding me." "Do I look like I'm joking?"
She raked her gaze from the top of his long black hair to the tips of his custom-made Goth biker boots with bat buckles. And at six foot eight there was a lot of him to rake, too, but every bit of his long, lean frame was deadly sincere, which made her sick to her stomach.
How could she kill the man she loved? What kind of psycho had instituted that policy?
Then she looked to Rafael, who was standing behind Acheron, in the hallway. His handsome face betrayed nothing but trust. His black eyes were kind and gentle, encouraging, and that made the love she felt for him swell.
"I can't kill him."
Acheron let out a patient breath. "He won't be dead long. You simply stop his heart from beating, then you hold the stone against his bow and arrow tattoo. His soul will leave the stone and return to his body."
"You can do it, baby," Rafael said with that decadent accent of his. "You told me just last night that you wanted to choke the life out of me."
Instead of smiling, she grimaced at him. "That was for hogging the remote, and I wasn't serious. This is entirely different."
Acheron shrugged. "Fine then, he continues being a Dark-Hunter, and the Council will reassign you away from him."
Her heart stopped at the mere thought of not seeing him anymore. "You can't let them do that."
"I control the Dark-Hunters. The Squires are their concern, not mine. I have no jurisdiction there, which is why Jeff is now cooling his heels in Squire jail for writing that story. I personally thought it was funny, but the Council doesn't really have a sense of humor, do they?"
Frustrated, Celena wanted to argue, but she knew better. If she and Rafael were to ever have a normal life, he would have to be human again.
Right now, the Council knew nothing about their relationship, but sooner or later they were bound to find out and then there would be hell for her to pay.
Unless she and Rafael were already married. Then there was nothing the Council could do. There was no law prohibiting her from marrying a human male. It was the only loophole they could hope for.
"Okay," she said with a determined sigh. "I can do this."
This time it was Acheron who hesitated. "There's one more thing you need to know."
She gave Acheron a peeved stare. "And that would be?"
"The stone with his soul in it will burn your skin the minute you touch it, and it won't stop until his soul has returned to his body. If you drop the stone before that time, he'll be a Shade."
Oh, that was a pleasant thought. In freeing him, she could very well be damning him to an eternity of hell. Shades couldn't eat, couldn't be seen or heard. It was a fate far worse than death.
And she could be the one to gift him with that oh, so not pleasant existence.
Still Rafael's gaze burned into her. "I want to be with you, Celena. As a man."
How could she argue with that? What's more, she wanted it, too. So long as he remained a Dark-Hunter, they couldn't have children. But if she freed him . . .
They could have a family. They could be married and grow old together. It was all she wanted.
"Okay," she breathed. "Tell me what to do."
Acheron pulled a long, evil-looking dagger from his boot and handed it to her. "Pierce his heart and leave the dagger in until he goes limp." He shrugged his black backpack off his shoulder and took out a black box that was about the size of a softball. He opened the lid to show her a vibrant blue stone that was chiseled with intricate markings. It was a strange, compelling object that seemed to hum with life.
She reached for it only to have Acheron move it away.
"Remember, it burns. I'll hand it to you and then you press it to Artemis's mark."
She gulped as she stared at the stone. It was hard to fathom that was Rafael's human soul in there. "Are you sure this works?"
"Kyrian, Talon, Valerius-"
"Okay," she said as Acheron listed off the Dark-Hunters she knew had gone free. "Let's do it."
Rafael pulled his shirt off so that she could see the double bow and arrow mark on his left shoulder.
Her heart pounding, she gripped the dagger tight in her hand and met his obsidian gaze. The love there scorched her.
"You can do it," he whispered. "Just pretend I'm Jeff."
She wanted to laugh at his joke, but she couldn't even muster it. Instead, she ground her teeth and did the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life.
She tried to stab him, but the dagger didn't so much as pierce his skin. Stunned, she tried harder, but still it wouldn't budge. "What's wrong?" she asked.
Acheron grimaced. "Damn. We forgot to drain his Dark-Hunter powers out of him. You can't kill him while he's immortal... at least not and leave his body whole."
"Then what do we do?"
Acheron scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not supposed to interfere, but what the hell? For you two, I'll make an exception."
He took the dagger from her hand and plunged it into Rafael's heart, up to its hilt.
Rafael staggered back before he slid slowly to the floor.
"Oh God," she cried, horrified by what Acheron had done, as she knelt down beside him.
Rafael's face was contorted by pain as a small trickle of blood left the corner of his mouth.
Instinctively, she reached for the dagger to pull it out.
"Not yet," Acheron said, pulling her back. "He has to die or he can't go free."
Tears filled her eyes as she panted along with Rafael. He cupped her cheek in his palm as he offered her a small smile. "It's okay, Celena."
She only hoped he was right.
Covering his hand with hers, she held it tight as she watched the light fade from his eyes. And she gave a small cry as the last breath was expelled from his body.
Acheron took the stone from the box and held it out to her. His swirling silver eyes bore into hers. "Don't drop it."
Nodding, she took it from him only to scream out as a furious pain seared her skin. It burned worse than any imaginable fire and it was all she could do to maintain her hold. The only thing that kept her from releasing it was the knowledge that Rafael would die if she did.
She ground her teeth as Acheron helped her place the stone over the mark. Tears flowed down her cheeks from the pain and fear as she waited for Rafael to open his eyes.
It seemed an eternity had passed before Acheron pulled the dagger out of his chest.
An instant later, Rafael took a deep breath and blinked his eyes open to look at her.
Celena laughed in giddiness as she saw eyes that were no longer black. Now his eyes were a light amber brown that sparkled with human life. He was even more handsome than he'd been before.
Biting her lip, she pulled him into her arms and held him close.
Acheron moved away and returned the dagger to his boot.
"Thanks, boss," Rafael said as he pushed himself to his feet.
Acheron gave him a kind grin. "I'm not your boss anymore, Rafael. She is."
Rafael laughed. "That doesn't bother me."
Acheron snorted. "Yeah, be glad you're human now. Nothing like answering to one single woman for eleven thousand years to make you wish for the end of time."
Celena laughed again. "Thank you, Acheron."
He inclined his head to them. "You kids have fun."
Rafael looked down at the woman in his arms and tightened his hold on her. "Trust me, we will."
And as soon as Acheron was gone, Celena pulled him down for a fierce kiss. Rafael's head swam at the taste of her. It was a taste he would now spend the rest of his life savoring.
New York Times bestselling author Sherrilyn Kenyon has more than six million copies of her books in print, in twenty-four countries. She is the author of the Dark-Hunter novels, which have an international cult following and have appeared on the top-ten lists of The New York Times, The Globe and Mail (Toronto), Publishers Weekly, and USA Today. Writing as both Sherrilyn Kenyon and Kinley Mac-Gregor, she is the author of several other series, including Brotherhood of the Sword, Lords of Avalon, and BAD.
Near Nashville, Tennessee, Sherrilyn Kenyon lives a life of extraordinary danger ... as does any woman with three sons, a husband, a menagerie of pets, and a collection of swords on which all of the above have a major fixation.

