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Page No 1
Page No 2
TEMPTATION
Book VI of the Shadow Dweller Series
By J.C. Wilder
Page No 3
3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are e
ither the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Temptation by J. C. Wilder
ISBN 1-55316-102-5
Published by LTDBooks
Copyright © 2002 J. C. Wilder
Artwork copyright © 2002 Emily Black
Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville,
ON L6M 2Y1
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior
written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Wilder, J. C. 1965-
Temptation [electronic resource] : book VI of the Shadow dwellers series / J. C. Wilder.
(Shadow dwellers series ; 6)
ISBN 1-55316-102-5
I. Title. II. Series: Wilder, J. C., 1965- Shadow dwellers series ; 6
PS3623.I45T45 2002 813’.6 C2002-902495-1
Page No 4
4
Dedication
To Molly Bolden—your friendship
means more to me than you’ll ever know.
Page No 5
5
Acknowledgments
Dano—For always coming to my rescue when I really need you. You are a true friend, or a
sucker for punishment and I won’t speculate on which it is!
Beth, Donna, Carol, Rosemary and Bonnee—Thank you for being there and constantly pushing
me to improve. You guys are the best!
Laura Adlam and Christine Nowicki of LTDBooks.com—For helping me turn my dreams into
reality.
And a huge thanks goes out the Westerville Division of Police, specifically to Detective D.
Dietz, Corporal K. Featherling, Officer A. Moran, Officer D. Staysniak and Sergeant M. Tussey.
You guys are always so willing to share your knowledge and talent even when I ask the silliest of
questions—I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Any mistakes I’ve made or liberties I’ve taken are completely my own.
Page No 6
6
“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”
~ Oscar Wilde
Page No 7
7
Prologue
Los Angeles, California
February
Vivian Carrington was the last remaining mourner in the cemetery. The rain falling from
leaden skies had pasted her black Chanel suit to her body. Her hair was flat and her makeup long
gone. Her high-heeled Stuart Weitzman shoes sank into the saturated earth as she approached the
newly constructed mausoleum for her best friend, Melanie Reynolds.
The last few days had been a nightmare beyond compare. When word had come of the
boating accident that had ended Mel’s life along with that of her husband and five others in her
entourage, Vivian had been enjoying her requisite two-martini lunch with her assistant, Pamela.
She remembered running though the posh Manhattan restaurant, her cell phone clutched to her
ear as she prayed she would make it to the ladies room before her liquid lunch made an
encore
appearance.
Ever since that horrible afternoon, she’d been coasting on adrenaline and espresso while
trying to oversee the myriad of details that accompanied the funeral of an international movie
star. The seating, flowers, service, music and public memorials all had to be attended to
as well
as security and police escorts for the dignitaries who wished to pay their last respects.
In the end, police barricades had held back the crowds as dozens of white
limousines
carried funeral attendees to the services and ultimately to the cemetery. As the cars passed,
thousands of mourners had lined the streets, tossing flowers as the matching pearl-pink hearses
drove by.
Lavish to the extreme, Mel would have loved every second of it.
Vivian stepped into the dubious shelter of the narrow entrance of the ro
se-colored marble
mausoleum. The cramped interior was lit by dozens of white candles in brass holders, their glow
dancing across the matching bronze caskets laid side by side on a low dais. An undertaker was
inside the mausoleum arranging the floral tributes before sealing the entrance for all eternity.
Dizziness assailed her and she reached for the cool marble to steady herself. The scent of
rain and too many flowers hung heavy in the chilly air. Her throat tightened as the distinct
perfume of carnations swirled around her.
Regaining her composure, Vivian tossed an irritated glance at a sprawling arrangement of
the offending blooms. Why did people insist upon sending carnations to funerals? Because they
were cheap? She despised carnations and there was no way she’d allow her friends to journey
into the hereafter with wilting carnations sealed in the darkness with their mortal remains.
“These arrangements are to go on top of the coffins.” She pointed to matching
arrangements of multi-colored roses, lilies and baby’s breath. “And leave those outside.” She
nodded at the towering arrangement of carnations. “No carnations are to be sealed in here.”
The undertaker nodded, then did as she bid before making a hasty exit with an armload of
the offending blooms. She turned her face away as the fragrant flowers were carried past. All of
her life she’d associated carnations with funerals, especially her mother’s. At nine years old, to
be surrounded by hundreds of carnations, she’d felt as if she were suffocating in their sweetness.
Now she couldn’t bear to be near them.
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Temptation by J. C. Wilder
8
Left alone, she stepped to Mel’s coffin, her fingertips grazed the chilly metal and a
shudder ran through her.
“What am I going to do without you?” she whispered.
The hushed sound of falling rain was her only answer as a cool breeze swept through the
entrance and caught her words only to swirl them among the petals of the arrangements covering
the coffins. The candle flames flickered then stilled as the breeze faded.
The last time she’d spoken to Mel had been only a week ago. They’d been making plans
for Jennifer’s birthday, an all-girl weekend at an exclusive resort spa in Mexico. Three decadent
days of massages, facials and pedicures, not to mention a case of champagne and a vast selection
of taste-tempting morsels prepared by a five-star chef to pacify their appetites.
Now Mel was gone and Jen’s birthday had passed with nary a celebration. Today, they
should’ve been all together in Mexico, swapping stories and tall tales all the while indulging
themselves in a way only women in celebration could accomplish.
But this year there was no party for Jennifer. No joined laughter, no cocktails and all
night gab sessions under sticky facemasks. No painting each other’s toenails as they shared their
most intimate secrets.
No more Melanie.
Vivian loved all of her friends. They’d become her family since she had very little left of
her own. But she and Mel had been especially close, like the sister each had been denied.
Since Mel had married Ray a few years ago, Vivian had become aware of the emptiness
of her life. She had two pathetic ex-husbands, neither of which she had any contact with now,
and scads of friends. Though only a few were really there for her. She had money, piles of it,
more than any one person would ever need. Consequently, she would never have to worry about
making a living.
Only once in her life had she held a paying job and that was back in college almost
twenty-five years ago. Her trust fund had covered her education, but she’d enjoyed the novelty of
actually working for money. She smiled as she remembered the thrill of depositing her pitiful
check into the bank, keeping only twenty dollars for the ensuing week. Back then, she’d lived the
life of a struggling college student. At school, surrounded by new friends, no one had known or
cared that she was cursed with the Carrington millions.
Now it was all she had left. The money.
Vivian plucked a blood red rose from an arrangement near the entrance of the
mausoleum. She lived in a sprawling penthouse in New York City—she owned the entire
building, of course—and she donated the majority of her time to various charities in and around
the city. Not that she actually worked with the people she strove to help. Most of the time she
was on the phones, soliciting donations from the multitude of companies that dealt with
Carrington International. She took great pleasure in helping those less fortunate, but every night
she was alone in her apartment. No man in her life, not even a cat to keep her company.
This didn’t mean she was celibate as she wasn’t at all. Her lovers were like her. Sleek,
sophisticated and knew the score. They were welcome to stay the night, taking pleasure in her
body as she took pleasure in theirs. But they had to leave early the next morning. As long as they
amused her, they were welcome to share her bed and certain parts of her life. But the moment
she detected any sentimentality they were kicked from her bed and her life post haste.
Only a few months ago Mel had teased her, saying that she was more like a man than a
woman in her dealings with the opposite sex. Silently, Vivian acknowledged the truth of her
friend’s statement. She lifted the rose to her nose and inhaled the sweet fragrance. When had
Page No 9
Temptation by J. C. Wilder
9
that happened? She hadn’t always felt that men were a means to an end. True her father had been
a difficult man to deal with, but her view of men wasn’t completely warped. Scott, her father’s
assistant, had been kind to her and allowed her to tag after him while he’d ran errands for her
father. He’d even taught her how to balance a checkbook and write a check.
A handy piece of knowledge if ever there was one, writing a check that is. Much to her
ex-husbands’ delight, she’d learned that lesson well. It had become obvious after the weddings
that they’d only been interested in the Carrington millions and the lofty vice presidencies that
had accompanied marriage to the Carrington heiress.
Once Vivian had caught onto her father’s schemes, she’d put an end to those unfortunate
arrangements.
All of her life she’d been choked to death by the money and the men who’d wanted to
control her and it. In reality, they hadn’t given a damn about her, they’d only wanted the cash;
she’d simply been the icing on the cake. The great Bradford Carrington’s daughter and the keys
to the kingdom were a package deal.
After Bradford’s betrayal, she’d set out to be as cold and heartless as the men
surrounding her, taking lovers when it suited her and casting them aside with little thought to
their feelings. It wasn’t about them; it was about her and her pleasure. Rather than allowing them
to take what they wanted from her, she’d turned the tables on them, determined to never allow
anyone to use her again.
Finally though, she and Bradford had forged an uneasy peace after her second divorce
that had existed until his death six years ago. Then his vast estate had been divided with she
receiving the lion’s share as his only blood relative and the rest going to his second wife,
Felicity, and her four children. Vivian knew they eyed her portion of the wealth with great
avarice, not understanding why one woman should have so much when they had to split their
share five ways. Other than Stephan, the oldest brother and Vice Chairman of Carrington
International, she rarely dealt with them and that was how she meant to keep it.
Now she had two great pleasures in life and one was spending her considerable wealth,
donating great portions of it to charities she knew would’ve set her father’s teeth on edge. She
enjoyed the image of him forever twisting and turning in his grave.
Her other hobby was men and she’d known a great many of them over the years. There
was a time she’d changed lovers the way some people changed hairstyles. Dozens of men. All
ages, shapes and sizes. Nameless, faceless men who’d satisfied her physically but were never
allowed to touch her ice-encrusted heart. Of late she hadn’t taken a lover though several had
interested her. She didn’t know what had initiated her sudden disinterest in men but she didn’t
feel the need to take them into her bed or her life anymore. Consequently, she’d almost become a
recluse.
But had she done herself a disservice by not allowing intimacy in her life? Who would
mourn her ultimate passing? Her friend Shai would, as would Jennifer and Erihn. Some
professional acquaintances would make an appearance in the hopes of being named in her
will…but other than that, who would mourn her?
No one…
Vivian shuddered as a trickle of foreboding whispered along her spine. She was staring
forty-four down and Mel’s death had brought home the fragility of life with a terrifying sureness.
Now, as she stood by her best friend’s coffin, the rest of her empty life before her, what was she
going to do with it? Yes, she’d accomplished a great deal for others with her money. She’d set up
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Temptation by J. C. Wilder
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foundations to help the homeless and the poor, but what had she done for herself other than
indulge in emotionless relationships and shopping binges?
Nothing…
Her shoulders slumped. She’d become everything she’d despised in college, a Caligula-
like creation of money and power, wielding credit cards and Gucci bags with a vengeance. A
shallow, pleasure-seeking creature who mocked the idealistic young woman she’d once been.
The woman who’d wanted to make a difference in the world with her bare hands was no more.
Vivian ran her fingers over the chilly bronze. Even though Mel had been considered
Hollywood royalty, she’d lived in the real world for the most part. She’d worked and clawed her
way to the upper echelons of the studio system. She’d received dozens of marriage proposals
from men far more powerful than Ray, but she’d never given them a second thought. She’d
married for love and never compromised her beliefs, opting to remain firmly connected to her
roots and her family back in New York.
Did Mel ever know how blessed she’d been in life?
Yes…
And what about Vivian? What was next for her? Did she continue on as she had been,
seeking pleasure wherever it suited her? How many pairs of Fendi shoes did one woman need?
What had happened to the idealistic college girl she’d been? When had it gone so terribly wrong?
Vivian straightened. She was healthy, intelligent and resourceful, and maybe it was time
to finally answer those questions.
“I’ll miss you every day of my life, Mel.” She gave a watery laugh. “In fact, I don’t know
what I’ll do without you. Thank you for the friendship, the late night phone calls and all of our
times together both good and bad. I’ll never forget you as long as I live.” She laid the rose on the
foot of Mel’s coffin before she turned away.
Outside the rain had stopped and the sun was struggling to peek through the thick bank of
clouds. Vivian straightened her ruined jacket and walked toward the sleek white limousine; eager
to begin the journey of discovering the woman she was meant to be.
Page No 11
11
Chapter 1
New Orleans, Louisiana
February
With his bare feet propped on the edge of his desk, Sinjin leaned back in his chair,
ignoring the sore muscles that screamed in protest as he squirmed into a more comfortable
position. Resting his head against the back of his chair, he closed his eyes and allowed the
comforting silence of his office to sink into the very pores of his skin.
For the first time in months his club, Chat Noir, was quiet. Not since he’
d opened the
place in late December had he closed at such an early hour. Who would have dreamed he’d be
closed on the final night of Mardi Gras? This should have been the biggest moneymaking night
of the year and, instead of working the bar as he usually did, he sat alone in his office savoring a
solitary drink.
The Chat Noir was probably the only business on Bourbon Street to have its lights out,
the windows shuttered and the doors barred to the masses streaming down the street. Then again,
having dead bodies and broken furniture strewn through his club was liable to have an adverse
effect on business. Humans didn’t like to party in a place where Death had paid a visit.
He opened his eyes and reached for the black demitasse cup sitting on his desk. Next to it
was a black stoneware carafe perched on a coffee cup warmer. On the base
, a small red light
glowed, indicating the warmer was functioning. He lifted the cup to his nose and inhaled the
aroma of warmed were-blood. The scent shot a shiver of awareness through his nervous system
and set his mouth to watering.
For a vampire, blood in any form or temperature was acceptable sustenance. Warmed
blood was preferred, body temperature was best, but in a pinch, chilled or frozen would work as
well. Unless it was the blood of a were-animal such as a werewolf or wer
e-cat, then only warm
would do. Drinking it cold would be like drinking the finest French champagne at room
temperature. The true flavor would be spoiled.
Sinjin took a drink of the coveted liquid, enjoying the warmth that shafted through his
body. Spicy and sensual, the blood had a distinctive bite, not unlike that of fine
Scotch whiskey.
Heat streaked down his throat and spread through his abdomen, sending tendrils of fire to his
extremities until even his toes felt the warmth. As his body absorbed the liquid, a heady sense of
well being pervaded his senses.
Were-blood, in small quantities, sharpened the senses and exhilarated the drinker.
Consume too much, though, and feelings of euphoria would leave the drinker feeling super-
human and prone to acts of idiocy.
Needless to say, were-blood was a coveted drink among vampires and, due to its unusual
affects upon their nervous systems; it wasn’t unheard of to find a were-blood addict. Very similar
to alcoholism in humans, constant craving and tremors from going too long without a drink were
all symptoms of the addiction.
Even for addicts used to the effects of the drink, imbibing too much in one sitting was
dangerous. The active minerals and hormones in the blood would begin to cloud the mind and
dull the senses. After only eight to ten ounces, unconsciousness could result, leaving a vampire
easy prey to those who wished him ill.
Page No 12
Temptation by J. C. Wilder
12
Nowadays, there were many who wished them ill.
Sinjin opened a desk drawer and located a small remote control. He pushed the red button
and the sound of motors and sliding metal rebounded through the room as steel blinds descended
over the windows. A similar sheet of steel fortified his office door. The sounds from the partially
open window overlooking Bourbon Street faded as the blind slid into place, a metallic “snick”
sounding when the latch engaged. He dropped the remote in the drawer and pushed it shut. He
was completely secure in his lair, the room unreachable from the outside by sunlight or any
living creature.
He dropped his feet from the desk and straightened, reaching for the carafe to refill his
glass. None of this would have been necessary if it weren’t for Mikhail and his misplaced desire
to lead the Council of Elders, the ruling body of the preternaturals. It was all because of his
devious plans that the preternaturals, Sinjin included, had to live under a veil of constant,
rigorous vigilance. Always on the lookout for someone who wished to see them dead, always
looking over their shoulders and jumping at shadows.
In the past few years, Mikhail’s battle for supremacy over Alexandre Saint-Juste, the
current head of the Council, had cost the lives of hundreds of preternatural beings and a few
humans as well. Some had been innocent, mere bystanders in the madness, while others had
willingly joined Mikhail’s army, lured by false promises and his charismatic personality.
Sinjin replaced the carafe. With every drink, the bite of the liquid decreased. Soon he’d
have to discontinue his personal cocktail hour or wake with a thick head. That was a risk he
couldn’t take as danger might lurk in any corner. Hell, it had arrived with a vengeance in his
club.
Last night the battle had reached a new crescendo, resulting in a handful of deaths,
including Cassiopeia, Mikhail’s right hand fiend. Sinjin was convinced that Cass had broken
their pact and was betraying Mikhail rather than acting on his behalf. He didn’t know this for
sure and, since she was now dead, he’d probably never have the answer to that question, unless
he found Miles and the diary.
The book the entire preternatural world now sought was once again missing, last seen
with Miles as he made good his escape during the fracas last night. The diary contained a day-to-
day chronology of Mikhail’s late wife, Elsabeth, and varying bits of information she’d gleaned
about the origins of the Shadow Dwellers. As he’d never seen the book, he wasn’t sure how
useful the information was. For all he knew, it contained recipes for stain removal and Irish
potato soup. Only a select few who’d possessed the book had an inkling of what it contained, and
most of them were now dead.
Cass’ revenant consort, Miles, had stolen the diary and they had used the information to
concoct a serum to create a super-vampire, a mindless warrior that sought and destroyed as
directed by the controller. But something had gone terribly wrong and the serum had resulted in
the deaths of the handful of vampires who’d been selected as guinea pigs. Some had been
ignorant of Cass’ dark plans; they’d only wanted a better life for themselves. Others had been
driven by their own greed for financial gain or increased vampiric abilities. All had lost their
lives for their unfortunate decision. Sunni was the only one to escape.
From what he’d seen, the diary spelled doom for everyone as long as it remained in the
wrong hands. If the recipe for the serum had actually come from the pages of the diary, what
other diabolical secrets lay within?
Page No 13
Temptation by J. C. Wilder
13
Where was the diary now? Once word got out that Miles had escaped with the book,
everyone would be looking for him and not all who sought the tome would be willing to turn it
over to Alexandre where it belonged.
Would Miles take it to Mikhail or would he venture out on this own as it appeared Cass
had attempted? In either case, more would die unless the book was recovered and placed into the
safekeeping of the Council.
Sinjin set the cup on his desk. His finger inadvertently brushed a pile of receipts and they
slid to the side to reveal a small oval frame. His gaze locked on the hand-painted portrait, his
heart giving a queer little jerk as familiar pale blue eyes seemed to bore into his soul.
Painted at the turn of the twentieth century, Bliss had sat for the portrait only under
duress. She’d acquiesced when he’d gotten on his knees and begged her, albeit in jest, that if she
did not sit for the painter, he would expire on the spot. Every evening for several weeks she’d
dressed in a pale pink dress, drawn her hair back into a loose roll and sat for the painter, all the
while glowering at Sinjin who’d hovered in the background, making faces at his beloved to
encourage her soft smile.
The artist had captured the inner essence of the young woman. Her eyes were alight with
laughter and love, her soft lips curved in a tenderhearted smile as she’d teased with her lover
over the painter’s shoulder.
But it’d ended far too soon. Mortianna, her mother, had driven a wedge between them
that even love couldn’t scale. Bliss had left him and they didn’t speak for many years. Through
mutual friends they’d kept track of one another until he’d run into her one cold evening in
Edinburgh. They’d spent the night at an inn, sitting by a fire, talking until the wee hours of the
morning. From that night on, they’d resumed a tentative friendship, risking her mother’s wrath
and his life.
Several times a year Bliss had come to visit him in Scotland until her death late last
summer, another victim of Mikhail’s machinations. Her final journey to the Highlands had been
in a rose-strewn coffin. On a moonlit night in late autumn, her friends had laid her to rest in a
field of heather.
Sinjin picked up the portrait and ran his finger over her glass-covered cheek. The were-
blood almost deceived him into believing he could feel her skin beneath his fingertip. His gut
twisted in an anguish that never seemed to end. Would the pain of his loss ever fade to a
manageable level? Would he ever be able to look at this portrait and not want to lie down and cry
like a child?
Someday…
When they’d rekindled their relationship, it had been a close friendship only. Other than a
chaste peck on the lips or a hug from time to time, their love had been purely spiritual. Both of
them had wanted more, they’d admitted to each other. But they’d also known that should word
ever get back to Mortianna, they both would be in danger and it was too much to risk the wrath
of the most powerful witch in the world. In the end, all their precautions had been for naught.
Since her death, how many times had he wished they’d had one more night, just one more
where he could’ve held her and loved her as they’d desired? But it wasn’t to be. She was gone
and he was left behind, destined to be alone for the remaining years of his life.
Eternity had never looked so bleak.
Sinjin realized it was time to lay his love to rest in his heart as he’d laid her body to rest
in the ground. His logical mind knew it, but his heart was having the most difficulty.
Page No 14
Temptation by J. C. Wilder
14
“I loved ye more than anyone in the world.” His traced the blonde sweep of her hair with
his gaze. “Ne’er had I looked upon a beauty such as ye, and ye stole my breath along with my
heart.”
He retrieved his cup and downed the contents, enjoying the increasingly muzzy sensation
that swirled about his head and dulled his senses. The only time he could bear to remember the
past and think about what he’d lost was when he was drinking. Sober, the pain was far too much
to bear.
“But now ye’re gone and I’m left here among the living. Wasn’t meant to be I guess.”
His voice was raw as he set down the empty cup to clutch the frame with both hands. “As long as
I live, ne’er will I love another as I did ye for ye’ll always hold my heart. I’ll not let another
woman touch it.”
He cleared his throat. “Mayhap in another life I will see ye once more and we’ll walk
under the moon and share our hopes and dreams as we used to. I look forward to that time.
Good-bye Bliss, my love, my friend.”
As he crossed the room, he barely noticed when he banged his shin on a low table by the
couch. Sliding his fingers under the frame of a painting hung near the sealed door, he felt for a
small latch. Finding it, the watercolor swung away to reveal a wall safe. Punching numbers into
the keypad, the lock released and the safe door swung open.
Sinjin ignored the stacks of gold coins, some loose and some contained in clear rolls, the
bundles of yellowing packets of papers and several small boxes as he shifted things to make
room for the portrait.
He gazed at her face one last time as if to memorize every line, even though he knew her
face as well as his own. As he slid the painting into the niche he’d created behind some old
ledgers, a tear slid down his cheek. Shutting the door, he moved the watercolor back into place,
sealing her in darkness along with his memories.
New York, NY
No…it can’t be. She could not be this lucky…
Elena Vasquez set the wooden lid on the desk, her gaze glued to the contents of the box
now partially revealed. Midnight blue velvet shrouded the item in the box, but the cloth was
rumpled as if it had been hastily replaced. Bunched on one side, the top layer failed to hide its
secrets completely. Through a gap in the fabric, the corner of a book was visible.
Heart pounding, she pulled the book and its velvet shroud from the box and set it on the
desk next to the lid. The velvet slid away as if the book itself could no longer bear to be
confined. Her breath caught as the worn brown leather cover was revealed in the dim light from
the desk lamp.
She pulled a small flashlight from her pants pocket, then hunched over the book to
inspect the binding. Without touching the cover, she noted the gatherings before turning it to
open the back cover to study the endsheet construction.
It was probably Venetian in origin, and at least several hundred years old. She flipped
through the pages, scanning the cramped writing and ink drawings. She could tell from the even
edges that all of the pages appeared to be intact. She closed the book. The edges of the cover and
the pages were worn as if they’d been well used over the centuries yet competently maintained.
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Temptation by J. C. Wilder
15
The leather was scarred but not outrageously so and, judging from the dull gleam and
supple leather of the cover, someone had known what he or she was doing with regard to the
proper care of antique books. Contents notwithstanding, the value of the book was minimal as
there was no illumination, no rubification and the binding wasn’t gilt.
She flicked the light off as she straightened, tucking the flashlight back into the pocket of
her form-fitting cargo pants, careful to run her finger over the Velcro flap to secure it. Nothing
was worse than attempting a graceful exit only to have something fall out of her pockets and
create a racket. It took only one stunt like that to end a career and quite possibly a life.
Right now, she was trying to save her life, not end it.
If this book was the famed diary of Elsabeth, it was much, much more than just any
antique book and its value went well beyond monetary. To some, this book possessed destructive
powers of untold dimensions. It held the knowledge to annihilate the life of every preternatural
who walked the earth.
To others, those like her; this book offered a second chance at life. A normal, mortal life.
The life she craved to return to. To both sides of the battle, its value was priceless.
Her fingertips ached to stroke the leather without the protective barrier of her calfskin
gloves. Any well-schooled burglar, and she had learned at the knee of the best, knew lesson one
was to keep all gloves and clothing in place to enable a clean getaway. Even though she knew it
was foolish to the extreme, she removed her glove and gave in to her temptation.
An unfamiliar trickle of ice moved up her arm as she brushed bare fingers over the cover.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention as a low growl formed in her chest. Startled,
she withdrew her hand, her eyes darting around the room, looking for any new threat to her
safety.
Lifting her head, she scented the air. The myriad of aromas, tangled to the human
perception, were sharp. Each one was distinct to her werewolf senses. Wood, leather, paper, dust,
human sweat, stale coffee, cigarette smoke, burnt wood from the fireplace and the sharp tang of
gun solvent. Underlying it all was the scent of evil, a scent of which she was very familiar.
Reassured that all was as it should be, Elena sank into the wide seat of the desk chair, her
gaze returning to the book. The age was right, now to check the contents. She had to know if this
was the diary before she did anything stupid like steal a Venetian book of erotica or treatises on
the rights of man.
Opening the cover, she randomly selected a page, relieved to see it written in English.
Late this eve my child and I stole from our home to pay a visit to Arianwen, the local wise
woman. I told her of the changes I’d seen overcome Manfred and the fears I have for my son.
Everyday Manfred grows more irrational as he pursues the dark path. I feel the darkness closing
in upon us.
I love my son Niall, he’s all that I hold dear and I fear for his safety. Each hour that
passes he becomes more aware of the world around him and as he does, my fear increases as
well. How long until Manfred discovers my shameful secret, the curse I have brought upon my
house, my son, my heart?
I long to take my son and disappear into the darkness but Arianwen cautions me against
that. She said Niall has a great destiny to fulfill and Manfred is a key. As his mother, it is my duty
to see my son through it.
For him and only him, I bide my time.
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Temptation by J. C. Wilder
16
Elena allowed the cover to close. Her heart leapt into her throat as the knowledge sank in.
The book was genuine, or a copy at least. Elsabeth, the author of the diary, was the first and only
wife of Mikhail, the vampire who currently waged war upon the Council of Elders.
Manfred was Mikhail’s human name and Niall was Elsabeth and Mikhail’s son. The
current wild rumor among the preternaturals was that Renault, the oh-so-reclusive werecat, was
actually their son. Wouldn’t that add quite the twist in the ongoing dramas?
She picked up the diary. Contained in this book was the key to the secrets of the Shadow
Dwellers. It was hard to believe that this little diary had caused the death of so many in the
pursuit of its knowledge. Now it was in her hands. Many wouldn’t think twice of killing her to
possess it, not that she was afraid; she’d never run from a fight in her life.
