Chapter Eight
John
We’re met at the door by a vampire who leads us into the spacious main room.
One wall is glass, giving us a striking view of a swimming pool, an aqua-blue gem surrounded by a dark grotto.
An enormous starburst chandelier hangs directly over our heads, and the air is scented with roses and smoke.
There are some thirty people on this level, a mix of vampires, shifters of all types, and mundanes who are recognizable by the small bruises at their throats.
Two people move around the room carrying trays holding flutes of champagne or slender glasses of what is likely blood. I take a glass of champagne with no intention of drinking any.
A few of our fellow partygoers are draped elegantly on built-in banquets that surround a sunken fireplace, while others are clustered in small groups, their hushed conversations broken up by harsh laughter.
They all share two traits: they’re all beautiful, and they all look young, especially those humans who are here as food.
Too young.
Elian Prince approaches as soon as we enter, his main objective obviously to take stock of who we are and decide whether we’re dangerous. He’s taller than Rob and his dark hair is cropped close, likely to show off his refined nose and strong jaw. If bone structure alone could be a threat, his is.
Rob seems to pass muster, in part because his suit is obviously expensive, a deep blue fabric with a subtle shimmering brocade, worn with a collarless white shirt and a midnight silk scarf.
Prince gives my denim and leather ensemble a longer look and a quick dismissal, clearly unimpressed.
Rob should have brought Sonny. He’d have fit in better, unless our host would have objected to the presence of a strange vampire.
“Well, hello. I’m Elian, and I don’t believe we’ve met.” He addresses Rob, hand extended. They grip each other, both smiling, though when Prince turns to me, his hand is limp, as if he can’t be bothered to offer me a decent handshake.
That’s fine.
When it’s my turn to shake, it’s more like holding a handful of cold spaghetti.
“I’m Neil Lundgren,” Rob says, “and this is my associate, Morgan Patterson.”
Prince’s smile, wide enough to show fang, doesn’t match the questions in his eyes. “Neil, Morgan, it is my sincere pleasure to make your acquaintance. Welcome to my home.” He turns to the side, giving the big open space an inviting wave. “I make an effort to satisfy all my guests’ desires.”
There’s something oily in his voice, a tone I wouldn’t trust even if I knew nothing else about him.
“That’s what my friend, Leander de Lisle says.
” Rob nearly matches our host’s insincerity.
I stand with my hands behind my back, maintaining a poker face despite my surprise.
Dropping de Lisle’s name is bold, even by Rob’s standards.
A single text message could reveal Rob’s lie and then all hell would break loose.
“Leander would most certainly know.” Prince’s smile is as sharp as the line of his chin. “If there’s anything I can offer you, please do say the word.”
He and Rob make meaningless small talk for a few more moments, giving me a chance to survey the scene. There’s a distinctive lack of visible security, which is odd, given that he’s holding a priceless piece of jewelry. His staff didn’t even check us for weapons.
Arrogant vampire.
An unseen stereo plays a muted techno beat, and my attention is drawn to a young man near the fireplace.
His hair falls in loose curls almost to his elbows, but it’s his pallor that worries me more.
He shakes the hair out of his face, revealing a deep bruise on his throat, and leans against a woman, his back to her front.
Her arms circle him in a way that’s clearly possessive.
She nuzzles his ear and for a moment I expect to see fang.
He laughs and tension tightens my jaw. He’s barely old enough to shave.
A second woman perches on the banquet next to them.
Based on the smooth way she moves, she’s also a vampire, and she lifts his arm and presses her lips to his wrist. His smile is lazy. Or drugged.
“You gentlemen have fun tonight, and do let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” Prince’s tone makes it clear that he will go beyond the average host to satisfy our every unholy desire. He pats Rob on the shoulder and leaves us, heading for the stairs.
Nudging me with his elbow, Rob lifts his glass of wine in the general direction of our host’s departure. “You go up. I’ll stay down.”
Oh, yes. Our plan. I’m supposed to be getting the lay of the land and assessing Prince’s defenses.
I dislike the idea of splitting up almost as much as I dislike the idea of being here in the first place, and nothing I’ve seen so far has changed that.
Still, I doubt a brief trip upstairs will make things any worse.