The other preternaturals, the vampires, revenants, were-cats and witches, never did
understand what was really important in life. In the past ten years, they’d constantly gotten
themselves into a tangle over one thing or another and almost all of it added up to nothing. That
was the main reason why the werewolves refused to join the society of the Shadow Dwellers. In
Elena’s opinion, the theatrics were a bit much and the majority of her fellow wolves agreed with
her.
Regardless of how she felt about the Shadow Dwellers, possession of the book brought
forth the question of what to do with it. Seeing as the wolves weren’t part of the current
brouhaha, a smart wolf would turn and walk away from the diary and the problems it presented.
However, with things being as they were, in its current hands, the book would surely mean the
destruction of many. Being the relatively moral creature that she was, when it suited her that is,
Elena wouldn’t abide needless death. Even though vampires were already dead, they were alive
in some sense and she wouldn’t be a party to their destruction.
Now the were-cats were another matter.
A slow smile curved her mouth. The destruction of the were-cats, skittish creatures that
they were, wouldn’t break her heart. They were a prissy bunch to begin with and they gave all
the were-creatures a bad name. As far as she and the other werewolves were concerned, putting
them all on a boat to Timbuktu and then sinking it was a perfect solution.
Her smile faded. No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t wish the were-cats ill. She glanced at
the unconscious man lying on the floor a few feet from the door. Unlike some, she went out of
her way to avoid hurting people, innocent people at least. The man on the floor was anything but
innocent; his soul was awash with the blood of his gullible victims.
Miles lay on the Persian carpet like so much discarded clothing. A revenant and a demon
of the first water; a man who walked in the darkness and took great delight in torturing people
with his intellect and physical strength. This time, he’d lost the battle. That would teach him to
threaten someone who could fight back on his terms.
Anyway, it was his own fault he’d ended up in such an undignified position. The damn
fool wouldn’t have a huge knot on his head if he’d stayed in bed where he should have been at
five a.m. She’d kept his house under surveillance for two weeks in order to learn his schedule,
the patterns of his life. On this very night, the one she’d decided to make entry to his house, what
did this foolish man decide to do? Get up early. He’d not done that before, not even once.
Consequently, she’d had to conk him over the head to prevent him from interrupting her work.
“Men. Just goes to show you can’t trust them,” she muttered.
A moan came from Miles and he stirred ever so slightly, signaling that it was time to
vacate the premises. She carefully rewrapped the book in its velvet shroud before tucking it into
the carved box and securing the lid.
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17
Whatever she ultimately decided to do with this artifact, she wasn’t about to leave it
behind. In the current unholy war being waged between the preternaturals and the rogue Mikhail,
Miles had sided with the vampire and, in their hands, this book would only lead to the
destruction of more lives.
She rose from her seat and tucked the box into the bottom of her small leather backpack.
On top of the box she placed the other items of value she’d opted to liberate from the
unconscious man, taking care that nothing would get damaged in transit.
Slipping on the pack, she turned off the desk lamp, her acute werewolf senses kicking in
as her night vision took over. Stepping over Miles, Elena made her exit, her pack filled with the
Paul Revere silver teapot she’d been engaged to procure, and the future of the preternatural
world on her shoulders. In her possession, she might be able to use the knowledge the diary
contained to resurrect a life.
Her own.
Page No 18
18
Chapter 2
New Orleans, Louisiana
Early May
Sinjin didn’t know her name nor where she was from, as they’d never spoken. All he
knew was that she drank chardonnay, had a passion for Cajun food and she had the most
beautiful legs he’d ever seen.
For the past week, his mystery woman had come into the Chat Noir around the same time
every evening. She’d be carrying a backpack full of books and she’d take the last table on the left
near the windows. She’d order either wine or coffee, and she’d pou
r over her books and make
copious notes as she ate her dirty rice or shrimp étouffée. He’d never seen her speak to anyone
other than her server and when the few brave men who dared to approach h
er did attempt to
speak to her, she’d freeze them with a cool look and a polite shake of her dark head.
She was elegant, beautiful, and remote. And he wanted her.
Sinjin didn’t even realize he was watching for her until Julius, his head bartender,
interrupted his musing.
“Are you waiting for someone, boss?” he asked.
Sinjin picked up the bar towel and wiped down the already spotless bar. “Nay. Why do ye
ask?”
“You keep looking at the door, then back to your watch.” Julius opened the cooler and
retrieved a case of beer, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. “I just thought you were
looking for someone.” He carried the case into the other public room of the
Chat Noir that
functioned as a nightclub.
Was he waiting for his mystery woman? Sinjin rinsed out the cloth and tossed it in the
laundry bin. There wasn’t much else to do, it was a slow night at the Chat due to an unseasonable
cold spell that kept people in their homes. Only the tourists were haunting Bourbon Street in this
weather. Was his mystery woman a tourist?
There was no doubt in his mind that he’d grown enamored of her from afar. He’d noticed
her the first time she’d come to the Chat. She’d arrived at precisely eleven in the evening and
she’d been dressed all in black. That in itself wasn’t unusual for
his clientele, but her outfit had
been concealing rather than revealing. Black turtleneck, long black skirt and black boots, her
only adornment a simple gold necklace. A gold clip had tamed her dark hair and her dark eyes
shadowed behind black-framed glasses.
Since that night she’d come in, claim the corner table as her own, unpack her backpa
ck
and make herself at home. After she’d work for several hours, her toe
s tapping to the hot jazz
playing in the club, she’d pack up, leave a generous tip and vanish into the night. According to
his waitress Tracey, the woman rarely indulged in idle conversation. She was polite, well-spoken
and did not encourage interaction other than ordering.
Maybe she was shy?
Sinjin pulled the plug on the sinks as he began the process of closing down the restaurant
bar, his movements methodical and mindless. He’d done this so many times it was rote. After he
straightened the coffee area, and replenished the filters, against his will he glanced at the open
doors that led out to Bourbon Street.
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Temptation by J. C. Wilder
19
No mystery woman.
He glanced at his watch. It was ten after eleven. Maybe she wasn’t coming tonight? He
wiped down the front of the espresso machine, trying to ignore the curiously empty pit in his
stomach.
He scowled and dropped the dish towel in the sink. Why was he getting so tangled over
the appearance of one woman? Women were plentiful at the Chat. Tall ones, short ones, thin
ones, fat ones; anything a man could want for a long night’s entertainment.
He dropped into a crouch to root for packages of napkins and coffee stirrers. In the
nightclub he heard the unmistakable sounds of the band beginning their second set, much to the
delight of a small but enthusiastic crowd.
It had been several weeks since he’d last had a woman. The Chat had been wildly busy
and along with the house he’d just bought and was renovating, he’d been too occupied to
consider entertaining women in his bed.
Could that be what was wrong with him? It was simply an overabundance of testosterone
that could be easily taken care of. He broke open a paper-wrapped package of napkins to restock
the holder. An evening of romping in bed with a beautiful blonde and her bountiful D cups
would straighten him right out. Then he could quit obsessing over a strange woman with skin
like cream and hair as dark as night.
Maybe then he would quit wondering what she’d taste like. Dark temptation? Sheer
innocence? Would she laugh in bed or was she one of those serious ones who turned out the
lights and jumped under the covers lest he see any inch of pale flesh that wasn’t completely taut
and toned? Maybe she…
Disgusted with the direction his thoughts had taken, he crumpled the brown paper and
tossed it into the trash. He turned to grab another package as a flash of black near the doorway
caught his eye. His muscles tightened as he recognized her.
His mystery woman had arrived.
She stood by Tracey, towering over the petite, redheaded waitress by several inches. She
was dressed in slim black pants and a black turtleneck with some sort of shawl the color of pink
roses draped over her head and shoulders. Her black bag was in place as were her glasses.
A low throb of excitement ignited in his gut as he released a breath he hadn’t been aware
he was holding. Tracey ushered the woman to her usual spot in the corner of the restaurant. The
woman gave the waitress a bright smile and said something that caused her to nod in response
before turning away to approach him.
“I have an order,” Tracey said. “Do you want me to get it from the club since you’re
closing up?”
“Nay, I’ll get it.” Sinjin closed the box of stirrers and tucked it under the bar. “I’m not
done closing.”
Her brow arched. “Uh huh.” Tracey’s smile was slow. “I need a glass of the chardonnay
for the lady.”
“Coming right up.” Sinjin selected a wine glass from the overhead rack, not sure he liked
the glint in her eye.
“She’s becoming quite a regular.”
“Who?” he asked, deliberately being obtuse. He uncorked the bottle and filled the glass.
“You know who as well as I do.” Tracey slid off the stool. “Oh my, I forgot to put her
food order in.” She fluttered her lashes as she gave him a teasing smile. “You’ll just have to take
her drink to her.”
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20
Sinjin chuckled as his saucy waitress slipped into the kitchen. Tracey was popular with
the clients as well as the staff. Her big heart and wicked sense of humor made her a fun working
companion. She loved nothing more than to dabble in other people’s love lives. If this worked
out, he would have to thank her later.
He picked up the glass and walked toward his mystery woman. She sat at her table, head
down as she read the open book in front of her. Even white teeth dug into her lower lip and he
wondered what she was reading to cause her to bite her lip like that.
Slender fingers toyed with an errant curl as her other hand lightly tapped an ink pen
against her notebook. Her low-heeled sandal hung from a red-painted toe as she wiggled her foot
to the beat of an old Miles Davis song. She’d removed the shawl to drape it over the chair next to
her. Beneath her turtleneck, he noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra. Heat coiled in his gut. Her
nipples were clearly outlined by the thin fabric and he was struck by a desire to pull her from the
chair and taste them.
Stifling a curse, he walked past her toward the waitress stand. He couldn’t walk up to her
with a raging erection. Even if he was wearing the small bar apron, his jeans and the square of
white cotton wouldn’t hide what was happening below his waist.
With great effort, he managed to chill his heated blood by mentally reviewing his dry
goods order for the morning. Nothing could calm him faster than a contemplation of cake flour
and baking soda.
When his body was under control again, he approached her. “Yer wine,” he said. Watch
her have the voice of a teenybopper. No one with this exterior package could be graced with a
sexy voice as well.
Her head popped up and a pair of eyes the color of midnight behind her glasses impaled
him. Deep and rich, they reminded him of the velvet night sky in his beloved Highlands.
“Thank you very much.” She flashed him a quick, impersonal smile. “This is much
appreciated.”
No, she definitely did not have the voice of a child. Low and sexy, her voice was that of a
siren. It spoke of many nights in smoke-filled clubs listening to jazz to be followed with long
hours on wrinkled sheets, limbs entwined, voice straining as she took her pleasure.
Heat pooled in his groin as his cock strained against the fly of his jeans. Sinjin loved
nothing more than a seduction and the blinding rush brought on by sexual temptation. The quest
to discover what a woman desired sexually was one that he relished. And when he did, how he
set about ruining her for other men…
“Can I have my wine now?”
He blinked, the cloud of desire fading as he looked into her quizzical gaze. He’d been
ruminating about getting her into bed while holding her wine hostage. Now that was smooth.
He set the glass in front of her. “Can I get ye anything else?”
“No, thank you. I have everything I need.” She dropped her head and returned her
attention to her book, effectively dismissing him.
Sinjin gritted his teeth as he stalked to the bar. In his entire life he couldn’t remember
anyone ever dismissing him as she had. Never. It wasn’t that women always found him
irresistible, but they certainly didn’t blow him off like that. He assumed his usual position behind
the bar. Well, that was that.
Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut, he recorked the bottle of wine and returned it to
the cooler.
“Did you make any headway?”
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21
He turned to see Tracey, an organic green salad in her hand and an expectant smile on her
face. “Don’t ask,” he muttered.
Her eyes widened. “You struck out?” She glanced over her shoulder at the object of their
conversation. “She must be made of stone.”
He couldn’t prevent the grin that crossed his face. That was Tracey, loyal to the last. He
glanced at the woman as his waitress delivered her salad. Her smile was brief but it lit her whole
face and once again he felt an almost physical pull.
She might be made of stone, but water could breach her hardened exterior. It would just
take time.
Vivian raised her head from the book she’d been studying. It was getting late and she was
wearing down. The music was fabulous, the wine divine, but it was time to call it a night and
head back to her hotel before she fell asleep on the table.
She slid the bookmark in between the pages and closed the book. Doing research for
Erihn, her romance writer friend, was more interesting than she’d thought it would be. Who’d
have thought she’d enjoy reading about voodoo, voodun and witchcraft?
She opened her backpack and slid the book inside along with her notepad and pens. Erihn
could do her own research, but she’d thought she was doing Vivian a favor in giving her
something to keep busy. Ever since Mel’s death, all of the girls were watching her as if she were
some sort of lab experiment gone awry. Vivian knew the last few months her behavior had been
somewhat frantic, jumping from place to place and activity to activity. But she’d been desperate
to find balance in a world gone awry.
The last few months she’d spent isolated in a variety of unfamiliar cities, exploring them
and hoping, in turn, they’d help her rediscover herself. Right now she wasn’t sure if any of it had
succeeded. She’d enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere in each of the cities she’d visited, but she
didn’t know any more about what she wanted from life than she’d known the day she’d stood by
Mel’s coffin saying her final good-bye.
Vivian picked up her new shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. Earlier in the day,
she’d gone on a mini-shopping spree at a local mall, adding the soft cashmere wrap to her
meager stash of accessories. When she’d decided to go on this trip, she’d planned it with
minimalism in mind. Several outfits, very little jewelry, her journal, cell phone and some books
were all that she traveled with. Luckily she’d had sense to bring her credit cards, as they’d come
in handy today. Until now she’d paid cash for pretty much everything, but her afternoon
purchases would have completely exhausted her cash reserve.
She zipped her pack shut and dropped it on the floor beside her feet. All she had to do
was settle her tab and she could be on her way. She glanced around the room for her waitress,
but the only other person in attendance was the scowling bartender behind the bar.
She rose from her seat and swung her pack onto her back. He’d been smiling when she’d
arrived. What had happened to paint that horrible scowl on such a handsome face? He really was
quite good looking. He was big, and seemed impressively tall. A white T-shirt strained over his
well-defined chest, showcasing his musculature. His profile was proud and chiseled with a high
forehead, squared chin and masculine cheekbones. Even his irritated expression couldn’t detract
from his dark good looks.
Tall, dark and good-looking were her usual type, tall, dark and surly was not.
“Excuse me,” she said to him.
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22
The bartender turned and she received the full force of his green-eyed gaze. She shivered
and drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders as a spark of sexual awareness ignited in her
gut. This, she did not need right now.
“I would like to settle my bill please.”
“Aye. I’ll find Tracey for ye.”
“Thank you.” Vivian climbed onto a barstool as he came out from behind the bar, turning
into what she assumed was the kitchen. She couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at his backside as he
walked away.
Broad shoulders tapered to a perfect vee at his narrow waist, drawing her gaze down to
his delicious, jean-clad backside. Surly he may be, but he had a grade A prime butt. Her fingers
itched to grab that firm flesh and squeeze.
Okay, so maybe tall dark and surly was a nice package that warranted a second look. Or a
touch… or a bite...
She exhaled noisily as she loosened the shawl. Was it suddenly warm in here? Maybe she
should’ve skipped that last glass of wine. No, wine never made her this warm before. Could it be
that menopause had finally caught up to her?
Hopefully that was the problem as the last thing she needed on her journey of rediscovery
was yet another meaningless affair. True, it had been a long time since she’d taken a man into
her bed, almost six months. Since losing her virginity, this was the longest dry spell she’d ever
had.
The bartender returned with a slip of paper in his hand. A man that looked like him
probably had women dripping off of him at every turn. The last thing she needed was another
good-time boy. He might have a face that could tempt a saint, but she wasn’t breaking her streak
of celibacy for a one-night stand with a cocktail slinging Lothario, even if he was built for a long,
hard ride. She swallowed. She was here to find herself, not carve another notch on her bedpost,
no matter how tempting he was.
“Here ye are.” He laid the slip on the bar before her.
“Thank you.” She fumbled for her fanny pack, silently cursing suddenly thick fingers.
“What brings ye to our fair city?”
“I came here to find myself.” What the devil made her say that? Inwardly she groaned as
she pulled out a pair of twenties, and forced a merry laugh. “I mean—”
“Were ye lost?”
Vivian raised her head, her gaze meeting his and a curious sense of homecoming swept
through her. Why did she suddenly feel as if she could tell this man anything and he’d
understand her? She shook that thought away. What foolishness was this?
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Did ye wake up one morning to realize that ye was absent from yer own life?” He
braced his muscular forearms on the bar and leaned toward her. “Or was it insidious? A piece of
ye slipping away bit by bit until only a shadow remained in yer place?”
Her throat tightened. How could this stranger know what was going on inside of her? His
green eyes were kind, as if he too knew exactly what she was going through.
She cleared her throat. “I looked around one day and realized that I’d become a stranger
in my own life. I was going through the motions, but no longer participating in my existence. I
came here to reclaim my life and hopefully a piece of myself in the process.”
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23
Feeling raw and not believing she’d just spoken so boldly and truthfully to a complete
stranger, she slipped from the stool, wanting only the freedom of the New Orleans night to hide
her pain. As she neared the door, she heard him speak.
“So did I.”
Vivian turned, her gaze locked on his handsome face. She saw her pain mirrored in his
eyes. Her heart gave a queer little jerk and she stepped over the threshold and into the darkness.
Heart pounding, she moved quickly up the street, people and storefronts blurred before
her eyes. How had he zeroed in so quickly on her secret pain? She shivered. And what had
possessed her to say any of that in the first place? She wasn’t the type of person to encourage
intimacies unless she was well acquainted with someone first. In the past few months, not one
person had gotten as much information out of her as a stranger in a bar had in a few moments.
Spying a narrow, dimly lit side street, she moved toward it as a sob caught in her throat.
She was in danger of falling apart on a public street and that she couldn’t have. As she turned the
corner, the crowds were nonexistent and she could pull herself together without being observed
by passersby.
Leaning against the wall, she gulped the cool night air, willing herself to calm. Why was
she falling apart? A few insightful words from a complete stranger and she was a sobbing mess.
This was unacceptable behavior for the daughter of Bradford Carrington.
When she felt her emotions were a little more under control, she pushed away from the
wall. Continuing in the general direction of her hotel, Vivian walked, head down.
Maybe it was a mistake to come to Louisiana. Maybe she should’ve gone back to New
York after all. She could do the research there as well as here, and she could resume her
charitable activities as well. She wouldn’t be able to visit some of the historic places that only
New Orleans could afford her research, but she could probably get photos of the stuff she
needed.
Who are you running from?
Vivian scowled and kicked a crumpled paper cup out of her way. That was a good
question. Was she running from herself? Her past? Her future? Or was she running from a sexy
bartender who was too perceptive for his own good?
She slowed, suddenly weary of everything and everyone in her life. The urge to go back
to her hotel and climb into bed for a week was strong and appealing. Maybe she could—
“Hey!”
Vivian turned at the shout. The bartender from the Chat Noir stood at the corner of
Bourbon Street waving to get her attention. She frowned. Had she forgotten something? She took
a step toward him when someone grabbed her from behind and knocked her to the ground. She
put up her hands to prevent her face from hitting the brick sidewalk as hands tugged at her waist.
But before she could even comprehend what was happening, her fanny pack was cut from her
body and she heard the sound of running feet.
She scowled and lunged to her feet in time to see a retreating figure with her fanny pack
tucked under one arm like a football. Her blood boiled. How dare someone steal her pack? No
way was some little prick going to get away with pilfering from Vivian Carrington.
She ran after the thief, her open-toed sandals impeding her gait. After a few yards her
body naturally fell into a familiar rhythm and she thanked her lucky stars that she’d started
jogging several years ago. The sensation of the heavy backpack bouncing on her back threw her
off a bit but she was keeping up at least.
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24
The thief glanced over his shoulder, his surprise at seeing her obvious when he staggered,
giving her a few precious seconds to gain ground. As he passed a trashcan, his arm snaked out to
tumble it over, forcing Vivian to jump or end up in a heap of smelly trash.
A stitch hit her in the side and she scowled. She wouldn’t be able to keep the pace much
longer. She didn’t usually jog at such an accelerated speed and it was killing her.
She heard the sound of running feet behind her and she glanced back, half afraid that her
thief had an accomplice. It was the bartender. Vivian wished she could stop running just to watch
him for a moment. Beautiful and fluid, he moved well, a man at home in his own skin and aware
of his own abilities. He was something to behold.
Without warning, an old brick on the sidewalk shifted under her foot and a sharp pain
ripped through her ankle, causing her to fall face down. It happened so fast she could barely
comprehend that one minute she was running and the next she was lying in the middle of the
walk, her palms scraped and bleeding. She looked up in time to see the thief disappear around
the corner a half a block ahead.
“Damn!” She smacked the flat of her hand against the sidewalk.
The bartender stopped beside her. “Are ye okay?”
“He stole my purse,” she said.
“Aye, I saw him.”
“I need it back. All my credit cards, my drivers license, my money is in there.”
“Nay, it’s not worth getting hurt o’er. All of that stuff is easily replaced.” He dropped
into a crouch beside her, and she was irritated to note that he wasn’t even breathing hard. She felt
like she’d been run over by a truck.
“Easy for you to say, you still have your wallet.” Well aware that she sounded waspish,
she acknowledged his truth with a nod. “You’re right, through. It is all easily replaced.”
Strong fingers curled around her arm and assisted her to her feet. A tingle of awareness
raced through her limbs and her head felt strangely light. Disturbed, she stepped away, trying not
to wince as pain raced up her leg.
“Are ye hurt?”
“I twisted my ankle.” She held up her hands, trying to see the damage in the poor
lighting. “I think I scraped my palms a bit.”
His expression turned concerned as he noticed her abraded skin. “We need to get ye
cleaned up. Let’s go back to the Chat—”
She shook her head. “I’d rather go to my hotel. I suddenly feel the need to lie down.”
He nodded. “Where are ye staying?”
Vivian snorted. “How do I know I can trust you? Maybe you’re a serial killer or
something.”
He tipped his head back and laughed, the unrestrained sound sent a tendril of heat down
her spine. Oh, how she was a sucker for a man with a good laugh. His head dropped, a smile still
curving those tempting lips. “I can assure ye ye’ll be safe wi’ me.”
Tall, dark and surly was gone and left in his place was Prince Charming. With that sexy
accent she was in serious trouble.
Vivian couldn’t prevent an answering smile. “Okay Mr. I’m-Not-A-Serial-Killer, my
name is Vivian.”
“Damien St. James at yer service. My friends call me Sinjin.”
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25
He was way too attractive for her peace of mind and she needed to keep him at a distance
or she might do something foolish like end up in bed with him. “Thank you for coming to my
rescue, Mr. St. James.”
The glint in his eyes told her that he’d caught her subtle hint. “My pleasure.”
Vivian started on her way, leaving him to follow, but her sore ankle hampered her
progress. Sinjin stayed close to her side as they walked and she was very aware of the warmth of
his big body. There was something comforting about walking down an unfamiliar street with a
big solid guy beside you. Something safe. She stumbled and he put his hand on her elbow. When
she’d regained her balance, she pulled away and he made no objection.
Only once did he touch her again, when she’d lurched over the curb as they crossed the
street to the hotel. His strong arm slipped around her waist, anchoring her to his side.
Anticipation sizzled across her skin as they approached the rickety circular doors and she
was torn between needing to shove him away and inviting him upstairs into her bed. She shook
her head. Talk about confused.
Vivian shivered as they stepped into the warmth and spotty light of the lobby. A large
dark stain marred the nondescript carpeting near the door. The scattered chairs in the lobby
looked worn as if they were on the verge of giving up. The only thing in the room that looked
healthy were the plants. Her escort looked around the shabby space, his brow rose.
“Yer’re staying here?”
Her chin came up. “Yes. Is there a problem?”
“Nae, no problem.”
She looked at her rescuer, trying to ignore the traitorous clamoring of her pulse. “Thank
you again, Mr. St. James.”
“I—”
“Ms. Carrington, are you all right?” The night bellman appeared. His perpetually sagging
pants and sweat-stained shirt looked even more unkempt than usually this evening. He held a
half-eaten sandwich in one hand.
“I’m fine thank you,” she said.
“Is this gentleman bothering you, Ms. Carrington?” he asked. “Do I need to contact the
authorities?”
“No, actually he came to my rescue.”
The man gave Sinjin a narrow look then shrugged, taking a huge bite out of his sandwich
as he turned away to resume his post near the small television.
“I hope ye suffer nae ill effects from this eve’s adventures,” he said.
“I second that sentiment.” Vivian smiled faintly, feeling aches in all of her muscles. “I
don’t know how to thank you.”
“Come back to the Chat tomorrow ev’ning. ’Twill be thanks enough.”
Vivian blinked. She liked the Chat, the food was good, the music was excellent and the
scenery was getting better with each visit. She knew she should reject his advance and make
immediate arrangements to return to New York, but she couldn’t bring herself to say no, not yet.
She nodded. “Tomorrow evening it is.”
He flashed her a heart-stopping smile, then captured her hand and raised it to his lips. “I
look forward to it.”
His breath was warm on her skin as his mouth touched her, centering over her middle
knuckle. His tongue caressed her skin and her breath rushed from her lungs as he suckled her
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26
knuckle. For a moment, she wished it were another part of her body, not her hand upon which he
lavished such attention.
When he released her, his expression self-satisfied as if he could read her mind and the
lecherous thoughts that lived there. “Until tomorrow, Ms. Carrington.”
Vivian’s heart thudded in her chest as he exited the hotel. Whether she wanted it or not,
she had a feeling she was in for the ride of her life…if she was lucky.
“She’s in New Orleans.”
Anthony Greer grimaced at the sound of the whispery voice over his cell phone. Several
months ago, when he’d accepted the job to kill a woman, he’d enjoyed the cloak and dagger
aspect of not meeting his employer. Now, after multiple false leads that had sent him tearing all
over the United States, he wanted nothing more than to tell his employer to fuck off. They could
have their money back. Putting up with this horseshit wasn’t worth fifty thousand.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“She used her credit cards to shop this afternoon.” A soft chuckle sounded from the other
end of the phone. “How…predictable.”
Anthony straightened. This was much more concrete than a gut feeling or a possible
sighting. “What part of New Orleans is she in?”
“She made purchases in the French Quarter. I have someone scanning for use of her
credit cards again, so keep your phone close as I’ll call you the moment something comes up.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
His employer chuckled. “How did I know you’d say that? Don’t fail me, Anthony. I’m
counting on you to make me rich.” The phone clicked in his ear as the connection was dropped.
He tossed the phone onto the seat beside him, anticipation humming through his system.
Out of habit, he reached into his jacket to feel the Sig Sauer snug in his shoulder holster before
he reached low to feel the Baby Glock strapped to his ankle. He was ready to rock and roll.
Anthony was driving toward I-59 and that would take him to I-10, which would lead him
directly to the city. Within seven hours, he’d be in New Orleans, enjoying the nightlife on
Bourbon St. as he tracked one Vivian Carrington, the woman who was going to make him a very
rich man.
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27
Chapter 3
When Sinjin had invited Vivian back to the Chat tonight, he’d never envisioned the chaos
that would erupt before she could arrive.
Thanks to four inch spiked heels, his hostess had fallen in the kitchen
and twisted her
ankle. Sinjin had been unable to reach any of his other employees to replace her. Due to
upcoming college exams, he’d been running lean for the past few weeks and tonight was
destined to be the worst of them all. Already down a waitress because she’d called in earlier, the
hostess was now out along with the busboy who’d accompanied her to the hospital. The lines to
get into the restaurant and the club were equally long and it was only eight o’clock.
“Tracey, order up!”
Sinjin added a fresh bowl of pretzel mix to her laden tray when she appeared. Clad in a
black cotton dress that looked as if it had been painted to her lovely curves and a red silk choker
that all of his female employees wore, Tracey gave him a huge smile, showing off her sharp
canines. “You should be happy tonight, boss. The crowds are going to be wicked.”
“I could use a wee bit less wickedness and a few more hands. Grab Julius and send him
ov’r, will ye?” Sinjin grabbed a pair of cocktail glasses and began washing them in the small
sink. “I’m running out of Killian’s and I need him to restock the coolers.”
“Gotcha.” Tracey threw a glance over her shoulder at the crowded entrance before she
met his gaze. “She isn’t here yet. Even with this crush, no one could sneak in with you watching
the door like a hawk, even a skinny woman like her.”
“She’s nae skinny.”
“Yes she is. She has nothing for a man to hold onto. I personally think it’s that touch-me-
not exterior she exudes. It draws men like flies.”
“Men do appreciate a challenge,” he acknowledged. Sinjin thought of Vivian’s slim
curves. She may not be very big but she had more than enough for a man to hold. “Curves or
nae, she intrigues me.”
“Well, well, isn’t this a switch? Usually you’re the one that does the flustering.” Hefting
the tray, she turned away humming “What A Difference A Day Makes” as she walked into the
churning crowd.
Sinjin busied himself mixing drinks, his movements automatic as he made a pitcher of
blue margaritas. Since coming to New Orleans, he’d indulged in a variety of strictly physical
relationships, but no one had attracted him on a psychological level until now. He didn’t know
what it was about Vivian that drew him. She was beautiful, but beautiful
women were plentiful.
No, it was more than that. It was something deeper, more basic, a gut level attraction that he felt
when he looked at her and it was all he could do to not reach out and to
uch her.
It was also obvious to him that she was either running from or running to something. Was
she in some kind of trouble?
Julius appeared with two cases of beer just as Sinjin finished the margarita order. He
helped the tall man restock the cooler before slipping out from behind the bar. Moving easily
through the crowd, he nodded at several women who greeted him, not pausing for a conversation
as he would have done in the past.
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28
The restaurant was filled to capacity with more waiting for tables. Crowds of at least
thirty people were clustered in the doorway and, in the small waiting area, most with cocktail
glasses in their hands. All in all, tonight would be a financial success for the Chat and that was
good news. Thanks to Mardi Gras, the restaurant had shown its first profits within months of
opening and he was determined it stay that way.
With the doors wide open to Bourbon Street, Sinjin caught a whiff of the heady night
breeze. The cool spell had broken and, even though it was early in the year, the air was already
heavy with humidity and the faint scent of ozone. A storm was coming. He lifted his head to
scent the air. The mingled aromas of sea, too many people in a confined place and spilled liquor
swirled through his senses.
There was nothing like New Orleans in early May.
May.
What day was it? He frowned. The biweekly alcohol delivery had occurred this
afternoon; he’d found the invoices on his desk when he’d arrived. That would make it Thursday,
the first of May. He stepped into a quiet corner behind some tall potted plants, which were used
to camouflage the bathroom doors.
Bliss.
He closed his eyes as an echo of pain moved through his chest. It was six months today
that he’d buried her in the Highlands. And that very next day, he’d left his beloved home without
looking back.
Every day he missed her more, but slowly he’d embarked on pulling his life back
together. Reassembling some normality and moving on. It hadn’t been easy, but necessary. In the
past few months he’d even begun dating, if it could be called dating. A flurry of faceless women
had made their way through his bed and he’d taken great physical pleasure in all of them.
But he allowed none to touch his heart.
And that was exactly how he wanted it. Loving and losing once was painful enough and
he had no desire to indulge again. He was content with the physical solace the myriad of ladies
offered him. The rest of his life was filled with his business, renovating his home, his friends and
the war that loomed in the preternatural world. He didn’t need or want anything else distracting
him.
Vivian.
The odor of food, liquor and perfume faded into the background as her scent wrapped
itself around his senses. His blood stirred. A sensual blend of ginger, vanilla and warm woman,
he looked over in time to see her entering the Chat.
Dressed in a sleeveless red silk blouse, short black skirt and high heels, he sized up her
stocking-clad limbs with pure male appreciation. Long, slim and toned, she had legs that looked
a mile long and he wanted to kiss every inch of them. His groin tightened at the image of those
fabulous legs draped over his shoulders as he paid proper homage to her beautiful curves. He
could only hope his jeans were sturdy this evening as he had a feeling the zipper was going to be
tested to its limits.
The overhead light cast fingers of blue light through her dark hair. Twisted high on the
back of her head in a careless knot, it exposed the slender curve of her throat. He licked his lips.
Yes, he definitely wanted to get to know Ms. Vivian Carrington better.
He stepped out from behind the plants and her gaze moved over him. He caught the
wariness that lingered in her eyes even as her lips curved into a smile.
“I’m glad ye came,” he said.
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29
“So am I.”
“How are yer palms?”
“Much better as is my ankle.”
He cast an appreciative glance at her slim ankles. “I didna figure ye’d wear those shoes if
yer ankle was still bothering ye.”
“You’re right about that. A sore ankle and these stilts would equal a disaster.” She
glanced around the crowded room. “This looks like the place to be this evening.”
He nodded. “I got lucky. A few months ago I booked a new jazz trio for the club. It just
so happens that a local station put them on heavy rotation and now people are arriving in droves
to see their first set.” He grinned. “I expect the next two weeks to be completely insane around
here.”
“That’s good for business.”
“Aye, and I couldna be more pleased.” Sinjin saw Julius wave at him and he took
Vivian’s arm and steered her toward the bar, trying not to notice how warm and fragrant her skin
was. “We’ve also had a few wee calamities. My hostess twisted her ankle and a bus boy took her
to the hospital. To top if off one of my waitresses called in sick. So on my most crowded night so
far, I’m short three people.”
“Sounds like you have your hands full.” She started to pull away. “Maybe I should come
back another time?”
“Nae, please don’t go. I’d like ye to stay and enjoy yerself, maybe catch the show and
have a bit of dinner wi’ me.”
She laughed as she slid onto a barstool. “Is this how you treat all of your customers who
suffer a mugging?”
He shook his head. “Just the special ones.”
“You’re smooth, Mr. St. James.” He caught the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “Very
smooth.”
“I aim to please.” He stepped behind the bar. “Did ye make a police report about yer
purse?”
“Yes and all of my cards have been reported as stolen and the replacements are on their
way.”
“Good.”
“Excuse me, Sinjin,” Julius said. “We’re low on rum and I need to run downstairs for
some more.”
He nodded. “I’ll take over for now.” He turned toward Vivian. “Can I get ye a drink?”
“Chardonnay?”
“Kendall Jackson?”
“Lovely, thank you.”
Sinjin poured her a glass of wine then handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, sending a
lightning bolt of warmth up his arm. He was well acquainted with what lust felt like, the fiery
temptation coupled with a rush of anticipation. This wasn’t just lust; it was more, much more.
He gave her a heated look before he was pulled back to the business of bartending. How
much time passed he didn’t know as orders kept piling up with customers. A dropped tray of
food caused a minor calamity as his employees scrambled to clean it up and repair the damage in
record time. He barely managed to snatch a word with Vivian from time to time though he was
aware of her presence every second.
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30
When the band started their first set at nine, the crowd in the bar had thinned and he
could take his first breather. Turning toward her end of the bar, he found her seat vacant, only a
half-empty wineglass in her place.
Vivian had grown bored with the television in the bar. A newsflash had disturbed her
mellow frame of mind. Some poor woman had been killed, her throat slit while she’d been
shopping at a local mall. The televised image was a bloodstain on the tiled floor, her packages
around where she’d landed. Moments later they flashed the victim’s photo, curly dark hair, dark
eyes and a smile from ear to ear.
When this woman had left her house that morning, had she had an inkling that she’d
never return? Was there anyone to mourn her passing?
Vivian turned away from her troubling thoughts to watch Sinjin work. With a neat white
apron around his slim waist and a perpetual smile on his face, he worked efficiently as he poured
drinks, brewed coffee and directed his staff with a nod of his head or a slight hand gesture. Even
short-staffed, the Chat was relatively well ordered. The major clog seemed to be the absence of
the hostess. There was a definite delay between tables being cleared and prepped and the
customers being seated.
Vivian glanced at Sinjin, finding him elbow deep in orders and they were still piling
higher. Customers stood two deep around the bar, money in hand as they waited for their
cocktails. Since it didn’t look as if she’d have any time soon with him, she might as well make
herself useful.
She slid off her stool, leaving her unfinished wine on the bar. After tucking her backpack
behind the bar and out of the way so no one would trip over it, she approached a harried looking
Tracey.
“I’m here to help.” She picked up a handful of menus. “Where do I start?”
Tracey gave her an up and down look, taking in the silk blouse and Prada heels. “You’re
going to act as hostess?”
“Think I can’t?” Vivian gave her an arched look. Telling Vivian Carrington that she
couldn’t do something was akin to tossing a match in a haystack, someone was going to get
scorched.
“I think you’ll get dirty,” Tracey shot back.
“Well, we’ll see about that.” Vivian edged the waitress away from the hostess stand. Two
sheets of paper lay on the podium-style stand. One was a layout of the restaurant seating and it
was covered in plastic with X’s over the occupied tables. The other was a handwritten sheet of
parties waiting to be seated, time of arrival and number in the party neatly listed.
Glancing over the dining area, she saw that a table set for four had just been prepped. She
ran her finger down the list and located the first small group waiting for seating. Drawing upon
her considerable restaurant experience as a diner, she picked up three menus. “Caldwell, party of
three.”
As they stepped forward, she marked them off the list and x-ed the table on the layout
before escorting them to their table. After they were seated, she presented them with menus and a
promise that their waitress would arrive shortly. Thrilled that she’d seated her first party, she
returned to the hostess stand with a brilliant smile on her face.
“That went well enough, didn’t it?” She held her hands toward Tracey. “See, no dirt
either.”
The waitress rolled her eyes. “You forgot the silverware.”
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31
Vivian scowled as Tracey walked off to take their drink orders. Well, live and learn. As
another table was cleared, Vivian consulted her list and this time she didn’t forget the silverware.
The evening passed quickly as she led group after group to their respective tables. She
fielded complaints and compliments alike and, luckily, the latter far outweighed the former.
After the first hour, she really got into the swing of life at the Chat and time passed quickly.
Three hours later with every minute spent in her favorite Prada heels, she would have
killed for a pair of house slippers. Along with her aching feet, she’d acquired a whole new
appreciation for the food service industry. Before it would never have occurred to her the labor
involved in preparing and serving the lavish presentations she called dinner. Now, she knew how
much work went into every morsel and it was a lesson she would not soon forget.
The four waitresses worked as a well-ordered team, efficiently taking care of patrons and
giving Vivian a hand when she bungled things, such as when she tried to seat ten people at a
table set for four. Within seconds, the waitresses had rearranged the tables to accommodate the
party and Tracey had only smirked once.
As the restaurant crowd thinned around midnight, Vivian sank gratefully into a chair in
her favorite corner. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes. Never in her life had she been so
exhausted. But it had been fun, surprisingly fun actually. She didn’t realize before tonight how
introverted she’d become. Now, thrust into the middle of a busy restaurant and forced to talk
with the customers, she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed dealing with the public. A social
creature by nature, she’d allowed herself to become secluded behind a wall of privilege.
“Ye’ve certainly earned this.”
The sound of Sinjin’s sexy voice brought her head up. He laid a silver-domed plate on the
table and it was all she could do to not swoon as he removed the lid and the mouth-watering
aroma of pulled pork rose in the steam.
“Oh, pure heaven. Thank you so much.” She forced herself to sit up as she reached for
the fork.
“Thank ye. After ye jumped in to lend a hand, things certainly ran smoother.”
Vivian grinned. “It was fun.” She waved at the other empty chair. “Will you join me?”
“I’d love to.”
She took a bite of the tender barbequed pork and couldn’t prevent a groan of delight as
the meat literally melted on her tongue. She swallowed. “Aren’t you going to eat as well?” she
asked as she scooped another bite with crusty sourdough bread.
“No, I’ve already eaten.”
A young Latino boy approached them and handed Sinjin a small black coffee cup. His
dark eyes widened when he saw Vivian and he gave her a shy smile before leaving as silently as
he’d arrived.
Vivian sighed as the taste and texture of perfectly seasoned pork delighted her palate.
Silent, she dug into her food, aware that Sinjin watched her, yet unable to stop herself from
gulping down her food like a common farmhand. She’d never gone hungry in her life, but she’d
never felt as ravenous either. Just goes to show that hard work was good for a body.
“Do ye need a job?”
She laughed as she picked up her tall glass of sweet tea, pleased to find it wasn’t the
syrupy concoction that most southerners seemed fond of. “How did you guess?”
“Since ye were robbed, I thought maybe you could use a short-term job. My hostess
won’t be back for a few days and that leaves me short handed at a critical time.”
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32
Now full, Vivian kicked off her shoes and wiggled her cramped toes. “What would the
pay be?”
“Well, we pay more than minimum wage and tips are some of the best in the city or so
I’m told.”
“Any perks I should know of?”
“Well,” a smile curved his mouth, igniting a pit of warmth in her stomach. “We have a
few that ye won’t find anywhere else in the city.”
“Such as?”
“Ye’ll get to spend time with me.”
She ran her fingertip around the top of her tea glass. “You think a great deal of yourself,
don’t you, Mr. St. James?”
He shrugged. “It has been said before.” He reached down and captured her foot, raising it
to rest in his lap. “How about nightly foot rubs?”
Vivian closed her eyes and groaned as he kneaded the balls of her feet, zeroing in on the
aches and soothing them with his big hands. A shiver of pure delight ran through her body.
Against the lace of her bra, her nipples hardened as she relaxed into her chair. She didn’t care
that she was sprawled in a very unladylike fashion, her foot in his lap, her legs askew, probably
showing an indecent amount of thigh in public no less. Granted, the restaurant was empty and the
club was filled to capacity, but someone walking through could see them.
As he finished his massage on one foot, she opened her eyes. “Do you think you can get
me an interview with the manager?”
Sinjin chuckled as he captured her other foot and continued the exquisite torture, eliciting
another moan of relief. “I’m pretty sure I can arrange something. I have an in with the boss.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
His strong hands rubbed her ankle, making her more aware of her body than ever. Her
legs felt as limp as noodles as he massaged the back of her calf, the very sensation of his palms
against her stockings stirred feeling between her thighs, and she could feel herself grow moist.
Vivian shifted in her chair, more aware then ever of the subtle friction of her bra against her
aroused nipples. She knew he desired her and she wanted him as well. The question wasn’t about
desire, as they seemed to possess that in spades. The question was what she needed in life and a
romp with a man who was only out for a good time wasn’t on her agenda.
Been there, done that.
She forced herself to sit upright, removing her feet from his lap. His small apron did little
to hide the impressive bulge beneath it. No doubt about it, what she was feeling was mutual. But
a dead end was still a dead end, no matter how long the street was.
“I should be getting back.” She winced as she pushed her feet into the torturous shoes.
The massage had been lovely, but within minutes her feet would be hurting again.
“Shall I walk ye back to the hotel?” Sinjin rose as she did, crowding her. The heat
radiated off him. His height and obvious strength were impressive as he towered over her.
“No, thanks.” She stepped away and forced a carefree laugh. “I will need a cab, please. I
don’t think I can walk that far this evening.”
He smiled. “A cab it is then.”
Vivian retrieved her bag, her gaze once more drawn to the television as they replayed a
snippet of the mall murder scene. Marked by yellow crime scene tape, the spill of blood was
stark against the pale marble and the whole scene had a surreal feel to it. What made one human
want to destroy another in such a violent fashion?
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33
“Yer ride is here.”
Vivian turned away from the disturbing scene on the television.
“When will I see ye again?” Sinjin asked. He slipped her hand into the crook of his arm
as he escorted her outside.
“Tomorrow, I’ll be here at five to give you a hand.”
“Ye decided to take the job?” he said.
“I did. In exchange for dinner each day plus a percentage of the tips.”
He nodded. “I think we can work something out.”
She flashed him a quick smile as she slipped into the cab. “Except this time I’ll be
wearing more comfortable shoes.”
Sinjin shut the door then leaned in the open window. His lips brushed her cheek, sending
a jolt of heat through her system. “Take good care of her, she’s very special,” he said to the
cabbie.
Raising a hand to her tingling cheek, the cab slid away from the curb and Vivian couldn’t
prevent the delighted chuckle that erupted. She’d done it! Her purse had been stolen but she
wasn’t destitute, not yet. She didn’t have to call Stephan and have him wire her money as she’d
landed a job. Granted, she wouldn’t get rich but she’d manage. Her shabby little hotel was
certainly cheap, which was why she’d picked it. For a woman used to suites in the finest hotels in
the world, her little dive away from home was quite the come down.
She grinned. She could get along just fine without her trust funds and with every day that
passed, she was closer to discovering the woman she was meant to be.
“What do you mean, you don’t have the diary?” Mikhail clenched the arm of his chair
and felt the glossy wood fracture in his grip.
Miles stood before him, ramrod straight and expressionless. “It was stolen from my
home.”
“Which raises the question as to why you didn’t return the diary to me immediately, but
we’ll address that later.” The vampire forced himself to release his grip on the chair. Silently he
cursed his blindness and physical frailty. He felt the fear and distaste he aroused in Miles, but he
wanted to see the revenant’s face.
For now, until he was healed, he would have to rely on his instincts and he didn’t like
what they were telling him now.
“How will you go about rectifying this situation?” he asked.
“I have a lead on the perpetrator. There have been a series of burglaries in the area. The
profile fits this crime as well. It is my belief that the burglar who stole the book is the same
person. The authorities are working under the theory it’s a professional.”
Mikhail made a sound of impatience. “Why would a cat burglar steal a book? It has no
monetary value outside of those who realize what it contains.”
“Exactly. This person knew exactly what the book is or they wouldn’t have taken it.”
Mikhail rubbed his chin, running his finger over the now-familiar pattern of the scar
tissue. Disgusted, he dropped his hand. Would he never get used to his disfigurement? “So it’s
one of us?”
“It would appear so.”
That certainly added a new wrinkle to the puzzle. If the diary were now in the hands of
another preternatural, the question became what would they do with it? It would stand to reason
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Temptation by J. C. Wilder
34
that, if they were loyal to him, they’d have contacted him already to sell the diary. If they were
loyal to Alexandre would the turn it over to him? Did that mean he had the book already?
If Mikhail were really lucky, the book would have fallen into the hands of one of those
who stood undecided in the battle, a witch or a werewolf. Neither line had declared their
allegiance, though the witches seemed to be leaning toward Alexandre and his ilk.
“And you have a plan for tracking this person down?”
“It is already in the works.”
“And I will have the diary back when?”
“One week.”
But, could he be trusted? Miles had come to him voluntarily, granted; but he’d disobeyed
orders to return the book. Obviously the revenant had other plans, but what exactly were they?
“That would be acceptable.” Mikhail rose from his chair. “In order to speed you along in
your quest, I’ll have one of my most trusted people aid you.”
He heard the scrape of Miles’ feet on the floor. “That isn’t necessary—”
“But I insist.” The vampire smiled and he knew it wasn’t pleasant. “Gerald, you will aid
Miles in his reconnaissance mission.”
“Yes Master.” Mikhail felt the air move across his skin as Gerald bowed. “We will not
fail you.”
Mikhail’s gaze shifted to where Miles stood, a tall dim shadow among shadows and felt
the anger emanating from the revenant. Before Cass’ death, Miles had enjoyed an almost equal
relationship with his former companion. Now he was but another drone who’d have to work his
way up the ranks of Mikhail’s army. They both knew it and it grated on the revenant. Mikhail
was sure it gave him many hours of unease. While he enjoyed Miles’ discomfort, it also made
him an uneasy ally at best.
“Miles, I would recommend, in order for you to have continued good health, that you do
not fail me again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Master,” Mikhail prompted.
“Yes…Master.”
The tension was evident in Miles’ voice and Mikhail could barely prevent a gleeful grin.
Oh, how he was enjoying this. He finally had the bastard right where he wanted him.
“You’re dismissed.”
Mikhail sank into his chair to listen as the two men left the room, the door closing behind
them. Satisfied that he was alone, he tipped his head back and gave a bark of laughter, not caring
if anyone else heard him or not.
Slowly but surely, things were falling into place. His army was being reassembled and
the diary would be returned to it’s rightful owner, him. Once Miles had proved his allegiance,
Mikhail would decide his fate and things could move forward. Soon he would lead the council
and all would be as it should.
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35
Chapter 4
From behind the bar, Sinjin watched Vivian as she expertly wove her way through the
crowds to escort a party to their table. She was dressed as the other waitresses, a white shirt,
black skirt and the requisite red silk choker around her slim throat. Sh
e’d pulled her wealth of
dark curls into an elegant twist. Gone were her torturous heels and in their place she wore a pair
of black flats.
After a few missteps at the beginning of her shift, she’d picked things up quickly. She’d
tried to enter the kitchen through the exit door and proceeded to knock a tray of deserts out of a
waiter’s hand. She’d also mixed up the decaf with regular coffee for one patron. Other than those
minor problems, she was doing a good job and things were certainly smoother than they’d been
the night before. She also certainly made the environment more scenic.
One of the men she’d just seated leaned close to whisper something to her. She laughed,
tilting her head back she exposed her pale throat to Sinjin’s gaze. Hunger ignited in his gut as she
patted the man on the shoulder before she walked away, a smile still gracing her mouth.
“She’s good.” Tracey’s voice startled him.
“Oh yeah?” He feigned indifference by opening the cooler door and taking a quick
inventory.
“She seems to have an uncanny instinct for knowing when a table needs something and
she doesn’t hesitate to jump in. Under normal circumstances I would guess she’d done this
before, but I doubt it.”
“Why do ye say that?”
“She comes from money. Her mannerisms and every inch of her body just screams it. Do
you see those shoes she’s wearing?”
Sinjin looked at her feet as Vivian walked to the hostess stand. “Aye.”
“A minimum of five hundred bucks and that price is discounted.” Tr
acey leaned over the
bar and snagged a bottle of hot sauce. “We have a little princess on our hands.”
Sinjin’s gaze followed Vivian as she led another party to their table, a middle-aged
couple who looked as though they’d stumbled through the looking glass and straight into
wonderland. The woman clutched an ugly, oversized purse to her chest as she glanced around the
room. Then she spoke to Vivian, leaning as if she didn’t want anyone else hearing what she said.
Vivian gave her a reassuring smile and patted her on the arm before turning away and walking
toward Sinjin. He cast an admiring glance over her long, supple limbs and easy walk.
Princess or not, she was one beautiful package.
“Do we have milk?” she asked.
Sinjin blinked. “Milk?” What kind of person came to a New Orleans jazz bar and
restaurant and ordered milk?
“Yeah, you know, the stuff that comes from cows.”
Tracey rolled her eyes at Sinjin before she walked into the kitchen.
Vivian grinned. “I don’t think she likes me.”
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Sinjin shot a glance at the swinging door, wondering what was going on with Tracey. She
was normally very outgoing and friendly with all the staff, but she certainly wasn’t with Vivian.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Don’t bother, we’ll work something out.” Vivian walked away. “I’ll get the milk from
the kitchen.”
Sinjin shook his head and retrieved a beer for a waiting customer. As long as he lived, he
would never understand women. Mortal or preternatural, they were conflicting masses of
illogical emotions. If women could be more like men—
A prickle of energy moved over his skin, alerting him to the presence of another
preternatural. Scanning the crowd in search of the source of the disturbance, he noted the
majority of the crowd was human. There were a few vampires mixed in with twenty or so
revenants and a small number of witches. As most of them had been here for a while, none could
have been the source of the disturbance.
The skin at the base of his neck tingled and he turned to see a woman standing several
feet away. She was small, not much over five feet five, give or take an inch. Her slim curves
were covered in black leather from head to toe.
Her long black hair was scraped back into a tight braid that was carelessly tossed over her
right shoulder. Her dark brown eyes watched him as a rush of energy moved across his skin
before settling into a low vibration.
A female werewolf.
“I need to speak to you, alone,” she said.
What would a werewolf want with him? They were notoriously standoffish and had a
tendency to avoid everything except the most superficial contact with other preternaturals.
Having one walk into the Chat and ask to speak to him was akin to the second coming.
“What do ye want to speak about?”
“An issue of great importance, to your people at least.”
What could a werewolf have to say that would interest a vampire? Or did she have
another, more nefarious reason for wanting to get him alone?
“We can speak here, she-wolf.” He pointed to the stool at the end of the bar. Separated by
the server area, it was as secluded as it could be considering they were in the midst of a crowded
bar.
“No, we can’t.”
Her gaze shifted to over his shoulder and he glanced back to see several revenants had
noted the wolf’s arrival. As he watched, one of the revenants nudged a vampire and brought their
attention to the woman. One of the revenants edged closer to their end of the bar. Her arrival was
attracting an undue amount of attention, thus making a private conversation impossible here.
“We’ll go upstairs.” Sinjin led her to the doorway and the steps that led to the second
floor. He opened the door, then stepped to the side to allow her to precede him. “Ladies first.”
Her gaze sharpened, her nostrils flared as she caught the dare. Was she afraid of being led
into a trap? Probably. If he’d ventured into unfamiliar, possibly hostile territory, he’d be on
guard as well.
With a slight nod, the werewolf stepped past him and headed up the steps, her spine
straight, head up and shoulders back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vivian as she exited
the kitchen, a glass of milk in one hand. Their gazes met and she smiled until she caught sight of
the leather-clad woman preceding him. Her brow arched as her expression cooled. She looked
away.
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He was tempted to tell her that the woman only wanted to talk to him. But what would he
say? A werewolf needed a private moment with him? Sorry, dear, undead business calls?
Sinjin followed the she-wolf up the steps. He’d talk to Vivian tonight and make his
intentions clear, leaving her without a doubt that he wanted her and there was no reason to be
annoyed that she’d seen him talking with another woman. It had only been 48 hours since he’d
first spoken to her, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to.
Disturbed by the direction of his thoughts, he slammed the door a little harder than he meant to.
“Can I offer ye a drink?” he asked, ignoring the woman’s speculative glance.
“No, thank you.”
Sinjin gestured toward the comfortable couch, then waited while she perched herself on
the edge, her spine as straight as a ruler.
“How about yer name then?” He chose the armchair across from her.
Her smile was faint. “My name is Elena Vasquez.”
Ah, now his interest was piqued.
“Ye are related to Eduardo Vasquez?”