Wordlessly, I leave him and ascend the stairs, hoping I don’t prove myself wrong.
The upper level is more comfortable than the main.
There’s more furniture, a mix of antiques and modern pieces made from light-colored wood and cream upholstery.
Our host has claimed a large chair in the corner, the kind of heavy, ornately carved oak throne that likely came from Germany in the late nineteenth century.
Moving swiftly, like she needs to stake her claim before anyone else does, a young woman drapes herself across his lap.
She rests her head on his shoulder, throat exposed, her long red hair falling down his arm like a torrent of blood.
A man stands in the shadows to one side of them. Long hair with streaks of grey. Broad shoulders.
Bodyguard.
Here was some real security. Our gazes clash for an instant. Although I look away, I still feel him. Watching. Waiting.
Menacing.
I take up a position near a hallway and make myself go still. For the first time since we arrived, I remember there’s a small camera pinned to my lapel. Is Marcus seeing what I am? If I said something, would he hear me? It doesn’t matter. Right now, I’m glad he’s safe at the house.
Once I have a better sense of who and what I need to worry about here, I’ll make a brief tour of the rest of the floor, though it’s unlikely I’ll find a door with a sign that says Diamond Here.
To my left, a trio of young people argue over something on a cell phone, the discussion as frothy and light as a bowl of meringue. Near them, a pair of dark-skinned men quietly grope each other in the corner.
The other possible threat is a woman leaning against the railing at the outer edge of this floor.
She’s clearly studying the area, and I get a glimpse of long nails and high heels before something distracts her, sending her toward Prince with a loose, swinging stride.
He snaps something before she’s halfway across the room.
Did he just say Loxley?
Whatever he said, she pivots and heads for the stairs, as does the man from the shadows.
As soon as they’re both gone, I slip down the hall, where the lights are even dimmer. If they’re going for Robin Loxley, they’re in for a rude surprise.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. The hallway is empty, with two doors to my left and two to my right. Past that, it bends to the left, away from the open loft. That’s where I want to be.
Noiselessly, I pass the first pair of doors. At the second set, the one on the right flings open and something slams into me, hard enough to knock me off my feet.
No one is there. My mind barely takes in the emptiness when the person I can’t see lands on me, hard hands grasping my throat. A stream of curses spills from me, and I grab what is clearly a wrist.
Distantly, I hear someone giggle. “What is it, cara mia?” The being who is straddling my hips makes a growling sound.
Whoever or whatever it is possesses great strength, vampire strength, and I struggle to drag in some air.
“Call Faith.” The words are spoken from close above my face. I buck my hips, unable to dislodge the being holding me down. Their companion giggles again, though more nervous than amused. The hands around my throat tighten.
Lord help me, I might flirt with the idea of death, but this is not how I’m going to end.
I work a hand into the pocket of my leather jacket and pull out my blade, the only weapon Rob permitted me to carry.
Stilling for a moment to confuse my captor, I wait till they grunt, like they’re satisfied that I’m losing the fight.
Then I slash the dagger with all my strength.
Aiming for below the ribs so bone won’t deflect my blow, I thrust deep. I don’t need to hit anything vital. Only an extremely powerful supernatural creature could fight off the effects of the silver in the blade.
If this doesn’t work, I really will die.
Fortunately, the being screams and their hands release their grasp. Their companion comes into the hall, and while all I can see is my dagger floating several inches above the floor, she begins to scream, too.
I don’t wait to find out whether she can see more than I can.
Scrambling to my feet, I cover the short distance to the bend in the hallway and take a careful look.
No one appears to be coming. I haven’t gone more than a few feet when one of the doors opens and a young woman peeks out.
I freeze, though to be honest, she looks more frightened than I am.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” she whispers.
“Why?” My throat is too sore to come up with anything more eloquent.
She catches her lower lip between her teeth. “Did Mr. Prince send you? I’m supposed to be for someone special.”
I see little more than frightened eyes and a loose curl of light hair. “Do you want to see someone special?”
“Sure,” she says, false bravado ringing through her voice. Another voice from further in the room asks her who’s at the door.
Footsteps pound up the hall. I’ve got very little time. “Come with me. I can get you someplace safe.”