“He was my father.” He caught the tension in her words and, if it was possible, she sat
even straighter. Much more of this and she’d break in half with the tension.
The Vasquez family, the majority of whom were revenants, was rumored to have dabbled
in the dark magical arts and made their living by indulging in fits of burglary. But they weren’t
common burglars, they were unique because, according to rumor, they stole only upon request.
Usually they stole collectable art or jewels. They selected only the most difficult jobs for they
offered the highest level of danger.
Eduardo Vasquez, the family patriarch, had been killed several years ago when he was
found in bed with the wife of a dignitary of a small foreign country. The story held that while
robbing her of her diamonds, he’d taken one look at her sleeping face and had fallen in love.
They’d carried on an affair for several months before Eduardo was caught and summarily
beheaded by the royal executioner.
As a further insult to the proud family, the two children were kidnapped by the royal
guards and turned into werewolves against their will. Now, fully grown, the Vasquez children
were never seen in the company of another preternatural. In fact, the son was known in the
Shadow Dweller realm as El Verdugo, Spanish for the executioner. He was a mercenary who
was known to take great pleasure in hunting rogue preternaturals and killing them for sport. Not
exactly someone Sinjin wanted to get to know better.
“I see you’ve heard of my family.”
He met her guarded gaze and inclined his head slightly. “I was sorry to hear of your
father’s untimely end.”
Her eyes darkened and she leapt to her feet. “It’s all lies.” She spun away and paced to a
window. “He wasn’t killed for the love of a treacherous woman.” The scorn was evident in her
voice. “He was murdered.”
It was obvious the death of her father was still a very sore subject. Exacerbated, no doubt,
by her treatment at the hands of the guard. While he felt for her obvious pain, he seriously
doubted that she’d come here to speak of her father or her current circumstances.
“What exactly did you come here to speak with me about, Ms. Vasquez?”
Visibly she forced her emotions back under control. Her leather-clad fist clenched then
unclenched several times before she returned to her previous seat, her eyes hot. “Please call me
Elena.”
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“Only if ye’ll call me Sinjin.”
She nodded her acquiescence. “I did not come here to discuss ancient history.” She
crossed her legs before she continued. “I’ve come across something I think you might be
interested in.”
“And that would be?”
“The diary that everyone seeks.”
Sinjin couldn’t control his surprise. Half of the preternatural world was looking for the
book and it had ended up in the hands of a werewolf? What madness was this? He forced himself
to remain still, but he was too late. Judging from the flash of triumph in her dark eyes, he’d
already given himself away.
He cleared his throat. “I might be interested in seeing the book. Is it in yer possession?”
“Not on me, but it is in a secured place.”
“May I ask how ye know about the diary?”
“Everyone knows about it.” She gave him a mocking smile. “Even those of us who
choose not to participate in the workings of the council are aware of the book’s existence and
what it contains.”
Oh, the efficiency of the preternatural grapevine. Western Union had nothing on the
gossipy undead. Before they went any further, he needed to determine if she had the real thing
and for that he needed to see it. The sooner the better.
Prior to Eduardo’s death, the Vasquez name had been shady at best. Now, after the
scandal and his son’s change in vocation, they weren’t exactly considered leading citizens even
among the werewolves. Could the beautiful Elena be trusted?
“What would I have to do to get a look at the book in order to judge its authenticity?”
She shook her head. “If you’re asking me to take you to it, sorry, won’t happen. I don’t
know you. How do I know that you won’t try to take it from me?”
Sinjin shrugged. “My reputation speaks for itself or ye wouldn’t have come to me.”
Her gaze slid away.
His eyes narrowed. “But why come to me and not Alexandre? He’s the head of the
council, not I. I’m not even a member.”
“True, but you are the Chronicler of the Shadow Dwellers—”
“Was the Chronicler, I no longer hold the position.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Of anyone,
the book is most valuable to you as an artifact, rather than an instrument of war. You know more
about the history of the preternaturals than most have forgotten.”
That much was true. He’d acted as the Chronicler for almost two hundred years, spending
the vast majority of his time hunched over ledgers as he researched their origins and journaled
their current events. That time of his life was over and he had no intentions of going back, but
that didn’t mean he wasn’t intrigued by the possibility of having the diary at his fingertips. Being
the history fanatic he was, he would give his eyeteeth for an hour alone with it.
“Have ye looked at this book?”
She sat back, her expression disturbed. “Some.”
“And ye know it’s authentic?”
She nodded. “I have no doubts whatsoever.”
“I’d like to see it before we talk any further.”
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“Well,” she bit her lower lip as she chose her words. “I’ll bring you several photographs
of the pages, ones that you’ll be able to read and judge their authenticity.” Her gaze met his.
“Will that be suitable?”
He ground his teeth. Half the preternatural world was looking for this book and this
woman was playing coy. Didn’t she understand that lives were at stake? He wanted to shake her
until she realized just how important the diary was. Judging from her closed expression, he had a
feeling that pushing her would accomplish nothing at all.
“Aye, this will be acceptable. How soon can this be completed?”
She rose from her seat. “I will return tomorrow evening with the photos. Will midnight
be satisfactory?”
No, he wanted to yell. But in this situation, he had no say and, for now, he could only
play by her rules. Sinjin stood. Wolves, while being pack animals, hated to be crowded by
anyone other than their own kind. He deliberately stepped close, towering over her as he held out
his hand. It was a test of sorts. Would she take his hand or would she spurn him?
Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared slightly, then she took his hand for one firm shake.
She immediately stepped away and toward the door.
He smiled. “I look forward to it.”
Vivian’s attention automatically shifted to the stairway door as she exited the kitchen. For
the past forty-five minutes, she hadn’t been able to keep her attention focused on her work, ever
since that leather-clad wench had led Sinjin upstairs. Who was she? Was she important to him?
What does it matter, Viv? You’re not interested in a one-night stand with a good-time boy
and that’s all it would be, another one-night stand.
With a solid thwack, she dropped a handful of laminated menus into the bin. Even though
Sinjin was the first man that had interested her on more than a physical level in a very long time,
she was through selling herself for a few minutes of closeness with another human being. It was
time to get her mind, and body, back where it belonged.
She wove her way through the tables, happy to see that everyone had what they needed
for a good dining experience. There was nothing worse than going out for dinner and receiving
bad service. That was worse than mediocre food. She was surprised to find that she was really
enjoying her stint as a hostess here at the Chat. She might not have very many marketable
talents, but she’d always known how to throw one hell of a party. Her friends had said she’d
been born knowing how to make people feel at home.
Vivian resumed her position at the hostess stand, glad to see that the waiting area was
empty and most of the crowd around the bar had moved into the nightclub. The moment the band
started their set, the crowds had run for the nightclub and that was fine with her. It would give
her a moment’s rest. Maybe she’d slip behind the bar and indulge in a small glass of wine.
As she stepped toward the bar, the door leading to the steps opened and the leather-clad
woman exited. The other woman’s color was high and her eyes sparkled, whether from desire or
anger, Vivian wasn’t really sure. One thing she did know, with Sinjin it could go either way.
The woman stalked by, sparing nary a glance for anyone around her. Vivian couldn’t help
but admire her sleek form and confident walk. She sucked in her stomach. This woman probably
worked out daily to get that toned physique and, at forty-four, Vivian knew she didn’t look
anywhere near as good as the other woman did. She let her stomach out as the other woman
exited the Chat. Nothing like a close-up look at the body of a twenty-year-old to make a forty-
four-year-old feel like hell.
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“Vivian, can you grab me a piece of cheesecake with cherries?”
Bonnee, one of the newer waitresses rushed past her, a harried expression on her face.
“Sure thing.”
Vivian turned toward the kitchen and, before she could take two steps, slammed straight
into Sinjin. She put her hands up and they landed on his chest. Through his cotton shirt, his skin
felt warm and hard beneath her palms. Her stomach clenched.
“How’s it going?”
His accent trickled down her spine, igniting a shudder of desire, threatening to turn her
insides to mush. Suddenly nervous, she licked her lips and moved away. He didn’t look as if he’d
been tussling with a lover above stairs. His hair was neat; his clothing in order, but there was an
odd, almost victorious glint in his eyes.
Not that it was any of her business.
“Very well actually. Full house again.”
“I’m sure it’s because word has traveled about the Chat’s beautiful new hostess and it’s
bringing them in droves.”
“I seriously doubt that.” She moved to step around him. No way was she going to let him
flirt with her after tangling with leather-girl for the past forty-five minutes. Not that she was
counting, of course.
“How are ye this evening?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
Damn, he was following her.
“Fine, and you?” she asked, keeping her tone light and impersonal.
“Excellent. I trust ye slept well?”
“Very well, thank you.” Vivian slipped through the swinging door and into the aromatic
chaos of the Chat kitchen. “And you?”
“I was a wee bit…restless.”
“That’s too bad.” She strove to keep her tone bland. “Have you tried warm milk?”
He chuckled. “I can think of much more interesting things to do in bed than drink warm
milk.”
She shivered at his velvety tone. “Oh, do you read in bed as well?” Her voice came out
sounding breathless.
“Among other things.” He gave her a heated smile and her insides fluttered. Hastily she
turned away to open the dessert case.
“You knit? Who would’ve guessed?”
“Well, I can think of things to do with scarves, but none of them have to do with
knitting.”
Vivian’s hand shook and she almost dropped the cheesecake as an image of him tied to
her bed flashed in her mind. She scowled and let the door slam shut. Why was she getting so tied
up in knots over him? She was a woman of the world, much older and experienced than he was.
She’d taken lovers when Sinjin was still wearing short pants. Just because he was wickedly
handsome and built for sin didn’t mean she couldn’t handle him with her hands tied behind her
back.
Tied…
“Come back to my place for a drink,” he said.
She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” She moved to the next
cooler, which contained the toppings, whipped cream and other dessert condiments.
“Why not?” he asked, moving with her.
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“I’m an employee—”
“Ye and I both know that ye’re a temporary employee and this is a lark. Ye need this job
as much as I need to drill a hole in my head. Admit it, at least to yerself, why ye’re working
here.”
She was enjoying the completely new perspective working at the Chat was giving her…
Liar. She was working here because he was too handsome for words and she wanted him
in her bed.
“I—”
“Mr. St. James,” one of the club bartenders approached and gave her an apologetic smile.
”We have a problem backstage that requires your attention.”
“I’ll be right there, Tom.” Sinjin brushed his finger along her jaw, his touch raising
gooseflesh along her arms. “Think about it, get back to me later.”
Vivian’s gaze followed his retreating back, very aware of the quizzical gazes of the other
employees. She opened the cooler door and stared blindly at the array of condiments.
“Everything okay?” Tracey approached.
“Great, thanks.”
“I saw you talking to Sinjin, I just wanted to make sure.” Her smile was secretive. “Also,
you’re a little flushed, you might want to stick your head in the cooler for a few seconds.”
Vivian’s hands flew to her warm cheeks as Tracy turned away, whistling “What A
Difference A Day Makes.”
Damn. She dropped her hands and stared blindly at the array of plastic containers. This
wouldn’t do at all. No, not at all. She smoothed her hands over her skirt and straightened, once
again under control. She reached into the cooler only to realize that she’d forgotten what she was
reaching for.
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Chapter 5
Vivian was waiting for him.
Sinjin’s heart raced as he went through the motions of closing up. In the past he’d wanted
many different women, but never with the all-consuming rush that Vivian ignited within him.
Only Bliss had inspired such a depth of feeling that was close to what he felt now.
He waited for the familiar pain to strike, instead, a mellow, almost wistful feeling
whispered over his nerves. He mentally shook himself. Why was he comparing Vivian to Bliss?
Bliss was the love of his life; Vivian was a woman he wanted to seduce. H
ell, she was practically
a stranger. Sooner or later they would part ways and, if he had it his way, they’d part with smiles
on their faces. That’s all it was, lust. Emotions weren’t going to play a role in this relationship.
He wouldn’t allow it.
He turned off the lights in the nightclub, casting the cavernous room into darkness with
the exception of a single light on the stage. Vivian was a beautiful woman who knew the score.
There was no danger in him losing another piece of his already fractured heart.
Removing his apron, he tossed it into the laundry bag as he entered the restaurant. Vivian
stood framed in the doorway leading to Bourbon St. A soft breeze blew the tendrils that had
escaped from her once neat twist. She was still dressed in her work outfit, but she’d changed into
a pair of tennis shoes and her backpack was strapped on her back.
“Are ye ready?” he asked.
She turned, her smile wary, but she nodded.
He flicked off the restaurant lights and picked up a set of keys from the bar. After setting
the alarm, he ushered her outside to where a white carriage waited.
“For us?” she asked.
“I was keeping yer tired feet in mind,” he grinned.
She laughed as the driver opened the miniscule door for them. “I changed shoes tonight
so my feet don’t hurt nearly as bad as they did last night.” She slid her pack off and set it on the
floor of the carriage.
Sinjin settled into the soft leather seat beside her, aware of the warmth of her skin. He
slid an arm around her shoulders, anchoring her to his side as they set off down the dim street.
Beneath his arm she felt tense and he had the feeling if she could, she would’ve pulled away
from him. Why was she so reticent to have him near her?
“No footrub this evening?” he asked.
“No, not this evening.”
Most of the crowds had dissipated, leaving only a few die-hard partiers on the street
corners as they savored the last few drops of their cocktails. As the carriage turned off Bourbon,
the sounds faded until the only sound was the clop of horse hooves and the rustle of the breeze.
“So, how did you end up owning the Chat?” she asked, breaking the silence.
Judging from the rushed, breathless tone of her voice, she’d practiced that
question in her
mind for hours. No, she wasn’t nervous, not at all.
“I came to New Orleans last November. I didna have a purpose in mind other than to
explore. I’d heard so much about this city and I have friends here so it seemed as good a place as
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any to live. ” They passed a local haunted house and he pointed to the lit attic window where the
ghost supposedly lived. Slowly, he could feel her relaxing into his one-armed embrace.
“One evening I was walking along Bourbon and came across the Chat. It was run down
and ragged, but appeared to be drawing a medium sized crowd. I went inside and caught the
show and decided I liked the ambiance of the place. Due to the location I knew with some work,
it could be a real money maker.” He laughed. “I met with the owner the next night and found out
that he was going to put it up for sale and move to Florida with his new wife.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. Less than a week later, I was the new owner.”
Vivian gave a low laugh. “That’s what I call good timing.”
“Aye. I’ve not regretted it.”
“It’s a lovely place, you should be very proud.”
“Thank ye.”
“And what place gave you the accent?”
“Scotland. I lived there for many, many years though I was born in England.”
She chuckled, a soft breathy sound that went straight to his gut. “You aren’t old enough
to live anywhere for many, many years.”
Little did she know…
“How old do ye think I am?” he asked.
Vivian turned her head and their gazes met and hers was speculative. “Well, you look
like you’re in your mid-twenties. However, I would say you’re thirty-ish.”
It was his turn to laugh. “So ye say.”
“Am I close?”
“Nay.”
“Well I can’t be that far off.”
He shrugged. “Age is a state of mind.”
Vivian gave an indelicate snort. ”That is something only the young would say.”
“As if ye’re ancient.”
“Older than you.”
“I doubt that.”
“How old do you think I am?” Her tone was challenging.
It was his turn to contemplate her lovely face. “Well, ye’re older than I’d originally
thought ye were. Ye have these wonderful laugh lines here.” He brushed his lips over the corner
of her eye where the telltale lines resided. “I’d pegged ye for yer late twenties. But I’ve come to
discover that ye have a wisdom that far surpasses that of a twenty year old.
“Ye’re verra sure of yourself and yer place in the world and that only comes with living
life. Very few twenty year olds have that much confidence in themselves.”
She cleared her throat and he had the distinct impression that his words had disturbed her
on some level. “And your final verdict is?”
“Thirty eight.”
“Not hardly,” she snickered.
In the darkness, her eyes sparkled with amusement. Those laugh lines told the world that
this was a woman who’d laughed a great deal in her life, but there was an equal measure of
sadness lurking in the depths of her gaze as well.
“How close am I?” he challenged.
“I’m forty-four.”
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He shook his head. “Ye dinna look forty-four.”
She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I look forty-four.”
“Ye’re beautiful no matter yer age.”
“Sinjin—”
“But ye know that, don’t ye? Ye know that ye’re beautiful.” He reached for her hand, his
fingers curling around her wrist. “Men have told ye this all yer life, but it never mattered to ye,
did it?”
“Don’t—”
She licked her lips nervously.
He pulled her closer, the heat of her skin sinking into his, warming him from the inside
out. The scent of her perfume and the night air swirled about them in a dizzying combination.
His thumb detected the mad beating of her heart as he lazily stroked her wrist.
“How can I not?” He released her wrist to stroke the line of her jaw and throat as his head
dipped and his mouth grazed hers.
“Please don’t,” her voice broke and he could feel her trembling.
He pulled back, caught by the pain and fear he heard in her voice. Had a man hurt her?
Why was she was so afraid to let him touch her? At the restaurant, she’d been quick to toss a
comeback in his face, now she could barely look him in the eyes.
He slid his hand under her chin, forcing her face up until their gazes met. “I’ll not hurt
ye,” he whispered.
Her eyes gleamed with unspoken pain. “How do you know I won’t hurt you?”
Could she hurt him? No, he wouldn’t allow it. He was the master of this situation and he
would make sure neither of them were hurt.
He shrugged as he stroked the delicate line of her jaw, marveling over her soft skin. “I’m
not afraid.”
“How can you take that chance? When is enough enough?” A tear spilled over her dark
lashes.
When was enough enough? At what point did he decide to never allow another woman to
touch his heart as Bliss had?
“When ye can no longer breathe without wanting to cry. When every word ye utter
becomes nonsense and ye only want to walk away from yer life. That is when enough is
enough.” He released her chin and pulled her into his arms. For a moment he thought she’d
resist, then she leaned into him, her body naturally relaxing against his, her cheek against his
chest. “That’s when ye get off yer backside and make a change for the better.”
She responded with a watery sounding sniff. He luxuriated in the feeling of her in his
arms. He never was one to want to cuddle with a woman. He enjoyed sitting on the couch,
maybe holding hands and exchanging a few kisses. He’d never felt the need to wrap himself
around her like a blanket, but strangely, with Vivian, it felt comfortable.
“Are ye feeling better?” he asked.
She tipped her head back. “Aye.”
“Ye’re mocking me, woman.” He fixed his expression into one he hoped was ferocious.
She smiled. “Yes, I did. What are you going to do about it?”
Before he could think twice, he dipped his head and touched his lips to hers. He felt her
jolt of surprise and her body stiffened. Willing her to open for him, he nibbled at her lower lip
and held his breath as he waited for her response. Would she refuse him?
Her lips parted beneath his, her taste overwhelming as he sank into her warmth.
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Yes…
He nipped at her tongue, eliciting a sound of surprise from her. Heat spiraled through his
body as her hands landed on his waist, her palms scorched his flesh. His pants felt too tight and
she was so hot against him, he couldn’t think straight. He’d wanted her from the moment he first
saw her and he’d spent long tormented hours in his dark sleep as he dreamed of touching her
with impunity.
With a low groan, his tongue slid deep as he possessed her mouth the way he’d
dreamed…
He was startled when she pushed out of his arms. She leaned against the side of the
carriage. Her chest heaved with every breath and his gaze dipped lower. Her nipples showed
clearly through the white shirt. She was as aroused as he, so why had she stopped?
“I have to go.” She shoved to her feet as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of her hotel.
Before the driver could come around, she grabbed her bag and wrenched the door open before
literally vaulting from the rig. “Thank you for the ride.” She gave a hurried wave to the driver
and rushed into the bright lobby.
Blood raged through Sinjin’s veins as he watched her disappear, too shaken from their
explosive kiss to think of anything coherent to say to her. He closed his eyes, wondering if he’d
gone too far too fast and had made a big mistake in touching her at all.
Sinjin’s touch was assured, magical. The way he zeroed in on the areas where she needed
to be touched. It was as if they’d made love hundreds of times before. Each movement of his
fingers at the juncture of her thighs elicited a rush of pleasure as he stroked her needy flesh.
She spread her thighs, silently entreating him to bring her to fulfillment. That sexy,
enigmatic smile curved his sensual lips; his dark eyes gleamed as he lowered his head, his lips
brushing her curls as his fingers worked their magic.
“Come for me,” he commanded.
She closed her eyes, giving herself to the heat he aroused in her. Her hips shifted as his
tongue breached her core—
Vivian sat up, her travel alarm clock buzzing in her ear. Heart pounding, she scowled at
the device as she smacked the “off” button with her left hand. The clock fell silent and she fell
against her pillows. As she moved, she became aware that it was her own right hand buried in
her damp, needy flesh, not Sinjin’s.
With a growl, she pulled her hand away, her body almost immediately launching a
protest. Her orgasm had been so close, she could almost taste it, taste him.
Damn, now he’d invaded her sleep.
Feeling tired and annoyed, she rolled from the bed. Stretching, her eye caught the
blinking red light on the phone. A message waited for her. Her stepbrother no doubt as it was
time for her biweekly check-in with him. She headed for the bathroom. She’d call him later, if
she felt like it, that is.
Men!
She flicked on the light in the shabby but clean bathroom. All of her life she’d had to deal
with autocratic men who wanted only to possess her for her pretty face or even prettier money.
Was that why she’d run from Sinjin last night? Because he’d told her she was beautiful?
He was right when he’d said men had told her she was beautiful and it meant nothing to her. She
couldn’t take credit for good genes.
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Sinjin didn’t appear to need money and he didn’t know anything about hers, so that
wasn’t a factor. Or had she run because, for the first time since Marc, a man had actually reached
inside her heart and forced her to feel something other than mild disdain for the male of the
species?
She scowled as she picked up her toothbrush and attacked her teeth with a vengeance.
Her pale face was reflected in the mirror. Dark bags had taken root under her eyes and she
looked every day of her age. No way would Sinjin dare think of kissing her looking like this. A
grin curved her mouth as she rinsed her toothbrush. Maybe that was the answer. If she became
unattractive in his eyes, he wouldn’t think twice about wanting to kiss her. If he didn’t touch her,
there was no way he could hurt her. Then again, she could just be upfront about why she didn’t
want to get into a relationship with him.
She’d always been very upfront with the people in her life, especially her lovers, and
she’d had no reason to be otherwise. She stared hard at the mirror image of herself. She would
just tell him that she wasn’t interested in taking him as her lover; it wasn’t in her best interest.
Liar.
She walked away from the mirror to turn on the shower. It didn’t matter what she wanted,
getting into a relationship wasn’t what she needed to be doing now. She pulled off her oversized
sleepshirt and tossed it on the vanity, her movements jerky.
But it would certainly take the edge off your sexual frustration.
“That is the old Vivian,” she muttered as she striped off her panties. “Not the new and
improved one. I no longer use people to get what I want in life.”
You’re not using him if it’s what he wants as well.
“Shut up.” She stepped into the shower, sliding the glass door shut behind her, enclosing
herself in a cocoon of steam.
Grabbing the small bottle of shampoo, she began scrubbing her hair; the scent of Sinjin
swirled around her. Dismayed, she picked up the bottle she’d grabbed at the store yesterday
afternoon. Reading the label, she noticed it wasn’t her usual brand but the bottles were almost
exactly the same. She shook her head and set it back on the edge of the tub.
Vivian stuck her head back under the showerhead to rinse her hair, the bubbles sliding
along her skin in rivers of white foam. Grabbing her soap, she lathered up, the scent of orange
and ginger mingled with the masculine scent of Sinjin’s shampoo.
Now she was really surrounded by him.
She couldn’t prevent the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. Her nipples hardened as
she rubbed the thick lather over her breasts before moving to her stomach then lower to her
thighs.
She knew well the signs of arousal. Vivian was a woman who was well in tune with her
body and its needs. Thanks to months on the road and a lack of interest in sex, she’d not indulged
in a single sexual episode, not even touching herself. Consequently she felt ready to explode.
Thanks to him…
She closed her eyes. What would one little orgasm hurt? She certainly needed it now
more than ever before.
Her fingers slid through soapy curls to delve into the sensitive flesh it protected. She
leaned against the tiled wall as her strokes grew bolder. Circling her aroused flesh, her breathing
grew strained as tension spiraled higher. She cried out as a powerful orgasm washed over her
body.
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Legs wobbly, she sank to the floor of the shower, warm water raining down on her head.
Her body hummed with satisfaction, happy to know that her brain was still alive at least. As her
pulse slowed and her breathing returned to normal, she realized that she wanted more, much
more.
Thanks to Sinjin.
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48
Chapter 6
Sinjin barely resisted the urge to reach over the bar and throttle Brent Draven, the New
Orleans detective who’d been flirting with Vivian for the past hour. Shortly after the Chat had
reopened under Sinjin’s command, Brent had developed the habit of stopping in once or twice a
week for dinner and a single beer before heading home.
The detective was now on his third beer.
Vivian approached the end of the bar where Brent sat. She gave the detective a big smile
as she slid her empty water glass over the bar to Julius for a refill.
Dressed in the requisite Chat uniform, on her feet were the torturous hi
gh heels that
showed her long legs to their best advantage. Her skin glowed with radiant health and Sinjin
knew well why that was. He’d sensed the subtle change in the sexual energy that emanated from
her skin. During the daylight hours, she’d had some sort of powerful sexual release and it had
stirred her energy to a peak. Was there another man?
Vivian tipped her head back and gave a delighted laugh, the sound sending ripples of
pure sensation down his spine. The dark-haired detective certainly seemed interested in his
lovely hostess. His gaze was fastened on her face as he spoke, the signs of his arousal there for
all to see. No, this wouldn’t do at all. There was no room for the de
tective in their relationship.
Sinjin hung a dishtowel over the rack and approached the twosome.
“My brother, Michael, should be able to help you out.” Brent said. “He works in Vice and
he’s well acquainted with the more esoteric side of New Orleans.”
“That would be fabulous.” Vivian laid a hand on his arm and gave it a friendly squeeze.
“I’m really in dire straits for this information. People seem to be reluctant to ta
lk much about this
area of voodoo. Can you give me his number?”
“Sure.” Brent leaned toward her and Sinjin was annoyed to see that Vivian didn’t step
away as she had with him the previous night. “Can I give you my number as well?” He put his
hand over hers, his thumb stroking her soft skin.
“Well—”
Sinjin stepped up to the bar. “Vivian, can ye please grab a fresh bottle of disinfectant
from the supply closet?” His voice came out a little harsher than he’d intended.
“Sure thing.” Her expression was startled, almost guilty as she stepped away from the
detective.
Both men watched her disappear into the kitchen before they faced one another, their
gazes clashing.
“Draven.”
“St. James.” He lifted his beer in a mock salute.
“Flirting with my employees again?”
Brent’s brow rose, his surprise evident. He shrugged. “It’s never bothered you in the
past.”
Sinjin was well aware of the detective’s sexual prowess with several of his waitresses.
Even with the scar that marred his temple and cheek, Brent Draven was very popular with his
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49
female employees. Tracey said it gave him a sexy, dangerous look that attracted the girls like
crazy. One thing was for sure, the detective was right, it had never bothered him before.
“Well it does this time.”
Brent set his bottle down on the bar. “I think this is a decision that the lady needs to make
for herself.”
“What lady, what decision?” Vivian reappeared with a spray bottle, which she handed to
Sinjin.
Brent leaned back, his smile welcoming as he gave her a bold glance. “Just talking about
a mutual friend.”
Did his gaze linger on her breasts? Sinjin wanted to reach across the bar and thump the
detective over the head with his own beer bottle.
“Okay then.” Vivian picked up her refilled glass. “Please don’t forget to leave your
brother’s number for me, Brent. I really appreciate it.” She flashed him a smile, practically
ignoring Sinjin before she walked back to her station.
The detective followed her with his gaze. “She’s a beautiful woman. She strikes me as a
woman worth fighting for.”
“Aye, that she is.”
“And I’m leaving the choice up to her.” Brent turned and picked up his bottle, raising it
in Sinjin’s direction again, his expression mocking. “May the best man …win.”
Vivian swiped the credit card through the machine, then punched in the amount of the
bill. She was tired but it was a good tired. It was almost one-thirty a.m. and the bar was still full,
but the restaurant was almost empty. There were only two tables of customers and the waitress
had been called into the nightclub to lend a hand so Viv had agreed to play waitress for them.
They were almost ready for their check and she still had to break down the hostess stand, then
she was done for the night. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could be in bed by three and up by noon
to begin the great voodoo research caper.
The machine beeped and Vivian glanced down.
TRANSMISSION ERROR
She hit the “clear” button. The screen flashed.
PLEASE RUN CARD THROUGH AGAIN
She swiped the card again and keyed the amount before hitting “enter” to send it off.
DIALING
“Well work this time, darn it,” she muttered.
A newspaper lay beside the register and she picked it up to toss in the trash when the
headline caught her eye.
SLASHER STRIKES AGAIN
She frowned and scanned the article, noting the reference to the woman who’d been
found dead at the mall. Judging from the article, this murder had occurred in the French Quarter,
just eight blocks away from the Chat. The body had been dumped into a dumpster and lay
undiscovered for over twenty-four hours. The newspaper mentioned the murders had occurred
within a few hours of each other. Were they connected?
So far the NOPD had opted to remain virtually silent, only stating that an investigation
was underway and they couldn’t comment until it was complete.
Vivian folded the paper and dropped it in the trash. Outside on Bourbon Street, the
crowds still gathered. Some walked to unknown destinations while others loitered in small
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groups, talking and laughing with friends. It would be easy to kill someone here in the heart of
the French Quarter. Many of the side streets were narrow and some were poorly lit once you got
away from the center of the district. New Orleans was a city of nooks and crannies and there
were secrets hidden within its depths.
Dangers aside, there was an energy to the city like nothing else she’d ever felt. She loved
New York and it would always be home for her, but New Orleans felt very comfortable like a
long-lost friend. Possibly comfortable enough to put down roots and stay awhile.
She smiled as the thought took hold. For the first time, it felt as if her journey was almost
over. Maybe she should buy a cute little house in the Vieux Carré and have beignets and chicory
coffee in the mornings. There was so much to see and experience here—
And don’t forget Sinjin…
She bit her lip. Yes, there was him as well. What was she going to do about her growing
attraction to the handsome bartender? As she told him last night, she was far too old for him. He
needed someone younger, less jaded by life and armed with better thighs.
The machine dinged again and the printer spewed out a receipt. She reached for the paper
when the hair on the back of her neck prickled as if someone had breathed on it.
Curious, she glanced around the restaurant, looking for the source of her unease. The
occupants of both of her tables were finishing their drinks, but none were looking for her. She
glanced at the bar. Julius was chatting with a lovely blonde and several others lingered over their
drinks. Sinjin was nowhere to be seen.
Vivian tore off the receipt and tucked it into the leather binder along with a pen. Strolling
toward the table, she glanced out the large glass windows that looked out onto the bustling street,
trying to discover what was giving her the heebie-jeebies. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
She reached the table and presented the bill with a wide smile before retreating to an
unoccupied corner of the restaurant to peer out the windows again.
The street was well lit and the crowds continued moving to and fro. No one was paying
the slightest bit of attention to her or the brightly lit windows of the Chat. Directly across the
street was an empty storefront currently under renovation. The windows were covered in heavy
brown paper and the light above the doorway was out.
Bonnee had mentioned it was going to be a coffee and pastry shop. When Vivian had
come into work before dark, she’d seen activity as the workers finished for the day, but now it
looked quiet. Her gaze narrowed as a sudden shift in the shadows drew her attention back to the
darkened doorway.
Or was it?
She stepped behind a large potted fern, using the abundance of greenery to block some of
the interior lighting thus enabling her to see across the street better. There, in the shadows of the
doorway, stood a figure staring at the open front doors of the Chat Noir. She frowned. Why
would someone stand in the darkness and stare at a restaurant? Was it a friend of Sinjin’s? Foe?
“Miss?”
Vivian jumped and had to bat a huge leaf out of her face as one of her customers
approached.
“I’m sorry,” she forced a laugh. “I thought someone had dropped some napkins back
here.” She stepped from her hiding spot.
“We’d like our check, please,” the woman said.
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51
“Sure, just a few seconds.” Vivian hustled over to the register to compile their bill before
presenting it to the table. Keeping an eye on them, she stepped into her previous spot and peered
at the doorway of the soon-to-be coffee shop.
The spectator was gone.
Sinjin glanced at the door for the hundredth time. Where was Elena? It was almost one-
thirty and she’d yet to make an appearance. He picked up a case of beer as Vivian breezed by,
face forward, a receipt in her hands as she headed for the last occupied table. The scent of her
perfume lingered in the air behind her.
Before Draven had left, he’d seen the two of them, heads together as he’d handed her a
slip of paper. It grated to not know exactly what was written on it. Had the detective slid her his
phone number along with that of his brother? He transferred the bottles of beer into the cooler.
Over his dead body would she get involved with a man like Draven.
A rush of energy across his skin heralded the arrival of Elena. He allowed the cooler door
to swing shut as he turned to see her approaching the bar.
Black leather pants clung to her slender muscular limbs with a duster-style leather coat
sweeping behind her. A creamy buckskin vest, the low neckline showing off the shadowed valley
of her breasts, completed her outfit. At another time he would have appreciated her appearance
and contemplated how to get her into bed. But now he felt nothing other than mild interest when
he looked at her.
Instead his gaze flicked to Vivian. She stood by the credit card machine; her narrowed
gaze definitely hostile as she followed Elena’s progress through the waiting area toward the bar.
This woman, a woman he hadn’t even bedded yet, hell, he’d barely kissed her, had ruined
him for every other woman on the planet. A vague sense of panic propelled him from behind the
bar. “Elena.”
A quizzical smile graced her face, her brow raised as she glanced down. “For me?”
He looked to see the empty case dangling from his fingertips. He grinned and set it on
one of the stools. “Not unless ye want to go to work.”
She cocked her hip, placing her hand on the slim curve and drawing his attention to her
body. “As much pleasure as I’m sure it would be to work under you, I’ll have to pass.”
As far as making a pass went, that was pretty good, he had to give her that. His smile was
big. “Yer loss.”
“Mmm.” She opened her coat to let him see a manila envelope in one of the roomy
interior pockets. “Shall we adjourn upstairs and discuss business?”
“Aye. After ye.”
She nodded and walked toward the steps and Sinjin couldn’t resist a backward glance at
Vivian. Still standing at the credit card machine, a receipt in her hand, she stared out the front
window, her expression perturbed.
He followed her gaze into the street and noticed nothing amiss. The usual crowds
traversed the sidewalks, cups in hand as they enjoyed the evening in New Orleans.
“Vivian,” he called.
She looked at him, then past him, her eyes narrowing the moment she caught sight of
Elena heading for the steps.
“Wait for me, I’ll escort ye to yer hotel,” he said.
“Sure you won’t be too busy?” Sarcasm laced her voice.
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Sinjin saw that Elena waited for him at the bottom of the steps, her expression amused. “I
think you’re in trouble, tiger,” she said.
He ignored her. “I’ll fit ye in,” he said to Vivian.
Elena chuckled and Sinjin could feel Vivian’s eyes boring holes into his back. An imp
caused him to place his hand at the small of the werewolf’s back as they moved up the steps.
The woman leaned toward him. “You are in so far over your head and you don’t even
know it yet, do you?”
“What are ye going on about?”
“Your girlfriend. She won’t be too happy with you, my friend.”
Habit made him reply, “Nay, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“What is she then?” Elena moved away from him as they entered the familiar clutter of
his office. “Another in a long line of flings?”
He rolled his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. “Ye make it sound as if I go through
women left and right,” he muttered.
“You did when you first arrived in New Orleans.” Elena removed her coat, revealing
smooth shoulders and muscular arms. On her left arm she had a tattoo of a heart pierced with a
dagger.
“Ye’ve been listening to stories, I take it?” He swept a stack of invoices, payroll receipts
and catalogs into the top drawer of his desk.
“As you have about my family.” She withdrew the envelope from her coat pocket. “I
needed to know more about the man I might be doing business with. So I made a few subtle
inquiries about your character and standing in the preternatural community.”
Sinjin sat behind his desk, trying not to show his irritation. He would have done the same
thing if he’d been in her position, so why did it annoy him so much that she’d enquired about
him? “Did ye find out anything interesting?”
“You’re well-respected by most. Your word is your bond and you can be trusted.” She
tossed the envelope on the desk between them. “Some also believe that you’re crazy as a loon.
Living in the wilds of northern Scotland, alone for most of the time. Some say that you went
voluntarily, while others believe that your friends forced you into hiding.”
He knew what the preternatural community thought of him and it didn’t faze him one bit.
He made the choices he made because they were right at the time. He would make no excuses
nor would he respond to her statement.
“You also went through women like a madman when you first came to New Orleans after
losing the love of your life.”
“Ye’re verra thorough.” He reached for the envelope.
“It’s understandable.” Her fingers closed over his, halting him. Their gazes met and he
saw pain in the depths of her dark brown eyes. “Your reaction. It’s only normal to want to
experience the thrill life has to offer after the death of one so close to you, to revel in your ability
to just be.” Elena released him and stepped away as if her revelations had made her
uncomfortable.
Somewhere in the depths of her past she’d experienced the loss of her heart’s desire, as
had he. Silently he acknowledged the shared bond of pain between them as he withdrew the
pages and laid them out on the desk. Ruthlessly he forced his attention back to the task at hand.
There were four pages of photographs that were printed from a computer onto photo
quality paper. Each one showed a different page of what appeared to be an old book. Sinjin
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53
reached into his desk and pulled out a magnifying glass. Turning his lamp onto the highest
setting, he selected one to study.
The handwriting was old-fashioned, probably middle eighteen hundreds. If the book was
genuine, it was one of the copies as the original had probably disintegrated years ago. The pages
were well preserved, the writing black, but beginning to fade around the edges. As he scanned
the text, one word caught his eye.
Niall.
He stopped to read the sentence.
My son, Niall was born two days ago. He is such a healthy boy and he sleeps well
already. Manfred shows little interest in his child. Instead, he eyes him with great distrust and I
fear for the child’s life.
Sinjin sat back. There was no doubt that this book was the diary. Very few knew that the
were-cat Renault was Mikhail’s biological son. Certainly, none would have known it when this
copy of the diary was crafted in the eighteen hundreds as the preternatural world had believed
Mikhail’s son to be dead. Renault’s parentage had only been revealed eighteen months earlier.
He set down the page and selected the next. This one was written in a different language,
one that he didn’t immediately recognize.
“The diary contains several different languages, some I don’t know.” Elena drifted closer
to stand by him. “I haven’t read all of it, but there doesn’t seem to be any order to it. She goes
from writing about her child’s early life to her own childhood, her marriage, then history of the
preternaturals, then back to her child again.” She raised her hands, then dropped them, her
frustration evident.
Interesting. What exactly was the werewolf trying to glean from the pages of the diary?
Sinjin scanned the other pages, noting each was written in a different tongue. One was
ancient Scots while the last was French. Why would Elsapeth have written the diary in so many
languages? Or had the scribe who’d copied the book taken the liberty of changing the languages
from the original?
He set down the magnifying glass. “I’d say the book appears to be genuine.” He caught
the look of relief on her face before she masked it behind a haughty expression.
“Of course it is, I already told you that.”
He ignored her blustering. “How much money do ye want for the book?”
“Money?” Her voice was shrill. “Money doesn’t interest me where this book is
concerned.”
“Then what do ye want if it isn’t money?”
“Oh, I want something.” Her gaze impaled him. “I want you to find out how to reverse
werewolfism.”
He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d walked up and slapped him across the
face. She wanted what from him?
He must have said it out loud as she repeated herself.
“Let me get this straight.” He rose from his chair. “Ye want me to find a way to reverse a
werewolf back to a human?”
She nodded. “And you have to do it now, first, before you delve into anything else in the
diary.”
“I’m assuming this is for ye?”
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Elena stood across the desk from him, her expression tight and she appeared to be
unwilling to answer.
“Ye realize the preternatural world is in an uproar and thousands of lives are at risk. Even
now, Mikhail is plotting his next battle. We need this book and the information it contains to
hold him at bay.”
“As if I care about the preternaturals,” she sneered. “The werewolves have never joined
leagues with the likes of you and we never will.”
“This isn’t about alliances, it’s about lives.”
“And what is the cost of my life?” she snarled. “What was the cost of my life when it was
destroyed and I had no say in what happened?” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I was but a
child when I was violated by one of the unnaturals. I never wanted this curse and I want it
reversed.” Her hand trembled as she pointed at the pages on his desk. “That book may hold the
key to reversing this curse.”
“Aye. It may. Ye realize that even if it does, yer life will never be the same.” Sinjin rose
and moved around the desk. “Ye’re irrevocably changed as ye’ve walked and lived in the
shadows alongside us. Even if the werewolves refuse to join us, ye are still one with the
shadows.”
She shook her head and backed away, holding out her hand as if to keep him away from
her. “No, I can change back.” Her voice broke. “I have to.”
“I only wish it were true.”
She wavered as he pulled her into a loose hug, resisting at first, holding her body tense in
his embrace.
“I can,” she whispered against his chest.
He stroked her back and heard her choke back a sob. “I’ll research yer quest but I can’t
guarantee anything. I need to help the largest number of people as quickly as possible, but it will
take time.” His heart ached for the child she’d been and the tormented woman she’d grown into.
Elena tipped back her head, her face streaked with tears. “You’re nice,” she sniffed. “For
a vampire.”
He laughed and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. A movement in the corner near the
door caught his attention. He glimpsed Vivian’s shocked face before she spun around and tore
back down the steps, trying to keep quiet, but his keen hearing noted her agitated rush.
“Now you’re in for it.” Elena pushed out of his arms.
“Aye, sure looks like it.”
“How much do you think she heard?”
“Verra little.” He hoped. Hearing Elena tell him he was nice for a vampire probably
wouldn’t earn him points with Vivian, not that she would believe it.
“I’ll bring the diary here tomorrow evening.” She grabbed her coat and slid it on.
“Promise me that you will do everything in your power to find the answers I need.”
“Aye, I promise.”
“Now, go find your woman and mend some fences. I think you’ve tormented her
enough.” She gave him a sad little smile. “You would have made a good werewolf.”
Sinjin laughed outright. “Perish the thought.”
Anthony watched through the windows of the Chat Noir as Vivian closed up for the
night. Imagine his surprise to find the head of Carrington International working as a hostess in a
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55
French Quarter nightclub. The photos he’d received didn’t do this woman justice. Killing such a
lovely creature was a shame, but the money she’d bring would more than make up for it.
He reached into his light jacket and fingered the reassuring weight of the Sig Sauer snug
in its holster. Soon, Vivian Carrington would be dead and he’d be a very rich man.
He settled himself farther into the doorway to wait, his mind feverishly planning what to
do with his newfound fortune.
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Chapter 7
Vivian seethed as she retrieved her bag and linen duster-style jacket from the employee
break room. How dare that wretch kiss her, then turn around and have ano
ther woman in his
arms barely twenty-four hours later. Vivian Carrington did not share her toys with anyone. Not
now. Not ever.
Cad.
She slid on the jacket and stalked to the front door. Sinjin was yet another example of
what was wrong with most men. They were fickle, turning their attentions to any available
woman, no, make that any woman, who happened to flit by. She should know as she’d done the
exact same thing several times herself. While she’d never indulged in an affair with a married or
involved man, on several occasions she’d discovered after the fact th
at they’d deceived her. One
man, an oil company executive, had been married with a Park Avenue mistress. Both of whom
he’d neglected to disclose to Vivian. He’d turned into such a cliché.
Men. They weren’t to be trusted.
A large crowd of people blocked her exit via the main doors. Annoyed, she turned toward
the back of the restaurant. Behind the coffee stand, there was a small door that led to Bourbon
Street. Flipping the lock, she slipped out the door and into the rowdy atmosphere before locking
the door behind her.
She needed some space away from the handsome bar owner. Now was as good a time as
any to contemplate her next move. Did she stay or go? Her research would be completed in
another week and once she sent off the materials she’d gathered, she’d be a free woman. She felt
a pang in the area of her heart at the idea of leaving New Orleans. In the short time she’d been in
residence, she’d grown to love the atmosphere and people who inhabited the city, one resident in
particular.
You’re in deep, my dear…
“No, I’m not,” she muttered. “I’m just horny.” She wove her way around drunken
partygoers then turned the corner and moved away from the crowds, her agitated gait eating the
sidewalk as she progressed north toward her hotel. “All I need is space to figure out what the hell
is going on in my own head and—”
A sudden resistance halted her as something or someone grabbed her backpack and
swung her sideways. Before she could scream in protest, she was slammed sideways into a brick
wall as hands ripped at her bag.
“I want the book,” a voice growled in her ear.
Vivian struggled against her tormentor. “What book?” She was shoved against the wall,
face first, a hand pinning her neck as someone tore the bag from her back.
“You know exactly what book, whore.”
“No, actually I don’t.” Adrenaline and annoyance flooded her system. This was the
second time in a week she’d been manhandled in this city and she was tired of it. Maybe it
wasn’t a good place to buy a house. Who knew the crime rate would be so high?
“It isn’t here.” Another voice spoke.
Unceremoniously, she was yanked around to face her captors. She got the impression of
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height and menace as the one that held her hostage grabbed her by the throat. She reached for his
wrist, her nails digging into his skin, but he didn’t seem to notice the damage she was inflicting.
“Where is it?”
The fingers tightened, threatening to cut off her air supply.
Her eyes grew wide as black spots danced before her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about,” she gasped.
The other figure came closer and this one was much smaller than the first. “This isn’t the
right woman.” His voice was tinged with the flavor of the South. “She’s nothing but a fucking
waitress.”
The tall dark-haired man looked at the smaller one, then back to her. His eyes narrowed
and Vivian’s heart leapt into her throat. “We don’t need her then.” He released her and shoved
her toward the shorter one. “Kill her, but do it quietly. We don’t want her found anytime soon.”
He turned and walked back toward the lights of Bourbon Street.
“No.” She rubbed her raw throat. “Please don’t hurt me.”
The man shrugged. “I’m sorry, beautiful. Tall, dark and brutal speaks and I must do as he
bids.”
His eyes glittered in the darkness and Vivian had the distinct impression that he truly was
sorry he had to hurt her. But not sorry enough to walk away and leave her alone.
“I beg you, please, don’t kill me,” she gasped. “I have money, I can pay you.”
He hesitated, then glanced in the direction the other man had gone. Indecision was
written on his face when he turned back to her. He raised his hand and contemplated her fate as
he ran a slim finger down her cheek. She struggled not to shudder beneath his impersonal touch.
“You’re far too beautiful to kill.” His fingers tightened on her throat and she gasped.
“There are so many other things that can be done with you.” He raised his other hand and
brought it down in a sharp blow to the jaw and she knew no more.
“What do you mean, she left?”
Tracey set down a tray of dirty glasses on the bar and started unloading them near the
sink. “I mean she left. I saw her sneak out the back door about fifteen minutes ago.”
“I told her to wait,” Sinjin grumbled. “Why dinna women e’er listen?”
“Well, maybe if men would quit telling us what to do and ask us what we really want, we
might actually listen.” Tracy picked up the tray and continued to the kitchen.
Sinjin rolled his eyes. Only the female mind could conceive something as illogical as
that. He tucked the portfolio containing the photos under his arm as he headed for the door.
“Julius, I’m out of here. Have a good evening.”
The bartender waved in response, deep in conversation with a redhead and a curvaceous
blonde. Sinjin grinned. Looked like his head bartender was in for an interesting evening.
He exited the restaurant and walked up Bourbon at a fast clip. He wanted to catch Vivian
before she reached her hotel or else he wouldn’t get another chance until the next evening. He
had a feeling she wouldn’t answer her phone if he tried to call.
Women. Who understood them?
For the past six months, the women he’d tangled with were beautiful on the outside with
very little upstairs. Let’s face it. He’d only wanted to lose himself physically in the majority of
them.
Other than annoyance that she’d left without him, he wasn’t sure what he felt for Vivian.
He desired her. She was a beautiful woman and he’d have to be blind to miss the interested looks
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she’d received since she’d begun working at the Chat. Male eyes, both young and old, seemed to
gravitate toward her as she’d walked about the bar. Even more important than her obvious
charms, he genuinely liked her. She had intelligence and a quick wit and she wasn’t afraid to
speak her mind.
If he was going to be completely honest with himself, that was what attracted him. It had
nothing to do with her fabulous legs or wicked laugh. It was her confidence and bearing. Vivian
was the type of woman who would be at home in almost any situation. So, they had issues to
work out between them, but they could accomplish it. They were two mature adults who—
The flashing strobes of emergency vehicles caught his eye as he turned the corner. A
large crowd had formed, blocking his view of the incident then he saw Detective Draven
ordering the crowd to part. The mass shifted reluctantly as several uniformed officers stepped in
to encourage them. As the gurney moved into view, Sinjin saw the woman strapped to it.
He slowed to a stop, his heart in his throat.
Dark hair, white shirt, black skirt, duster and a narrow band of red silk around her throat
were all he could see as her face was turned away from him. He ran the forty or so yards
separating them, shouldering mortals aside as he reached the crowd. As he neared, Vivian was
loaded into the ambulance with Draven following, a battered backpack in his hand.
“Dra—”
“Where do you think you’re going?” A loud voice jerked his attention away from the
activity inside the ambulance. A police officer stood next to him, his face mere inches from
Sinjin’s. “I told you people to break it up, there is nothing to see here.”
“I just need—”
“Look buddy, I asked nicely.” The officer placed his hand over the butt of his holstered
gun. “Keep moving, don’t make me arrest you. I’m getting off in a hour and I don’t want to
process the paperwork.”
Out of the corner of his eye Sinjin saw the doors shut and the ambulance pull away.
While he realized the officer was only doing his job, it took a great deal of restraint to keep from
lashing out. Sinjin ground his teeth as he gave the officer a curt nod and turned away.
He dodged the remaining stragglers and began to run in the direction of his house,
already calculating how long it would take to reach Vivian’s side.
“You’re a lucky young woman.”
Vivian gave a raspy chuckle. “I don’t feel very lucky or very young right now.”
The emergency room doctor patted her on the shoulder. “Well, you’re alive and that’s
what counts. Your headache will fade as will your bruises in a few days.”
“Do I have a concussion?”
“Possibly a very slight one. Your CAT scan came back normal, so I don’t think we have
anything to worry about.”
“Maybe you don’t.” She forced a smile.
“We’re about ready to release you, all I have to do is sign on the dotted line. In the mean
time there’s a Detective Draven hovering outside the door. Can I admit him?”
“Please, and thank you for taking such good care of me.”
“You’re welcome. I hope to not see you again under such circumstances.” The doctor
gave her a wink then exited.
Vivian let her head drop to the pillow. Every inch of her body ached, her head the most.
What had happened on the street? One minute she’d been walking to the hotel and the next she’d
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been pushed around.
The curtain was whisked aside and Brent stepped into the cubicle. His gaze was assessing
as he scanned her from head to toe before finally settling on her face. “How are you feeling?”
“How do I look?” she countered.
“Battered,” he acknowledged.
“That’s pretty much how I feel.”
His expression turned serious. “Feel up to answering a few questions?”
“Personal or professional type questions?”
“Professional.”
She gave a tentative nod. “I don’t know what I can tell you. It’s a little fuzzy now.”
“What time did you leave the club?”
“I think it was around two.”
“And you left alone?”
“Yes. I was supposed to wait for Sinjin, but…”
She stopped, not wanting to go into why she hadn’t waited for him. She’d sound like a
complete ninny if she told him the truth.
“But what?”
She pleated the sheet with her fingers, her gaze fixed on the nervous motions. “I didn’t
want to. I changed my mind, so I left.”
Brent made a note in his book. He didn’t say anything, but she had the feeling she’d
disappointed him in some way.
“Then what happened?” he asked.
“I was walking back to the hotel and someone grabbed me and shoved me against the
wall. He pulled my backpack off and went through it.” She frowned. “I think there were two of
them.”
“You think?”
“I remember two different voices, one had a slight southern accent.” She looked up at
him. “How can I remember that and nothing else?”
“Just take it slow.” Brent laid his hand on her arm. “Vivian, two days ago you made a
theft report that your purse was stolen. Do you think this incident could be related?”
She frowned and shook her head, stopping when the pain sent a warning jolt. “I don’t see
how they could be. I mean, they happened in the same general area, but that time the guy just
grabbed my bag and ran. He never tried to hurt me.”
“Have you ever thought that maybe someone might be stalking you?”
She gave a startled bark of laughter then covered her mouth when she saw he looked very
somber. She cleared her throat and schooled her features into a more serious expression. “Why
would someone do that?”
“You’re beautiful and you’re very wealthy.”
“You’ve been doing your homework.” She waved his words away. “I’m hardly a public
figure. Ninety-nine percent of the people on the streets have probably never heard of Carrington
International.”
“How well do you know Damien St. James?”
She frowned. “What does he have to do with this?”
“It’s just a question.” He folded the notebook shut and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
Vivian shrugged, not wanting to talk about Sinjin, especially not with Brent. “I barely
know him at all. We just met a few days ago.”
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He leaned over her. “Do you trust him?”
“Why are you asking this?”
“I want your gut reaction. Do you trust him?”
Yes.
She gave a tentative nod.
“Vivian, there are a lot of things in the world that we don’t understand. New Orleans is a
very old city, steeped in myths dealing with the supernatural realm. We have residents and
visitors who believe they’re paranormal beings and they actually live that lifestyle.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“We have a group who believes themselves to be vampires.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean, like a game?”
“No, they really believe they’re vampires. They only leave their homes at night and they
drink blood. Most of them don’t appear to hunt for their meals as one would expect but, for all
intents and purposes, they live the lives of vampires.”
She rubbed her forehead. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to understand that down here, things aren’t always what they seem
to be on the surface.”
She made a sound of annoyance. “I get hit over the head and you’re going on about a few
misguided people? What does this have to do with Sinjin?”
“All the evidence points to Sinjin being—”
The curtain flew open and the object of their speculation appeared, his expression tense.
“Are you okay?” He stepped into the cubbyhole, completely ignoring the detective.
She felt the absurd urge to lay her head on his shoulder. But Vivian Carrington never
showed weakness, not in public and certainly not in front of a man. She bit her lip, wincing as
she hit a sore spot. As tears filled her eyes, she raised her hand to shield herself from their gazes.
Footsteps approached and the bedrails were lowered. Within seconds, she was wrapped in
Sinjin’s arms, his scent surrounding her like a warm, familiar blanket. She closed her eyes and
leaned into him, sliding her arms around his waist, content to be still for a few moments.
Composure regained, she released him and he moved back just a bit, his gaze moving
over her face.
“It’s okay, I’ll get ye out of here.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“I’ll get ye checked out and we’ll be out of here in minutes.” He released her.
“I need to—” she looked to her left and Draven was gone. “Where did he go?”
“He left when I arrived.” Sinjin backed out of the curtained area. “Just rest, I’ll be back in
a few minutes.”
Vivian leaned her head back against the pillows and closed her eyes. The nurse had given
her some pain pills just before the detective had arrived and they were kicking in with a
vengeance. She frowned. Now what had Draven been talking about? Something about vampires?
She gave a weak chuckle.
What nonsense.
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Chapter 8
“You could have taken me back to the hotel,” Vivian said as he unl
ocked the front door
to his house.
“There’s no one there to keep an eye on ye.” Sinjin tucked the portfolio containing the
diary pages under his arm as he pushed the door open. “Ye’ll be comfortable
here and
completely safe.”
She walked around him and entered the house. “I’m not sure I feel safe anywhere at this
point.” She tipped her head back to take in the newly restored ceiling and he caught her slight
wince as she rubbed the back of her neck. “This is lovely.”
“Thank ye. I’m working on restoring it. The yards are still a complete disaster, but most
of the inside is livable as long as ye stay in this wing of the house.”
She looked down the long narrow hall that was next on his list of renovations. Moonlight
shone through the windows, illuminating the scaffolding that had been moved there earlier last
week. “Looks like a big job to me.”
He gave a chuckle. “Dinna worry, yer quarters on the second floor are quite habitable.”
“At this point, all I need is a bed—pillows and sheets are even optional.”
“I think I can do better than that.”
He led her up the steps and down the hall to his bedroom. He never used
it for its
intended purposes as it was too dangerous for a vampire to enter the dark sleep where anyone
could easily gain access. In order to keep up appearances, he’d made the renovation of the
bedroom and spacious bathroom as one of the first jobs he’d undertake
n.
“Bedroom is here and the bathroom is through here.” He flicked on the lights as he
walked through the rooms. “Everything ye’ll need is in the closet.”
He turned in time to see her catch sight of her battered appearance in the mirror. Her hair
was tangled and a bruise marred her chin with several more on her throat. Exhaustion lined her
eyes, making them appear red and puffy with shadows underneath.
“I’ll have some of yer things brought over from the hotel so ye’ll have them in the
morning.”
Her dark gaze met his and he saw the gratitude reflected in their depths. “Thank you,
Sinjin. You’ve been a good friend to me.”
He stepped forward and slid his hand behind her neck, angling her head down as he
pressed a kiss to her forehead. Throat tight, he released her and left her in peace to clean up.
His thoughts were jumbled as he walked to the library. When was the last time a woman
had thanked him for being her friend? He and Bliss had been friends, best friends in fact, but
what woman had he been friends with since her?
He dropped the portfolio on the desk. Placing his palms flat on the highly polished
mahogany, he stretched his back, silently willing his tense muscles to release. Friends or not, he
couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so frightened as when he’d seen her strapped to the
gurney and the EMTs taking her away. Judging from the marks around her neck, she’d come
close to dying this evening.
He straightened. He was tired, though it would be several hours before he would be
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forced to seek his rest. He wouldn’t be able to protect her when he was encased in his dark
slumber and she couldn’t stay here alone. He’d have to contact someone who could walk about
in the day to keep an eye on her, just until he was sure she’d be safe.
With his keen senses, he heard the shower come on. Images of her standing naked in his
shower surfaced. Her slender limbs glistening as soap and hot water poured over her baby-soft
skin...
His cock stirred to life, straining against his jeans. He glanced down at the taut fabric. It
seemed like ever since he’d met her, he’d had a constant hard on. He was as bad as any
perpetually horny seventeen-year-old male. So much for his control. He didn’t have time for the
distraction, not now at least.
He picked up the portfolio and carried it to the closet, opening the door. A large safe
occupied most of the small space. With a few flicks of his wrist, he opened the safe and secured
the precious documents. His first task was to inform Alexandre and the Council that he had
found the diary. No doubt he’d be charged with trying to decipher the text as soon as possible.
He located his cell phone in the top desk drawer. As he dialed, he caught the faint scent
of his shampoo. He groaned. Of course she was using his shampoo, what other choice did she
have? He could well imagine the streams of white bubbles running down her luscious curves as
she rinsed her hair. Her skin slick with soap, her nipples hard—
Alexandre’s voice mail interrupted his daydream. At the shrill beep, he left a message.
“It’s me, give me a call.”
He flipped the phone closed and broke the connection before tossing it onto the desk.
What secrets would the diary yield? He reached over and pushed the power button on his
computer. The bottom line was that Mikhail had to be defeated and the preternatural world
united under one leader. But could the current council pull off that feat?
He turned to his computer and opened his email program. The odds were stacked against
them. They currently had the largest share of the preternatural world on their side, but Mikhail’s
followers were willing to die in order to win the war. Nothing was more dangerous than a radical
armed with misguided information.
In the bathroom, he heard the shower stop as his incoming email scrolled across the
screen. He saw several emails from Lily, his assistant with the chronicles. Should he read them
now or see to it that Vivian was settled for the night? He had a lot to accomplish before he
sought his own bed but he wanted to see her, just to make sure she was comfortable before he sat
down to work.
Sure…that’s it…
He ignored the taunting voice in his head as he left the library and approached the
bedroom. He tapped on the polished door.
. “Come in.” Her voice was muffled.
He opened the door and entered. She’d turned off the lights save one small Tiffany lap in
the corner. Vivian lay bundled under a pile of blankets and all he could see were her brilliant
sapphire eyes.
“Are ye cold?” he asked.
“A little.” Through the blankets, she shivered even though the room was comfortable.
Shock no doubt.
“Would ye like me to light a fire?”
She pushed down the blankets and peered at the white marble fireplace. “Yes, please.”
“I’ve always loved the scent of burning wood. It reminds me of home.” He dropped into a
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crouch before the fireplace and reached for the matches.
“Did you have a lot of fireplaces in your childhood home?”
Sinjin grinned at the thought of his sprawling castle, Aisling Crioch, secreted in a
secluded valley in the Highlands. “Ye could say that. The house has no central heating so to stay
warm, all I have are fireplaces and coal stoves.”
“Sounds drafty.”
The tinder caught and within seconds the bark on the logs began to scorch. “Aye, ’tis in
spots. The house is very old and made of stone so, no matter what I do, some parts of the house
remain as cold as a grave all year ’round.”
“I don’t think I’d like that.”
He rose. “Ye’d love the Highlands. ’Tis the most beautiful place in the world with miles
and miles of rolling green, rocks, mountains and cows.”
“You miss it.”
“Aye.”
“Why don’t you go back?”
“It isn’t time.”
Vivian looked thoughtful, then nodded. “I can understand that.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Is there anything else I can get for ye?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll leave ye in peace then.”
A look of panic came over her face, stopping him. Her gaze darted around the room as if
she expected masked attackers to leap at her from the dim corners.
“Would ye prefer I stay a while?”
In that moment, she seemed to gather herself and the haughty look he remembered from
when he first met her was back. “No, thank you.”
“Maybe right now I’m the one needing assurances that ye’re all right.” He chuckled at
how quickly she scooted over, allowing him room in the broad bed. He stretched out beside her,
sliding an arm around her shoulders. “Do ye want to talk about it?”
She burrowed her head into his shoulder. “It was horrible. I was walking along and he
just grabbed me and shoved me into the wall.” She shuddered. “I don’t want to talk about it.
Why don’t you tell me a story instead?”
“A story? What kind?”
“A love story, something sweet.”
An image of Bliss drifted through his mind and he pushed it away. “Dinna ken much
about love stories.”
She chuckled, her voice rough from the abuse her throat had received. “I don’t believe
you.”
“Well, ’tis true. My reputation is greatly exaggerated I’m afraid.” He felt her shiver. “Still
cold?”
She gave a jerky nod.
He pulled her closer and tucked her into his side. A thick layer of blankets separated them
as he rubbed on her back and arm, trying to warm her. “I’ve loved but one woman. The moment
I saw her, I knew she was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” He felt her relax
against him. “There was never any doubt in her mind nor mine.”
“Tell me about her.”
Sinjin knew he couldn’t tell her the complete truth; Vivian’s mortal mind wouldn’t be
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able to accept their story so he’d have to fudge the truth a bit. “Well, she was tiny, blonde and
not so fierce as ye.”
“I’m not fierce—”
“Ye can be. Bliss was fragile, yet strong as steel in her own way. She was a bit timid
when I first met her and she had an overpowering mother who’d dominated her but after we met,
Bliss finally got away from her and we spent all of our time together. We shared a love for
hiking and the ocean. We went to the opera and for long carriage rides just holding hands and
talking. I couldn’t imagine ever being with anyone else as long as I lived.”
“Then what happened?”
“Her mother stepped in. Said that if Bliss didn’t leave me, she would see to it that I was
destroyed. Her mother was a very powerful woman and many feared her. While I won’t say that
I was afraid of her, I was certainly smart enough to be wary of what she could do.” He took a
deep breath as the remembered pain lanced his heart. “Bliss was so loyal and protective, and she
was torn over what was happening. It was destroying her and, one day, she left.”
“Just like that?”
“Aye, just like that.”
“Were you heartbroken?”
“I swore to never love another.”
“What happened to her?”
“Time passed and we rekindled the relationship as friends. Her mother never knew about
it, of course. Then, last year, Bliss was killed in a kidnap attempt.” Vivian made a noise of
sympathy. “Someone was trying to kidnap the son of a mutual friend and Bliss died saving him.”
“Then her death wasn’t in vain.”
Sinjin paused. He’d never looked at it that way. Max was indeed safe and Bliss had paid
the ultimate price for his life by giving hers. Yes, she’d succeeded. Bliss had loved little Max and
she’d have been devastated if anything had happened to him. Silent, he gave Vivian a hug.
“What happened to her mother?”
“Died about six weeks after her daughter.”
“How sad is that?” Vivian sighed. “Don’t you know any good stories?”
“Aye.”
“Why don’t you tell one of them instead?”
Her voice was growing slurred with sleep.
“Because it’s time for ye to rest.”
“Not tired…”
He chuckled. She was like a two-year-old fighting sleep and getting cranky. “Hush now.”
She was silent for a moment, then spoke again. “There were two of them. One big guy
and a little guy.”
He rubbed her shoulder, not saying anything as he silently willed her to speak and get
everything off her chest. It would enable her to sleep better if she told someone of her traumatic
experience.
“They were looking for a book and they must have thought I was someone else.” She
rubbed her face against him like a sleepy cat. “I don’t even have a diary.”
Diary?
“They told ye they were looking for a diary?”
“Yes, but one said I was the wrong woman.” She shuddered. “I keep thinking about her
out there somewhere and she has these thugs looking for her and she probably doesn’t even
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know it yet.” Her voice trailed off as she drifted into sleep.
This was no random mugging. They were looking for Elena and had mistaken Vivian for
the werewolf. They were roughly the same build and long dark hair, though Vivian was taller. In
the dark they would look similar enough that they could be mistaken for one another. Was it
Miles? Did he know Elena had the diary and he’d returned to claim it?
Whatever the answer he had to find out fast. Vivian had almost lost her life over the book
and her relationship with him had placed her right on the front lines. The only way to keep her
safe would be to get her away from him and New Orleans.
He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of Vivian by his side and knowing that, for her
own good, it had to be the last time.
“Did you get the diary?”
Miles gripped the phone, his knuckles white as Mikhail’s voice grated in his ear. “No, not
yet. We’ve found the woman and expect to have it in our hands within twenty-four hours.”
Mikhail chuckled. “See to it. I have work to accomplish and this little snag is impeding
my progress.”
The click on the line announced the broken connection. Miles barely controlled his rage
as he replaced the receiver. His current lowly position in the hierarchy of Mikhail’s army grated
on his nerves. This was what he got for trusting a woman. Silently he cursed Cass and her
treacherous ways. She’d paid the ultimate price with her life, but she’d left him in an untenable
situation. He’d have to claw his way to the top of the heap again. Then he would make Mikhail
pay for brushing him off so lightly.
The rustle of sheets brought his attention to the prostitute in his bed. Her dark hair was
tangled about her head, her dusky limbs tied to the posts of the bed, leaving her nude and spread-
eagled. Needle tracks marked her arms, leaving them bruised and reddened from her drug habit.
She was a nasty, sad piece of work. If it weren’t for her resemblance to Cass, he never
would have gotten near her. Nude, he set the phone on the floor and stalked to the bed. The
whore was slowly coming around, her head moving as she moaned softly.
He wrapped a meaty hand around his cock, jerking on his semi-erect flesh as he imagined
the woman on the bed wasn’t a twenty-dollar whore, but Cass with her perfumed limbs and
heated gaze. He closed his eyes as the memory of her sultry laugh wrapped around him,
energizing him. His erection surged in his hand and he panted as his movements increased.
Just as release neared, he climbed onto the bed and rammed himself into the prostitute’s
damp flesh. His fingers curled around her slender throat as he pounded into her again and again.
“Cass…”
Beneath him, he could feel the woman struggle, but she made nary a sound as his fingers
tightened. Her neck snapped as his release washed over him.
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Chapter 9
The first thing Vivian heard upon awakening was a moan.
She lay silent for a moment, trying to place the noise. The room was quiet and the scent
of wood smoke lingered in the air. Wondering what time it was, she moved and the moan echoed
again. This time she realized it came from her own throat.
She stilled. It hurt to move, even breathe. Remaining still, she took stock of her injuries.
Her head throbbed, but her throat hurt worse. It was as bad as the time she’d had tonsillitis in
grade school. Combined with her headache, it was worse than any hangover she’d ever
experienced in her life. Her right side was sore where she must have landed on it and her elbow
was tight and hot.
But the most pressing problem was that she needed to go to the bathroom. Just the
thought of attempting to get out of bed made her stomach roll dangerously.
“Pills,” she moaned. “I need drugs.”
“So you’re awake.”
Vivian’s eyes flew open and she sat up at the sound of a strange voice. A young woman
sat by the window and Vivian thought for a second it might be her friend, Shai. Then pain shot
through her skull and she grabbed her head, praying it wouldn’t come apart. She heard a soft
mewling sound, like that of a kitten, and she was astonished to realize it came from her.
“There now, take it easy.” The voice was soothing as were the cool hands that helped her
lean back against the abundance of pillows that miraculously appeared stacked behind her.
Vivian felt the bed dip as the woman sat down beside her.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“My name is Maeve. I’m a friend of Sinjin’s.”
Another one of his women no doubt.
Hesitant, Vivian opened her eyes, blinking at the intrusion of sunlight. For a second, all
she could see was a feminine figure clad in black. Around her head was a coronet of gold like the
paintings of religious figures from the medieval period.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the intrusion of light and the stranger beside her took form.
Her resemblance to Shai was breathtaking. Her hair was deep auburn, the shade women strived
to achieve by coloring but usually failed miserably. Long and loose, it caught the sunlight and
exploded into flames of silk on her shoulders.
Her eyes were the same shade of emerald, and they were the oldest eyes she’d ever seen.
Deep in their mesmerizing depths resided a wealth of knowledge and life, and from her
appearance, not all of it was good. She had the look of a warrior, her body well-toned, her arms
rippled with muscles. Dressed in black pants, black tank top and a small
silver pentagram on a
chain around her neck, she looked ready to do battle.
“Have you looked your fill?” her tone was amused.
Vivian blinked. It wasn’t often someone took her by surprise but this woman had
managed it. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare.”
She smiled. “It’s not every day you find a stranger in your bedroom.”
“It’s not that. You resemble a friend of mine.”
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“Shai Jordan?”
Vivian gaped. “You know Shai?”
“I do. ’Tis a small world we reside in, Vivian.” Maeve said. “I’ve met most of your
circle. Erihn, Shai, Jennifer, and I’ve heard stories of you.” Her eyes gleamed with amusement.
Vivian gave a throaty chuckle, then winced in pain. “I’ll bet you have. But she was
another woman.”
The smile slid from Maeve’s face, her expression now sober. “That’s too bad. I’d always
thought I would enjoy meeting that Vivian. She sounded like a lot of fun. I hope she isn’t
completely gone.”
Vivian gave her a wobbly smile. “Well, maybe not all of her is vanquished.” She glanced
around the room, noting the open door and the gloom of the hallway. She shivered.
Maeve gave her an understanding smile. “Don’t worry, Vivian, you’re safe here.”
“I don’t feel very safe.” To her dismay, she felt her lip tremble.
Maeve laid a hand on her arm and a strange sense of calm invaded her. It was as if a mild
pain medication had been released within her system. Vivian could feel her body relax as her
pain faded to a more manageable level. “No one would dare trespass here. Sinjin will see to
that.” She removed her hand and the odd, floaty sensation remained in place of the pain. “Now,
let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll fix you some breakfast.”
Numb, Vivian nodded, strangely willing to follow wherever this magical woman wanted
to take her.
The sun was warm on her skin as Vivian lay in a comfortable lounge chair in the
overgrown courtyard. Beside her on a small table was a glass vase filled with a bright
arrangement of flowers from Detective Draven. She smiled. What a nice man he was. Handsome,
charismatic and she could tell he would be good in bed. He knew how to make a woman feel like
the center of the universe when he talked to her. With his concentration focused on her, nothing
else existed but the two of them. Too bad she wasn’t attracted to him. Her smile faded. A nice,
uncomplicated relationship was preferable to the emotional tangle Sinjin had placed on her
shoulders.
She sighed and looked around the wildly overgrown courtyard that Sinjin called home.
Crumbling brick paths were weed choked, the flowerbeds resembled a wilderness with only a
few roses gone wild. In the center was a dilapidated fountain. Moss grew thick over what she
suspected was a young woman, though she looked as if she were bundled for winter weather in
her voluminous green pelt. The basin was filled with thick, stagnant water and wisps of weeds.
Maeve had said that the house had been empty for almost seventy years and the locals
believed it haunted. She’d shown Vivian clippings of old newspaper reports of bodies being
found in house during the last forty years. Almost all were victims of drugs or gang brutality.
The house and spacious grounds were scarred by the violence that had inhabited it for so long.
But Sinjin was working to change that. He’d concentrated on restoring the inside of the
house. Preferring to do the bulk of the work himself, he’d completed most of the south wing,
which included the front entrance. Luckily for them it also included the kitchen.
It was good to have a task in life. What was hers? Before Mel’s death, she would have
said her task was to raise funds for various charities and play with her friends. Looking back, it
wasn’t a terribly fulfilling existence.
Since Mel’s death, all she’d done was travel and avoid life. Now, sitting in a courtyard in
New Orleans, she was forced face to face with it. It was time to make hard decisions and one of
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them was to reconcile her past and that included her relationship with Marc.
Marcus Hendricks III, a blue-bl ooded name for a second-year medical student with eyes
like hot chocolate and a smile that curled her toes. She’d been only nineteen years old and
studying social work with a minor in history. They’d been blissfully happy, living together in
their tiny rented space as they’d made their way through school, determined to make a difference
in the world in their own way.
Then had come the summons for her to return home and her dream had abruptly ended.
Vivian never did find out exactly what had happened to spark her father’s command. Had her
father found out about his daughter’s love affair? Bradford Carrington had been a controlling
man who’d wanted to rule his daughter’s life as he did his company. With a firm hand and strict
discipline. His then-current wife and her children, Vivian’s stepbrothers and sisters, had danced
to his tune. Only Vivian had stood up to him.
She hadn’t wanted to leave sunny California, her friends, her classes and her lover to
return to Boston. In fact, the same day she’d received his tersely worded summons, dictated
through his assistant Scott no doubt, she’d called him and refused to return home. He’d
immediately threatened to cut her off without a cent.
And that incident had sparked a defining moment in her life. She’d never been without
money. She didn’t know who she’d be without her millions and prestigious family name behind
her. Even though she’d taken a job and was, for the most part, supporting herself, in the back of
her mind she’d always known that she could fall back on her trust fund should she fail. As much
as she’d hated the shackles it had imposed on her life, the money was also as much a part of her
as were her arms and her legs. But how could she bear to leave the man she loved with every
breath in her body?
Within hours, the decision had been plucked from her fingertips. The evening had been
rain-soaked and Marc had been late leaving the hospital. A sharp bend in the road had hidden a
three-car accident and he’d died instantly, his car plunging into the sea, his body was never
recovered.
Even now she wondered if she’d have made the right decision should the fates have
allowed her that choice. Would she have chosen Marc or would she have stayed with the security
of her families money? Now, even twenty-five years later, she wasn’t sure which she would’ve
chosen. She’d loved Marc, of that there was no doubt in her mind, but would she have walked
away from her legacy and lived on love alone?
That was the question that haunted her in the dark of night.
Numb with loss, she’d left college and California to return home to Boston. For a short
while, her father had seemed to recognize her need for mourning. He’d kept a respectful distance
and made few demands. But after a year he’d begun shoving potential husbands down her throat.
All of them well-bred young stallions with names like Richard, Emerson or Gregory and
pedigrees that any well-reared Boston socialite would be thrilled to hook.
At first she’d been angry with her father, rejecting every stud he’d paraded past as if she
were a brood mare. Until James Longford, an enterprising young lawyer with kind green eyes. A
kind and gentle man who’d seemed to understand her pain and was content to take it slow, never
pressing for more than she’d been ready to give.
Encouraged by his gentleness, she’d begun spending time with him and found she
enjoyed his solicitous behavior and wry sense of humor. After a few months, they’d spent most
of their waking time together, taking long walks, going to galleries and sailing in calm weather.
He’d come from a boisterous New England family, which Vivian took to like a duck to water.
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Her own family was both physically and emotionally distant, very different from the animated
Longfords. Just when she’d thought that maybe she could love James and they could have a
future together, that dream had also fractured.
One afternoon she’d returned early from a friend’s baby shower. The house had been
quiet and, as she’d made her way to her suite of rooms, she’d overheard her father and James
speaking in the library. Wanting to surprise them, she’d tiptoed to the door in time to overhear
them discussing the amount of money and a Vice Presidency in the Carrington Empire that
James would receive once an engagement ring sat upon Vivian’s finger.
Aghast, Vivian had peered through the door and held her breath as she’d waited for
James to toss the insulting bribe back in her father’s face. Instead she’d witnessed the exchange
of a fat envelope as Bradford had paid James to ask for her hand in marriage. Rage had blurred
her vision and she’d scarcely been able to control her anger.
She’d slipped from the doorway and called her father’s service requesting that he be
paged to the office, knowing James would remain behind to await her arrival as they’d planned.
After her father had left, she’d plastered a smile on her face and joined her treacherous boyfriend
in the library. Within minutes she’d had him naked and willing on her father’s antique desk,
she’d screwed his brains out for the first and only time.
Afterward she’d climbed off him, cleaned herself with his silk Hermes tie then withdrew
the envelope from his jacket and threw the cash at him, telling him that was the last he’d ever get
from her and she hoped the fuck was worth what he’d been paid.
She knew now that, in that moment, the last vestiges of the Vivian Marc had known and
loved had died on a desk in Bradford’s library. She’d walked out of her father’s house and never
returned. Upon reaching her majority, she’d inherited various trusts from her grandparents—
more money than God, Marc used to say—and she hadn’t needed her father’s support any
longer.
That was also the moment she’d turned away from the woman she should have become.
Suddenly weary, Vivian let her head drop to the lounger, her eyes drifted closed. After
that it became nothing more than a string of men, one after another, and two failed marriages.
For years she’d drifted on a cloud of meaningless relationships, cocooned by her money and
emotionally unavailable to everyone around her.
Until Mel.
Vivian grinned. They’d met at a New York television station where she’d worked as a
cue-card girl. Polar opposites, even now Viv couldn’t say what it was that had drawn them
together. Mel had grown up in a very blue-collar existence with a big family and dreams of
becoming a star in Hollywood and she’d succeeded with a vengeance only to lose everything in
an accident.
What had Vivian succeeded in accomplishing? In college, she and Marc had believed
they could save the world. In the end she hadn’t been able to save herself let alone him.
Death was one of the few absolutes in life. So what did she want to accomplish before
her death?
Saving the world might be out of the question, but what about a smaller, more obtainable
goal? Something strictly for herself.
She wanted a relationship with a man who didn’t know or care about her money.
Someone who would love her and not look down on her for being human and making mistakes
now and then, someone like—
Sinjin.
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She opened her eyes, taking in the dazzling blue of the sky above. Contentment spread
through her limbs as the rightness of the situation sank into her bones and every cell of her being.
Exactly. That was what she wanted.
But the problem with being human was that they could die at any minute. She didn’t want
to end up on her deathbed with her last thoughts being filled only with regrets. It was time to quit
wasting the time she had and, rather than running from her life, it was time to embrace it.
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Chapter 10
Sinjin exited the confines of his basement lair just seconds after the sun faded
from the
western sky. As he left the untouched wing of the house, he heard laughter coming from the open
windows of the kitchen. Heading in that direction, he cut through the courtyard, his eyes
widening as he saw the transformation that had taken place.
The herb bed nearest the kitchen door showed signs of recent work. The dead plants had
been removed and in its place were green plants that appeared to be healthy. Stunted from being
covered with brittle, dead vegetation, the small shoots appeared to be strong and sturdy.
Who would have thought that something would have grown under all that mess? He
knew Maeve had a hand in this and she’d probably given them a helping touch with her magic.
Even though he didn’t need to cook, the kitchen was probably his favorite room in the
house. It was spacious with a generous food preparation area complete with bar and island. On
the other side of the room was a large fireplace with a cozy conversation nook filled with a
loveseat and overstuffed chair.
Through the window, he spied Maeve as she stood at the stove, wiping it down with a
dishcloth. Across the room sat Vivian, curled near the fireplace in the loveseat. For the first time
since he’d met her, her hair was unbound. Soft dark curls surrounded her face and brushed the
shoulders of her dark blue dress. A small bruise marred her chin with se
veral more on her throat.
Other than those marks she appeared to be in good health. Legs under her, she laughed at
something Maeve was saying, a glass of red wine in her hand.
“You really will have to meet Quinn. He’s such a stitch.” Maeve was saying as Sinjin
stepped into the room.
“Someone has to be because ye werena much fun at all,” he said.
Maeve shot him a sour look. “As if you would know.”
“Not for lack of trying.” Sinjin pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. Maeve had
been his houseguest for an extended stay last year and he’d grown to appreciate her wry sense of
humor. She’d also succeeded in saving his life. “It’s good to see ye, my friend.”
“Good to see you, too.” She returned his hug. “I’ve had a lovely day with your new
friend.”
He gave Vivian’s wineglass a pointed look. “Should she be drinking?” he asked.
“She’s fine—”
“I am of age,” Vivian drawled. She raised the glass to her lips and took a drink, her gaze
daring him to object.
“That ye are. I was more concerned about your physical health than yer breaking the
law.”
“Thanks to Maeve here, I feel fine. I’ve been pampered like a rich woman’s poodle all
day long.”
Maeve laughed. “I didn’t allow her to lift a finger.”
“So you’re the one who dug up my yard?”
“Guilty.” She tossed the dishrag over the faucet. “It was a glorious day, so we wandered
outside and Vivian rested while I worked in the mud.”
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He gave her a mock-lecherous look. “Sounds arousing.”
Maeve rolled her eyes and grinned at the other woman. “Men are so predictable.”
“But amusing in their own, tedious way,” Vivian drawled.
“You are so right.” Maeve picked up her purse. “I’m out of here. I have some errands to
run.” She crossed the room to give Vivian a hug. “You take care and call me if you need
anything. And you,” she turned to Sinjin. “You take care of her. I don’t want to hear that she’s
been hit in the head again.”
“I promise.”
He felt a flutter of panic as Maeve left. They were alone and sparks seemed to fly
whenever they were alone together. After the events of yesterday, it would be easier for him to
keep his hands to himself. He’d come very close to losing her and he never wanted to go through
that again, but for her own good, he had to maintain his distance. But how could a woman worm
her way into his psyche in such a short period of time?
He cleared his throat. “So, ye’re feeling better?”
“I am.” She gave him a huge smile. “I really like your friend. She was great to spend the
whole day with me.”
“Aye, Maeve’s one of a kind.”
“Yes, she is.” Vivian unfolded her legs and rose from the couch, setting her wineglass on
the hearth. “Sinjin, I’ve always been a straight-forward woman. I’ve lied to myself in the past but
that’s over now. I won’t shy away from the truth and what I want in life.”
A flutter of unease hit his belly as he caught the determined glint in her eye. What was
she up to? “Viv—”
“No, let me finish.” The scent of his shampoo rose from her hair as she stopped in front
of him. “You and I don’t know each other very well.” She shrugged. “That’s okay. To some
people, my life looked easy. I came and went as I pleased. I loved those I chose and would cast
them aside when I tired of them. I lived a superficial existence then, but that’s over now.
“This afternoon I realized, really realized how fragile life was. How I’ve wasted so much
time trying to insulate myself from getting hurt and being rejected, but that isn’t what life is
about.”
He was caught by the brutal honestly reflected in her eyes. All artifice had been stripped
away and in its place was the essence of the woman she really was. The scent of her skin, warm
and female, was killing him. Since he’d failed to feed upon rising, his body was sounding an
alarm that was part hunger, part lust as she placed her palm on his chest. She licked her lips and a
rush of heat filled his groin, bringing him into full alert.
Sinjin wanted this woman more than he’d ever wanted anything, but to take her would be
putting her life in danger. That he couldn’t do.
“Viv—”
“Shh.” She laid her finger over his lips, stemming the tide of words. “You haven’t let me
finish.”
Against his will, his tongue snaked out to taste her fingertip. The warmth of her skin
melted over his tongue like Swiss chocolate, invading his senses, making his head reel. He
watched as surprise moved across her features, changing quickly to desire.
“We never know when our lives will end or irrevocably change in a moment. I only know
one thing right now and that’s that I want you.” She rubbed her palm across his stomach and a
shockwave of heat hit him so hard that this knees wobbled. “I think… no, I know that you want
me.”
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“Aye, woman.” The word slithered through clenched teeth as her hand slid upward,
curling around the back of his neck.
“What would happen if we never consummated this feeling? What if I walked out that
door and got killed, never knowing what it would be like to be held in your arms?” She leaned
against him, pressing her full breasts into his chest.
He clenched his hands into fists, fighting the need to touch her. “Sounds like a
rationalization for flagrant disregard for decorum.” He breathed against her hair. The scent of his
own shampoo had never aroused him to this extent before.
She cupped the hard crotch of his jeans. “This doesn’t feel like a rationalization to me.”
“Vivian—”
Her lips were firm and moist against his as her taste exploded in his system. Her tongue
teased the seam of his lips and, with a moan, he opened and let her in. Their tongues tangled and,
when she gave his a gentle nip then soothed it with a slow suck, he realized he was being kissed
by a woman who knew exactly how it should be done.
With a moan, he slid his arms down her body until he cupped her backside, lifting her to
grind against the soft cushion between her thighs. He groaned as if he were wounded when she
lifted her leg and rubbed it against his thigh. He could smell her arousal, her heat, and it sent his
pulse racing.
He slid his hands from her buttocks down her thighs. Lifting, he turned and placed her on
one of the island stools. He pushed her skirt up as he nudged her thighs apart with his hips. With
a quick movement, he pulled her forward and pressed her panty-clad crotch against the straining
fly of his jeans.
Their mouths ate at each other as he rubbed rhythmically against her dampness. His
hands locked on her hips and he pulled her upward to meet each thrust as her slim legs wound
around his waist, canting her body for a better angle. Her nails dug into his skin as she tore at the
buttons of his shirt.
Vaguely he was aware of the sound of tearing cotton before her nails skimmed his bare
chest. She plucked at his nipple, breaking his rhythmic movements. If she kept this up, their
encounter was bound to be short-lived.
Hoping to slow her down, he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back. He
trailed hot, opened-mouth kisses down her throat, pausing near the base. Beneath his lips he
could feel her pulse, wild and unrestrained just beneath her skin. He just barely managed to resist
the urge to taste her by forcing himself to move farther down her body until he nuzzled the
creamy valley between her breasts. Her hands brushed his chin as she undid the buttons of her
dress, allowing him better access.
As he nibbled at her flesh, he curled both hands under her dark blue skirt and pulled it up
to her waist. By touch alone, he tore at her panties, the soft material gave under his grip, and he
tossed it away, feverish to touch her.
He shuddered as he breached her damp flesh with a finger. He raised his head. “Ye’re wet
for me.”
Their gazes clashed and she didn’t blush or look away. “Yes, I am. Very wet.”
“I want ye to scream for me.” He zeroed in on her clitoris, watching her skin flush with
pleasure as her hips followed him, making it last. Her gaze grew hazy with each movement.
A teasing smile curved her lips. “I’ll scream for you if you’ll return the favor.” She
cupped her hand over his erection.
“Later.”
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Sinjin dropped to his knees and wedged his body between her thighs. Her inner flesh was
dusky and glistening with desire. He slid his hands up the inside of her thighs until they reached
her soft nest of dark curls. He was aware of her heated gaze as her restless fingers stroked his
hair. He parted her soft flesh, then slid a finger against the most sensitive part of her body. Once.
Twice. A breathy half-moan slipped from her mouth as her body mimicked his movements,
rocking to and fro with each stroke.
He bent his head and buried his face between her soft thighs. At the first touch of his
tongue against her skin, her thighs tightened against his cheeks. She moaned long and loud as he
suckled her flesh with single-minded determination. He slid his fingers deep into her damp
channel and a cry burst from her throat.
Within minutes, she writhed beneath his touch. Her head thrown back, her breath came in
soft gasps as she begged, nay, pleaded with him to end her torture.
“Yes…please. There. No, harder. Yes…Oh God. Yes. Yes. Yes!”
Her final cry came out like a shriek, the sound of which bounced off the kitchen walls
and other polished surfaces. Her thighs relaxed and Sinjin nuzzled her inner thigh before rising
over her.
Her skin was flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses as her curls tumbled wildly about
her head. She looked thoroughly compromised.
“You’re next.” She gave him a soft, sexy smile.
“Nay, I’m not through with ye yet.”
Vivian shrieked and wrapped her arms around his neck when he swept her off the chair.
He staggered as she twined her legs around his waist, pressing her heat against his erection. He
could only hope his jeans could contain him for another few minutes lest he embarrass himself.
As he carried her through the house, she drove him crazy by touching every inch of
exposed skin she could reach. His earlobe was the first victim of her attentions when she sucked
the tender bit of flesh between her lips.
He shuddered and his cock strained for freedom. “Ye’d better quit, woman.”
“Or what?” She bit his earlobe.
“I’ll have to spank yer wee bottom.”
“Ooh!” She shimmied as he climbed the steps. “Sounds kinky. Maybe we can do that
next time.”
He chuckled and smacked her lightly on the backside before giving her a firm squeeze.
“Why not now?”
“This time I want you to fuck me hard,” she whispered in his ear.
The images her words evoked had him panting as he staggered into his bedroom. Within
moments, he had her on her back in the middle of his bed. His mouth took hers as he set out to
devour her. Greedy hands ran over skin as clothing was removed and thrown to the floor.
Impatient, he was hungry to have her beneath him, desperate to be inside her. Deep inside her.
His restraint gone, he pressed her thighs apart and entered her with a low groan. Her body
opened at his invasion, caressing his cock with her damp, silken flesh. Moving with little finesse
and a lot of passion, he pounded into her. Reality faded and he was aware only of the woman
beneath him and the sensations she aroused in him.
Hot, wild and untamed, they possessed each other totally. Their fingers entwined as their
bodies strained toward completion. With a wild cry, she reached her release mere seconds before
he did. His body tensed as his orgasm ripped through his body. Deep, convulsive shudders
wracked him before losing their grip, allowing him to sink into Vivian’s warm embrace.
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After a few moments, their breathing slowed and reality reasserted itself. Sinjin rolled,
taking Vivian with him to curl against his side. As her hand landed near his heart, he savored the
feeling of his lover cuddled against him. Closing his eyes, he experienced a new-found
contentment.
Limbs still entangled, Vivian fell asleep in his arms. The heady scent of their lovemaking
lingered on his skin. He loathed having to leave her but he was due at the bar to meet Elena and
receive the diary.
Duty was more important than physical pleasure.
Slowly, he slipped from her relaxed grip. Pulling a light blanket from the foot of the bed,
he covered her. She gave a little sigh as the soft fabric covered her delectable curves.
With a light kiss on her forehead, he turned away from the woman who was in danger of
stealing his heart to ready himself for the upcoming meeting.
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Chapter 11
Elena licked her lips. Her gaze was glued on Sinjin as he stared at the leather book
nestled in its bed of blue velvet. She knew well how he felt. The book w
as singularly
unspectacular to look at. Warm brown leather, worn at the edges and the book’s spine was bare
of any adornment. She knew he’d expected more than this drab little tome. Certainly not bolts of
lightning on high or anything like that. But more than just this.
“So many people have died for the knowledge in this book.” Sinjin spoke as he ran his
fingers over the cover. He pulled his hand away and she wondered if he’d felt the same chill she
had when she’d first touched it. There was an unholiness that rested
between its covers and she
felt it every time she picked it up.
“It has little to do with the knowledge and everything to do with the greed of man.” She
heard the bitterness in her tone and winced.
He lifted his head and his blue gaze impaled hers. She fought the urge to step away from
him. “Vivian almost died for this book last night.”
“How is that?”
“She was accosted less than a block from here when she left. She told me what they said
to her and it sounded like Miles.” His expression grew guarded. “I will ask ye again, how did ye
come by the book?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away. “I prefer not to disclose that
information.”
“I dinna give a damn what ye prefer, Elena. An innocent woman almost died because she
resembled ye. Someone is obviously after ye and they know ye have the diary. Is it Miles?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t had any problems. No one’s hassled me over the book.”
“Was it Miles ye stole the book from?”
“She’s very lucky, your woman.” Elena drifted to the window, her gaze falling on the
boisterous crowds that milled along the street. “I smell her on your skin. She’s invaded every
inch of your being, but you haven’t realized it yet.” Loneliness resonated in her soul. Right now
she wanted to be anywhere but here, in this city, this office, her own skin. The weight of the
book and her past betrayal weighed heavily on her soul. All she wanted to do was lay down and
weep, but that wasn’t an option. For her it never had been.
“I stole the book from Miles while he slept.” She smiled at the memory. “Or, at least I
thought he was asleep. When he woke I knocked him out.” She turned. “Needless to say, he’s not
pleased with me.”
“And he’s come for it.”
“Probably.”
“Any idea who could be with him?”
She shook her head. “Man or woman?”
“Man.”
“That’s an interesting development. He usually travels alone unless it’s a female
companion.”
Sinjin sat back, his expression contemplative. “Which tells me someone else is behind
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this.”
“And who wants the diary more than anyone else?”
“Mikhail.”
They were silent, both staring at one another as they realized the implications of the
vampire’s involvement.
“Do you think Miles ever intended to take the book to him?”
Sinjin shrugged. “Whatever he intended, ye mucked that up. I have no doubt Miles is
after the book and, consequently, after ye. The question is whether or not Mikhail is behind him
as well or is it another interested party.”
“Is there anything you need assistance with?” she asked.
“Nay. Right now, I just need several weeks to begin studying the diary. We can only
hope time is on our side.”
“I’ll keep my ears open and inform you if anything that pertains to this arises.”
“Will ye be okay?”
Elena forced a smile to her lips. She was used to taking care of herself. She was always
careful to on her feet and she would this time as well. “Yes. I’ll call you in a few weeks.”
“Please do.” Before she could leave, he rose from his chair and held out his hand. Elena
stared at it for a second before she caught it and gave it one quick shake.
“Thank ye, Elena Vasquez. Ye’ve done the entire preternatural world a huge favor by
recovering this book and turning it o’er to me.”
She released him; her skin burning where he’d touched her. Didn’t he know that she was
undeserving of his gratitude? Her possession of the diary had had nothing to do with saving any
other life than her own. “You’re welcome. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment
to keep.”
She took the steps at a quick jog. The restaurant was almost empty when she passed
through. Only the redheaded vampire waitress stood behind the bar, talking to a man with a scar
on his face. His ice-blue gaze met hers and a shiver ran down Elena’s spine, alerting her to
possible danger. Her eyes narrowed as she passed, barely managing to not growl at him.
Keeping her senses on alert, she slipped out the door to blend with the crowd and fade
into the New Orleans night in pursuit of her next destination and the job that awaited her.
Dawn was still several hours away when Sinjin entered his house. He’d spent the last
three hours photocopying the diary, page by excruciating page. The copy was now secreted in his
personal safe at the Chat while the original was tucked into the bag he carried.
After locking the door, he headed for the stairs, wondering if Vivian was still asleep in
his bed where he’d left her. His pulse quickened at the thought of her waiting for him. He
stopped to lock the diary in the library safe before heading into the bedroom.
A small fire crackled in the fireplace, painting the room with a soft golden glow. The
room was warm, almost too warm, and he hastened to open the window. Outside the night air lay
thick and heavy, almost as if it were waiting for something. Even the usual night sounds were
muted as if the creatures themselves were afraid of attracting undue attention.
A gentle snore sounded behind him, bringing a grin to his face. So, she wasn’t exactly
waiting up, but she was still here. That was something. He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked to
where Vivian slept, dropping it on the carpet as he moved. She lay on her stomach, as bare as the
day she was born. She’d kicked off her covers and they were half wadded beneath her torso,
canting her backside upward, one knee bent toward her waist.
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She made a restless sound and turned her face away as he sat beside her. Firelight kissed
her exposed skin and he eyed her curves appreciatively. She had the most beautiful bottom he’d
ever seen. He ran his hand over the soft globe, stroking and squeezing her flesh with a gentle
touch. Beneath his hand, her breathing hitched and she stirred ever so slightly.
He stopped, waiting for her breath to resume its normal rhythm before moving around
between her thighs. He kissed the base of her spine then let his tongue follow the curve of one
plump cheek. Already aroused, his cock strained the fly of his jeans, bringing him just short of
the point of pain. Seeing her here, naked, her beautiful body his for the taking, brought forth a
powerful rush of lust that threatened to bend him double. He wanted to take her from behind, to
feel the slap of her soft bottom against his stomach as he brought her to fulfillment.
But first he had something else to do.
He stretched forward, bracing his arm near her waist as he kissed his way up her spine.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he purred.
Vivian shifted as he nipped the indentation of her waistline before nibbling a path over
the curve of her butt. He lightly bit the tender flesh between her buttock and thigh.
“Mmm…” She moved, her thighs opening further.
“More, love.”
She moved again and Sinjin slid his hand between her thighs, parting her flesh to expose
her glistening dusky pink core with his fingers. She sighed as his finger brushed the nubbin still
hidden by soft curls.
“So beautiful,” he whispered. “And so wet.”
He parted her further, exposing her clitoris. He slid his fingers deep into her slippery
channel as his thumb caressed her bundle of nerves. Her hips lifted as she gave a loud moan
before pressing her face deeper into the pillows. Her hands knotted the sheets as he continued his
sensual assault on her body. Her hips rose with each stroke.
“Sinjin?”
Her voice was faint, strained.
“Aye?”
“Make me come.”
“Oh, aye.”
Sinjin bent his head and applied his tongue to her flesh. Suckling her hot inner core, she
cried out as his fingers increased their gentle assault, stroking and teasing. He wanted to make
her cry out in ecstasy. No, he wanted her to scream and he would accept nothing less.
“Sinjin!”
Vivian reached for his free hand and their fingers twined as she twisted against his
mouth. She cried, a long and hoarse sob of release as she tightened around his fingers.
He removed his jeans then stroked the soft skin of her lower back as she slowly quieted.
Her body fell limp against the sheets, her skin damp with sweat. With their fingers entwined, he
stretched out over her, nudging her thighs wider with his knees, then slid into her from behind in
one smooth movement.
“Mmm…” Vivian arched her back, taking him deeper. “Just lovely,” she sighed.
He raised her arms so that her hands were near her head and he could balance his weight
on his elbows. He brushed his lips over her cheek, her hair tickling his skin as he nuzzled her ear.
Buried deep within her with her soft buttocks cushioning his belly was the closest a man could
get to heaven and not be forced to don a pair of wings.
He fought the urge to simply drive himself mindlessly into her body. His movements
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were slow, sensual, keeping them both aroused, but doing nothing to bring them to release. But
her soft wiggling motions and the rhythmic clenching of her flesh frayed what little self control
he possessed. He clenched his teeth as he felt her shatter beneath him. Hearing her low cries of
completion destroyed what little restraint he had left. Her body bracing his, he drove into her,
hard, deep. Once, twice, three times…his head came up and he shouted as he came.
Trembling, he collapsed over her. Replete, he had absolutely no desire to move away
from her. He nuzzled her neck and the soft curve of her shoulder. Her curls tickled his nose as he
nibbled the back of her neck.
“That was fabulous,” Vivian purred.
“Aye, it was.” He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of the woman beneath him. His
body and soul were replete.
She gave a throaty chuckle. “I heard the funniest thing today.”
“What is that?”
“Brent said you were a—” a yawn broke off her words. “Vampire. Can you believe that?”
Sinjin froze, the warm afterglow of their lovemaking dashed like an incoming tide upon
the rocks. Beneath him, Vivian drifted into sleep as the dawn continued its inevitable arrival. He
slipped from her body to begin preparing for his dark sleep. And for the first time in centuries, he
cursed the way of life that would separate them in the daylight hours.
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Chapter 12
What a twenty-four hours it had been.
Vivian took a sip of her strong coffee, enjoying the kick of the bitter liquid as it flowed
over her tongue. The sun was bright overhead and, even though it was barely noon, the air was
growing dense with humidity.
Across the garden, Maeve was up to her elbows in dirt as she planted rose bushes.
Dressed in tattered jeans and a faded Cleveland Browns jersey, she looked as happy as anyone
could be in a pile of mud.
Vivian grinned. Almost as happy as she could be after a long night of good sex. She
couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she set her mug down on the table. Sinjin had been
everything she’d imagined and more. Uninhibited, passionate and tender, he was everything she
needed in a lover.
How about a husband?
She snorted. That wasn’t likely. He desired and respected her, but she was pretty sure he
wasn’t in love with her. If he was, why had she woken alone in his bed with only sunlight as her
companion? She picked up the mug again and grinned. Maybe he really was a vampire.
The rattle of the gate brought her attention to the far end of the courtyard. Maeve leapt
from the ground and darted to stand between Vivian and the newcomer.
Brent Draven approached and Vivian’s smile grew wider. “Welcome, Detective Draven.
May I introduce my friend, Maeve Leigh?”
He nodded at the other woman. “Ms. Leigh.”
Maeve gave him a curt nod. “Detective Draven.”
Vivian was surprised Brent didn’t offer his hand to shake as she’d expect him to do. Had
they met before?
“How are you feeling, Vivian?” Brent asked.
“I’m well, thank you for asking.”
Maeve gave her a measured look. “Will you be okay alone?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The woman gave Brent a cool look, almost as if she were warning him to be on his best
behavior. “I’ll be over in the rose bed. Just call if you need me.”
Brent sat in the chair Vivian indicated and shot Maeve’s retreating back an amused look.
“She’s very diligent.”
“She’s been a good friend.” Vivian reached for the pot of coffee. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Brent settled into his chair, his big rangy body comfortable in his own
skin. But he possessed a leashed sense of power and she knew that, no matter how
relaxed he
looked, he’d be ready to spring into the fray should it be necessary.
“We could all use a good friend from time to time,” he said.
She nodded, thinking of all the times she’d needed the support of her friends. “Indeed we
do.”
“Am I your friend, Vivian?”
She laughed. “I barely know you.”
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He nodded. “True enough.” He reached into a pocket and withdrew a slim notebook. “If
you don’t mind, I have a few questions.”
“Sure, shoot.”
He pulled a photo from the notebook. “Do you know this woman?”
Vivian looked at the paper he slid across the table. It was a color photo of the leather-
chick she’d seen on several occasions at the Chat with Sinjin.
“I don’t know her but I’ve seen her before.” She looked up. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Elena Vasquez.” He picked up the photo and tucked it away. “Do you
happen to know where she might be found?”
Vivian shook her head. “I’ve never spoken to her. She’s come into the Chat from time to
time to see Sinjin. He might have some idea of where to find her.” She cocked her head to the
side. “Is she a criminal?”
“She’s wanted for questioning.” He glanced around the dilapidated courtyard. “Have you
seen Sinjin today?”
“No, I don’t usually see him until late because he keeps such late hours.”
He turned back to her. “Have you thought about what we discussed at the hospital?”
“Sinjin being a vampire?” Vivian gave a soft laugh. “I’m not really sure what you hope to
gain by telling such a fib. Everyone knows that vampires don’t exist in the real world.”
“Ask him, Vivian.” A mechanical beeping sounded and Brent reached for his pager. “I
want you to ask him before it’s too late. If he does feel anything for you, he’ll tell you the truth.”
“He’ll think I’m crazy.”
“No, he won’t.” Brent rose from his seat. “Crazy or not, ask yourself this. Why haven’t
you ever seen him in the daylight? Have you ever seen him eat anything? Come to think of it,
have you seen any of the Chat employees eat anything?” He tapped the packet containing the
photo. “And ask him who Elena is.” He paused, his expression tight. “I’ll bet my badge that he
knows exactly what happened to you when you were mugged and why.”
“I don’t see—”
“Trust me, Vivian.”
Disturbed, she watched him leave as a shiver ran down her spine. What would make a
man, a police detective of all things, believe that another person could be a vampire? New
Orleans was known for being steeped in mysticism and magic, but vampires?
She looked across the courtyard to see Maeve staring at her, a troubled look in her eye.
Heart pounding, Vivian perched on the edge of her bed at the hotel. The sun was sinking
in the western sky and still no call from Shai. Where could she be?
She rubbed her hands down her arms, trying to rid herself of the chill that had settled in
shortly after Brent had left that afternoon. Part of her, the part nearest her heart, wanted to laugh
at the detective’s allegations. Who would believe that vampires could walk this earth?
But there were so many things left unanswered, thanks to the detective, and those were
the things that plagued her. She’d never seen Sinjin eat anything, though she had seen him drink
from his black coffee mug from time to time. What had he been drinking?
And what about Maeve? Did she know anything about what was going on? She was a
good friend of Sinjin’s and she’d claimed to be a friend of Shai’s as well.
As the last of the daylight faded from the sky, she picked up her cell phone. Since Shai
hadn’t returned her call, there was only one other person she could call.
“Hello?”
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“Jennifer? It’s Viv.”
“Viv!” There was no disguising the pleasure in Jennifer’s voice. “I’m so glad to hear
from you. Where are you?”
“I’m currently in New Orleans.”
“What are you doing there?”
“I was doing some research for Erihn and I ran into someone you might know.”
“Oh, really?” Jennifer gave an uneasy twitter. “I don’t know very many people in New
Orleans.”
“Maeve Leigh?”
“Oh, Maeve.” Her laugh was easy. “Yes, I know Maeve. How is she doing? I haven’t
heard from her in—”
“And Damien St. James.”
“Sinjin?” Jen’s voice faltered. “Where in the world did you run into him?”
Vivian’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you know him?”
“Yes. I’ve known him for years though I don’t know him very well.” There was a pause,
then the sound of an indrawn breath. “Oh, Viv, you didn’t….” In the background, she heard the
sound of something falling.
Vivian closed her eyes as pain washed over her. Whatever the truth was, Jennifer knew.
“Jen, if you’ve ever loved me, you need to tell me what the hell I’ve gotten myself into
down here.”
“You need to leave, Viv.” Jennifer took a deep breath. “Come to Colorado and, I swear,
I’ll tell you everything.”
“No, you need to tell me now.”
“Viv, please, I’m begging you—”
“Someone tried to kill me, Jen.” She heard a sound of distress from Jen, but Vivian didn’t
stop. “I have the right to know the truth.”
“I’ll call Shai and Erihn. Please come to Colorado and we can sit down and talk about
this—”
“Shai and Erihn are involved as well?” Her knees gave way and she slid off the side of
the bed, landing on the floor with a soft thump. She was dimly aware of Jennifer begging her to
pack and leave. But didn’t she understand that, finally, Vivian had fallen in love? A hysterical
laugh caught in her throat and threatened to choke her. She’d fallen in love and now her best
friend was begging her to walk away. How was that for irony?
“I want to know what’s going on, Jen. Either you tell me or I’ll find Sinjin and force him
to talk to me.”
Silence.
“Someone told me that Sinjin is a…” She struggled to get the word out. “Vampire. What
do you have to say to that, Jen?”
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, her voice a little sad.
“You can start by telling me that I’m crazy. That vampires don’t exist in the real world.”
There was a slight pause before Jennifer spoke. “I can’t tell you that, Vivian.”
She clutched the phone harder, her knuckles aching with the pressure. “Sure you can.
You just say, ‘you’re nuts, doll.’”
“You’re not crazy, Vivian. Vampires do exist.”
The room seemed to shudder around her and she put her hand down, her nails digging
into the carpet as she gripped it for balance. “How can—”
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“Vampires have been around since the time of the Pharaohs. I don’t know if anyone
really knows their origins but they’ve been the silent observers of the passage of time.”
“I don’t believe you.” Her chest ached with restrained emotions. “Why are you doing this
to me?”
“I never wanted you to know, Vivian. I love you. You’re my friend, but the reality is that
the human mind finds these things hard to comprehend, and that’s why we never said anything to
you.”
A dawning sense of horror washed over her. “Who is ‘we’?” she whispered.
“Erihn, Shai and I. We—”
“You’re all vampires?”
“No. There are several species of preternaturals who roam the earth.”
“What the hell does preternatural mean?”
“It means something that exists outside of nature. For humans, it’s anything that they
cannot wrap their brain around.”
“Are you trying to tell me that all of you—you, who’re supposed to be my friends— are
these preternaturals?”
“Yes.”
“What are you?”
“I’m called a revenant, an immortal.”
“You can’t be killed?”
“Well, no. I can be killed but it isn’t easy.”
“What about Shai and Erihn? Are they immortals as well?”
“Erihn is a were-cat.”
“A what?”
“A were-cat, similar to a werewolf only in cat form. As the full moon nears, she changes
form—”
“Uh huh, just like Lon Chaney and those characters she writes about. What about Shai?
What is she?”
“A vampire.”
Dazed, Vivian stared out the window of her hotel room. How could her best friends be
these preternatural creatures without her knowing it?
“When did all of this happen?”
“I’ve been a revenant since long before I met you. Shai, about twelve years, and Erihn,
around a year or so.”
“Val?”
“He’s a vampire.”
A sense of unreality set in. How could everyone around her be of another species and she
not know it? How was this even possible?
She cleared her throat. “And Sinjin?”
“He’s a vampire, Viv.” Jennifer sucked in a noisy breath. “Where are you? I’ll come
down with Erihn and we’ll pick you up and we can sit—”
Vivian hit the “end” button, cutting off Jennifer’s words, and closed her eyes against the
pain in her chest. She’d been fool enough to fall in love and what did she do? Fall in love with a
vampire, of all things. Yeah, he was the perfect man for her, another bloodsucker like her father,
only Sinjin was the real thing.
Tears ran down her face as a bitter sob broke in her throat. Limp, she slid to the carpet as
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sobs wracked her body. How could she have fallen in love with a man who not only lied to her,
but wasn’t even human?
On the floor, her cell phone rang, but she ignored it. It was probably Jennifer trying to get
a hold of her and she had nothing to say to her one-time friend. There was nothing left to say.
The phone fell silent and, slowly, her sobs died down. The room grew dark with
approaching night and still she lay on the floor, unable to move, barely able to breathe.
Slowly she calmed, her heart aching, but intact, her tears dried to a sticky film on her
cheeks. Exhausted, she struggled to rise from the floor. She couldn’t stay here any longer. She’d
return home to New York and pick up the tattered threads of her life as best she could.
She dialed the airlines and booked the first available flight out. Unfortunately it was to St.
Louis, but right now north was north and she’d take it. The more space she put between herself
and New Orleans, the better off she’d be.
As she packed, her cell phone rang several more times. Hardening her heart, she ignored
it. She had nothing to say to Shai, Jen or Erihn right now. Of course, it could be someone else.
She picked up the phone and frowned when she saw her stepbrother’s home number on it.
“Stephen?”
“Viv, Christ—I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.”
“Well, you succeeded.” She balled several silk shirts and stuffed them into the case.
“I need you to come home right away. We have trouble with the business.”
“I’m on my way. I have a flight booked for later this evening.”
“You have?” The relief was evident in his voice.
She was leaving New Orleans. Hands trembling, she snapped her suitcases shut. Was she
actually going to leave without confronting Sinjin with what she’d been told? What happened to
her vow of living her life with truth? The old Viv would have walked away without a backward
glance. She’d have chalked up this mess to yet another bad decision of which she was glad to be
rid.
The new Vivian, the woman she was now, wanted the chance to confront the man who’d
broken her heart.
“Vivian? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“I asked if I should send a car?”
“Yes, send it to the Chat Noir at eleven p.m.” Vivian gave him the address of the club.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Brent scowled as he walked down Bourbon Street. He’d lost sight of Elena Vasquez in
the crowds and nothing annoyed him more than losing his quarry. Vasquez was a suspect in a
series of burglaries that had taken place over three years ago. When he’d first seen her at the
Chat two nights ago, his heart had almost stopped. Now, after losing her, it had almost stopped
again.
His phone rang as he approached his car. He pulled the cell phone from his belt holder
and flipped it open. “Draven.”
“Detective Draven? This is Detective Grant with district two.”
“Evening, Detective, what can I do for you?” Draven reached his car and unlocked the
door.
“I have some information on one of your cases. You’re the detective in charge of the
Janee Reynolds murder?”
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“The woman who was found in the dumpster?” He slid behind the wheel of his car. “Yes,
that’s mine. What do you have for me?”
“On the same day we had a similar murder in our district. The woman’s body was found
in a mall and her throat had been slashed. I was reviewing the inventory of items found at your
murder scene and I think I may have found a similarity between the two crimes.”
Silently Brent cursed. He was swamped with his current caseload and he’d meant to
compare the two inventories himself earlier in the day. But the lead on Elena had come in and
he’d kicked everything else to the curb. “What would that be?”
“Both women had past criminal records for petty theft and credit card fraud. Both were
found with multiple stolen credit cards in their possession and each women had a card with the
name of Vivian Carrington.” Brent heard the rustle of paper over the pounding of his heart. “I
have here on your list that there were multiple receipts. Have you looked into what credit cards
were used that day?”
“Yes, but I don’t have that paperwork in front of me.”
“Well, look into that and get back to me. My victim was using Ms. Carrington’s cards
just twenty minutes before she was killed. If your victim was using those cards as well, we might
have more on our hands than just a couple of murders.”
Brent thanked the detective and hung up, his mind racing. If both women had used
Vivian’s cards just prior to their deaths, what did that mean? Was someone stalking Vivian? If
so, who was it?
He gunned the motor and put the car into drive. Whatever was going on, he needed to
find Vivian fast.
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Chapter 13
“Where are they?”
Brent Draven stood in Sinjin’s office door and his expression was dark. Sinjin tamped
down the mild irritation that had reared its ugly head at the sight of the detective.
“Define ‘they’.” Sinjin laid the diary pages he’d been studying face down on his desk. He
couldn’t concentrate when he didn’t know where Vivian had gone. The cursed woman hadn’t
bothered to leave a note.
“Vivian Carrington and Elena Vasquez,” Brent said
Sinjin frowned. How did the detective know Elena and what did he want wi
th her? “I
have no idea. I’ve been calling all over town.”
Brent advanced into the room. “How long have you known her?”
“A little over a week, I guess.” Sinjin shrugged.
“Did you approach her or did she approach you?”
“Why do ye want to know?” Sinjin shot back. He was getting a little tired of the
detective’s inquisition.
“Just answer the question.”
“Are ye here in an official capacity?” He rose from behind the desk and leaned forward,
palms down on the polished top. “If ye are, I dinna remember seeing yer badge nor a warrant.”
“I don’t need a warrant to ask a few questions… in an official capac
ity, of course.”
Brent’s eyes glinted with a combative light as he advanced into the room, stopping when he
reached the opposite side of the desk. “I can always take you downtown if that will help jog your
memory.”
Sinjin could scarcely believe what he was hearing and he fought the urge to leap over the
desk and rip the other man’s throat out. Was Draven threatening to arrest him? The last thing he
could afford to do was to end up in jail. Not only would it be disastrous if he didn’t manage to
get himself released by sunrise, he wouldn’t be able to wait for Vivian’s call. Where the devil
was the woman?
“I spoke to her first.” He gave the detective a look he hoped would let Brent know in no
uncertain terms that he’d get back at him for this impromptu questioning. “She’d been
frequenting the Chat and I was intrigued the first time I saw her.” He shuffled the copies then
slid the pages into a folder before dropping them into an open drawer.
“Did she mention anything about a moonstone necklace?”
He frowned. “Nae. Why would Vivian mention a necklace to me?”
“I’m not talking about Vivian.”
“Who are ye talking about?”
“Elena.”
Sinjin shook his head. “Why are ye looking for Elena?”
“Yes, why are you looking for the lovely Elena?” Miles stood in the doorway, his gaze
fixed on the detective and, in his hand, he held a semi-automatic pistol, th
e muzzle trained on
Brent’s head.
“Good evening, Miles.” Sinjin silently cursed the fact that Brent had managed to distract
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him so an immortal could sneak in. As a vampire, Sinjin didn’t have much to fear from a gun.
However, Brent was mortal and highly susceptible to the damage bullets could inflict. He nudged
the drawer shut with his leg, secreting away the diary pages. “What can I do for ye?”
“I think you already know.” Miles stepped into the room, waving the muzzle of the gun at
Brent, motioning him to move away from the desk. “Empty your pockets and put your weapons
on the desk.”
Sinjin glanced at Brent and saw that the detective’s gaze was focused on the barrel of
Miles’ gun. He put a hand up as if to pacify Miles by showing him how harmless he was. “I think
we should talk about what you’re about to do—”
“No discussion is needed,” Miles said. “Empty your pockets and holster or she dies.”
Another man stepped into the room, pulling a smaller figure behind him. Long dark hair
hung in a ragged braid and, in a glance, Sinjin knew it was Elena. Her lower lip was split and her
chin marred with blood. Her right eye was blackened and swollen shut. Bruises and abrasions
marred her throat where a rope was tied like a dog leash. Her wrists were secured and chained to
her waist.
The new arrival shoved Elena in front of him before propelling her to sit on the couch by
using the rope around her throat like the reins of a horse. After she was seated, he withdrew a
small revolver and placed it against the side of her neck.
“This one contains silver bullets, if you get my meaning,” he said.
Brent glanced at Sinjin, his gaze clearly asking for direction in this situation. Sinjin gave
the detective a slight nod. Brent may be in charge on the streets of New Orleans, but Sinjin was
dealing with his own kind, something with which the detective had little to no experience. It was
up to him to guide them all through the situation unharmed.
Sinjin looked at Elena. “Are ye all right?”
The eye that wasn’t swollen shut narrowed and she gave a jerky nod, her chin elevated to
a haughty angle.
His lips tightened. No woman should have to endure what had been inflicted upon her.
Granted, she’d placed herself in harm’s way by stealing the diary in the first place and that put
her square in the middle of the playing field. But enough was enough. Werewolves were sturdy
creatures, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t feel pain and he could feel her pain and outrage
even across the room.
Sinjin moved around the desk as Brent removed a .40 H&K handgun from his shoulder
holster. Holding it by two fingers, he laid it on the corner of desk.
“What do ye want, Miles?” Sinjin leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his
chest as if revenants entered his office with guns on a regular basis.
“You know exactly what I want. Turn over the diary and we’ll walk away.”
Sinjin knew better than to think Miles would let any of them go unscathed. “The diary is
at my house.”
“And the other one, detective?” Miles gave Brent an unpleasant smile.
The detective raised his leg, then tugged up his pant leg to remove a small, 9 mm semi-
automatic from his ankle holster. He laid it beside the first firearm on the desk.
“Then we’ll take a trip to your house, St. James,” the other man said.
“I seem to be at a disadvantage here. Ye know who I am and I have no idea who ye are.”
He gave Sinjin an unpleasant smile. “Gerald Lowery, at your service.”
“Cut the crap,” Miles snarled. “I have a car out back.”
Sinjin nodded toward Elena and Brent. “Shall I tie up these two before we leave?”
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“You don’t think they’d enjoy the chance to get some fresh air?” Miles shot Gerald an
amused glance.
“Nae.”
“Too bad, they’re going.” Miles nodded toward the detective. “And the rest?”
Brent muttered something uncomplimentary as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a
folded knife. He placed it next to the guns.
“Do ye have enough hardware?” Sinjin asked.
“Not nearly enough,” Brent replied. He looked from Miles to Gerald, then back again, his
gaze assessing. “Would someone mind telling me why I’m being held at gunpoint?”
“All in due time.” Gerald yanked Elena from the couch by tightening the rope around her
neck. She made a choking noise and staggered to her feet, off balance because her hands were
secured to her waist. Gerald laughed as she struggled to remain upright.
“St. James, you go first.” Miles motioned Gerald away from the door.
Sinjin walked down the steps leaving the others to follow, grateful for the first time that
night Vivian wasn’t around.
Vivian stood in front of the Chat, her bag tossed over one shoulder and her stomach
crowded with butterflies. Swallowing her nervousness, she walked into the familiar chaos of the
restaurant. One glance told her that Sinjin wasn’t behind the bar. Avoiding the milling crowd,
she made her way to the stairway and jogged up to his office.
The door was open and she stuck her head in. “Sinjin?”
The room was cluttered and he was nowhere in sight. She walked into the room, her gaze
catching on the unfamiliar sight of two guns and a folding knife on the desk. What the devil was
he doing with guns on his desk? She didn’t remember ever seeing a gun here or at his home.
Why would anyone leave weapons just sitting out in the open? Even a neophyte like her knew
that they should be secured with locks or safely stowed away.
The nervousness in her stomach turned to unease. She needed to find Sinjin and soon. As
she neared the door, she saw several spots on the wood floor. She ran her fingers over them and
found the spots were still damp. She lifted her fingers and looked at the red streaks. It sure
looked like blood to her.
Alarmed, she fished a tissue from her bag, then she ran downstairs. As she entered the
restaurant, she spied Tracey at the bar talking to Julius. “Have you seen Sinjin?”
“No.” Tracey’s expression was troubled and she shot an uneasy glance at Julius.
“Is something going on that I should know about?”
“No.” The waitress turned away from her. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
Vivian grabbed her by the arm and swung her around, pinning her to the bar. “Because I
found blood on the floor upstairs.” She held up the tissue, watching the way Tracey’s eyes
widened when she saw the red stains.
“He went out back with several other men,” Julius said.
Vivian released the waitress. “Thanks.”
“I don’t think you should follow him,” Tracey said. “You need to stay out of this. It’s too
dangerous.”
“You haven’t begun to see dangerous yet.“
She slipped through the kitchen and to the back door. In the alley, a dark sedan was idling
and a tall brown-haired man was getting into the car. Her blood froze as she recognized him. It
was one of her attackers. On the passenger side, she saw her other attacker getting in as well.
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Through the back window she caught a glimpse of Sinjin and another man… Was that
Brent beside him? The overhead light reflected off something shiny in the tall man’s hand.
A gun.
Ohmygod! Were they being kidnapped? Should she call the police? What would she tell
them? Hell, Brent was the police.
Before she could formulate another thought, the brake lights flashed as the car was put
into drive. Vivian noted the direction of their departure before she ran back through the Chat and
up the office stairs. She glanced at her watch. If her stepbrother was as efficient as usual, her car
would be waiting out front.
She darted into Sinjin’s office, heading for his desk where the guns rested. She tossed her
bag on the couch as she passed. Luckily, she knew a little bit about handling weapons and she
was pretty sure she could avoid shooting her foot off. Without a second thought, she grabbed
both guns and the knife before she ran back downstairs. She should be able to get to her car and
follow the others.
She darted out into the street and ran toward where a black Cadillac was idling in park.
The driver rolled down the window as she approached. “Vivian Carrington?” he asked.
His eyes widened when he caught sight of the weapons she held clutched in her hands.
She nodded and literally dove into the back seat, slamming the door behind her.
“What’s the matter, lady?” he asked. “Is someone chasing you?”
“A car will be coming down the street, dark sedan with several men in it,” she panted.
“Follow them.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Vivian peeked over the car door as the sedan slid by. “No, I’m not.” She pointed the gun
at him. “Does this look like I’m kidding? Follow them and you’ll get a really big tip.”
The driver gave an excited yelp and, with trembling hands, put the Cadillac into drive,
pulling out behind the other car. Vivian slouched in the back seat, her gaze glued to the taillights
ahead. They followed at a modest distance for several blocks until the sedan slid to a halt in front
of Sinjin’s home.
“Pull around and up the street a bit. I don’t want them to see me.”
Vivian was glad it was full dark as the occupants wouldn’t be able to see her clearly. Her
driver pulled to a stop a half block north of Sinjin’s house. She peered out the back window as
Sinjin and his group exited the car.
The smallest of the group had a rope around their neck. The shorter of her attackers gave
the rope a vicious jerk sending his victim stumbling. Brent reached out and helped pull them
upright. Was that leather-chick being led by the leash? From this distance, Vivian couldn’t be
sure.
As they entered the house, she reached into her pocket and tossed a handful of twenties at
the driver. “Sorry I pointed a gun at you, I guess I got a little excited.”
The driver picked up the crumpled bills. “Jeez, lady, next time just say please.”
Vivian wanted to laugh and cry at the same time as she exited the car. The night was
warm, humidity thick in the air. The bigger gun dug into her stomach as she ran through the
yards toward Sinjin’s property, clutching the smaller gun in one sweaty palm.
She tiptoed across the veranda, praying the old wood wouldn’t squeak and give her away.
The front door was closed and she slipped it open, holding her breath as the aged hinges gave a
minute squeak. The front hall was empty and she caught sight of the smaller man rounding the
corner into the library. She entered, leaving the door open as she didn’t want to take a chance on
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another, louder noise giving her away.
Now what? She was in the house, she had a gun, but what did she do?
She jumped when a movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.
Clutching the gun, she turned to find herself staring into a mirror, the gun aimed at her reflected
midsection. With a sigh, she dropped her defensive stance.
In the mirror was a Vivian Carrington she’d never seen before. Hair was untidy with soft
wisps that had come lose from her twist and curled around her face. Her skin was deathly pale
and her bruises stood out in stark contrast. Her shadowed eyes were huge with fear.
This most definitely wasn’t the Vivian Carrington who ran one of the largest corporations
in America. This wasn’t the woman who’d faced down overfed males who’d tried to wrest the
company from her grasp when her father had died. This wasn’t the young girl who’d loved and
lost. This wasn’t the woman who’d buried her best friend only a few months ago. This wasn’t the
woman who’d lain with her lover only hours before.
This was the face of a woman who was prepared to fight to the death for the man she
loved.
She straightened and laid her gun on the hallstand. Running a hand over her hair, she
removed the clip and the mass of curls tumbled to her shoulders. Tugging the shirt from her
jeans, she turned and checked to see that the other gun was concealed in the small of her back
before she tucked the smaller one down the front of her pants. She then unbuttoned the top two
buttons of her shirt to display her cleavage.
Hands trembling, she pinched her cheeks and rubbed her lips to give them a touch of
color. In her life, she’d faced down lawyers trying to take her money and environmentalists who
believed CI was destroying the atmosphere, along with several kidnapping threats.
Vivian Carrington was a woman who could handle a few bad guys with guns.
She hoped.
Sinjin heard the soft tread on the steps just moments before her gingery perfume wrapped
itself around his senses. His grip tightened on the diary, which he’d just removed from the safe.
Not now, not yet…
“Sinjin, I know you’re up here and I’m coming to get you…”
Vivian breezed through the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in the people in the
library. “Heavens, a party and I wasn’t invited?”
“Vivian—” Sinjin started.
“Brent!” A huge smile graced her mouth as she crossed the room and flung her arms
around the detective, pressing her body against his. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you,
my friend?”
Sinjin caught the look of surprise on the detective’s face as he hugged her, his arms
wrapping around her waist. “It’s mighty good to see you, too, Vivian.” He gave her a secretive
smile, then swung her behind him, effectively shielding her from any threat that might come
from their captors. The momentum of his move propelled Vivian toward the window. As she
neared it, all hell broke loose.
The window exploded inward with a shower of glass and bullets as Vivian and Brent fell.
Bullets sprayed the wall near Sinjin and he dove to the floor as rounds of ammunition pinged off
the safe door to ricochet around the room. He looked up in time to see Miles dive for Vivian as
Gerald dropped to the ground pulling Elena in front of him to act as a shield.
Across the room, Brent was trying to cover Vivian with his body, but Miles had grabbed
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her arm and was tugging her toward him. The rain of bullets from outside stopped.
“What the hell was that?” Gerald raged.
“I’ll fucking kill her if you don’t turn over the diary.” Miles pointed the gun at Vivian’s
head.
Sinjin inched across the floor toward Vivian. “Wait, ye can have—”
“Go ahead and kill her,” another voice spoke from the doorway. “You’ll save me
ammunition if you do.” A slim man dressed in black stood in the entrance, a handgun in each
hand. A strap over his shoulder supported the MP5 assault rifle at his hip—what he’d used to
spray the room no doubt. One handgun was trained on Vivian, the other on Miles.
“Who the hell are you?” Miles snarled.
“The man sent to deal with her.” He waggled the gun that pointed toward Vivian.
“Someone is trying to kill me?” she squeaked.
The man gave her an unpleasant smile. “I don’t just try, darlin’, I succeed.”
One problem at a time…
Sinjin sat up and held the diary so that everyone in the room could see it. “I have the
book right here, Miles. If ye want it, ye have to let them go.”
“Hand me the book first,” Miles ordered.
“Not on yer life.” He nodded toward Vivian. “Release her and I’ll hand it to Gerald.”
“Yeah, Miles,” the newcomer taunted, “release her so I can finish my job and collect my
pay.” He chuckled.
Miles ignored his words and released his grip on Vivian’s arm. Brent immediately pulled
her away, tucking her behind the dubious shelter of a chair and his fragile mortal body.
“Now, hand over the book, St. James,” Miles said.
“Let her go as well.” He nodded toward Gerald where Elena was still being used as a
shield.
“You’ve received all the concessions you’ll get from me,” Miles said. “Give up the diary
or pay the consequences.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sinjin saw Brent rise from his position behind the chair
while Vivian remained crouched on the floor. The detective gave Sinjin a subtle nod,
encouraging him to release the diary. What did Brent have up his sleeve?
There was only one way to find out.
Sinjin tossed the diary to Gerald, forcing him to release Elena in order to catch it. He
knew he’d just thrown away his only bargaining chip, but they were at a stalemate. What other
choices did he have?
“Is it authentic?” Miles asked.
Gerald flipped through a few pages. “Sure looks like it.” Excitement made his voice
sharp, squeaky.
“Our work is done here. We’ll take her with us.” He pointed to Elena who was trying to
inch away from them toward Sinjin’s desk.
“Leave her,” Brent protested. “You have what you want. Leave her behind.”
“What do you care about the life of a she-wolf, mortal? She’d kill you for fresh meat and
never bat an eye.” Miles pulled Gerald to his feet, while the man never stopped flipping through
the diary as he scanned the pages. Sinjin felt sick about the thought of that book ending up in
Mikhail’s hands again.
“She’s an insurance policy that you won’t try to follow us. If you do, she dies,” Miles
said.
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Sinjin stifled a protest as Gerald tucked the book into his jacket before he hauled Elena to
her feet, using the barbaric rope. Her eyes were heated, her teeth bared as she was pulled toward
the door. Heaven help the little pipsqueak if she ever got her hands on him.
The newcomer stepped to the side as Gerald and Elena passed. His expression was
curious, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t seem inclined to stop them from leaving either.
Miles paused beside him near the doorway. “You might want to know something about
the detective over there.” He nodded toward Brent. “He has a gun.”
The gunman’s expression turned to one of surprise as Brent pulled out the gun and fired
at his chest. Miles darted out of sight and down the steps as Sinjin dove toward Vivian, using his
body as a shield as a volley of bullets tore into the walls overhead. A bullet whistled past his ear
and he huddled tighter to his woman, silently praying that she survive the melee.
A few seconds and quite a few shots later, he heard a low moan and a solid thud. Sinjin
raised his head to see the gunman lying across the doorway.
“Are you okay?” he asked Vivian.
Vivan gave a shaky nod and Sinjin leapt to his feet. Brent had approached the gunman
and he was moving the man’s armaments to a safe distance. One glance at the two gruesome
headshots and Sinjin knew this killer wasn’t going to rise again. Sinjin grabbed the MP5. It
wasn’t as if the dead guy would need it anymore.
As he ran down the steps, he heard the wail of police sirens. Brent had fished a cell phone
out of his pocket and was shouting information into it as they ran for the street.
Sinjin skidded to a halt as the taillights sped down the street only to fade into the
darkness many blocks away. His head dropped, his breath raged through his lungs. Miles and
Gerald had gotten away again with the diary and Elena was their hostage. He ran his hand
through his hair.
“Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
Sinjin slid the strap of the MP5 over his shoulder before he turned and looked at Brent.
Curling his hand into a fist, he let if fly toward the detective’s face, clipping him neatly on the
jaw. Brent fell, landing in the middle of the street with a surprised look on his face.
“That was for trying to arrest me, ye asshole,” Sinjin snarled. He opened his mouth to
continue when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Vivian stood in the
doorway, backlit by the hall chandelier. Arms wrapped around her waist, she was searching the
darkness for him, her expression anxious.
When she caught sight of him, the worry faded and a relieved smile took its place. She
leaned against the doorway and he shuddered at the thought of how close he’d come to losing her
tonight. If it weren’t for the quick action of Brent, she might be dead right now and he’d never
know the feeling of a full heart.
He looked down at the stunned detective. “Thank ye for saving her life. I owe ye a debt
that I can ne’er pay.” Sinjin held out his hand to Brent and helped him to his feet.
“I’ll get you for that.” Brent rubbed his jaw.
“I relish the challenge.” He grinned at the disgruntled officer and slapped him on the
back. “And, no, I dinna want to tell ye what is going on.” Sinjin looked at Vivian waiting for him
in the doorway. “Right now I have something else I need to do and that’s all ye need to know.”
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Chapter 14
“How long will this take?”
Sinjin watched as Elena paced the room like a woman possessed. Her movements were
frenetic, anxious. Even though only twenty-four hours had passed since the destruction of his
home, her bruises had already faded quite a bit. The mark on her lip was still visible and her eye
still blackened, but in another day or so, her injuries would be gone and none would be the wiser.
The same couldn’t be said for Gerald. Elena told him that she’d al
most ripped his head
off the moment he made the mistake of loosening her bonds. One bad revenant dead leaving
hundreds more to hunt down. But he sincerely hoped it never came down to all out war. No one
would win that battle.
“I canna answer ye, Elena.” He returned his attention to scrubbing the bloodstains from
the doorway of his shattered library. “The diary isn’t like reading a regular book. The events
aren’t in order and there are multiple languages involved.” He dipped his bloodied sponge into a
bucket containing a mixture of disinfectant and water.
“Time is against us,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “Against us or not, I need time.” He scrubbed at the doorframe.
Inwardly, he shuddered at the thought of how close he’d come to losing Vivian last night. One
glance at the multitude of bullet holes attested to Anthony’s determination to destroy her. Even
the cops seemed to be shocked at the sheer fury that had taken place in this room.
Now Vivian slept in his bed, untouched. He waited for her to awaken so t
hey could air
the differences between them. Did she love him? He was pretty sure she did but, did she love
him enough to sacrifice her mortal life for an immortal one?
“Are you listening to me?” Elena stood in front of him, her fists on slim hips.
“Nae. Ye blather too much, woman.” Sinjin tossed the sponge in the bucket, not caring
that the blood-tinged water slopped out and onto the floor he’d just cleaned. “I told ye that I need
time. I canna guarantee the diary contains the information ye seek and yer hounding me will do
no good.”
Her eyes narrowed and she scowled as she pointed one long slim finger at him. “Now
you listen here—”
“Nae.” He stripped off the rubber gloves and rose, pushing her hand away. “Ye listen
here. Yer days of dictating the use of the diary are ov’r. We no longer have the diary as Miles has
taken it and we’re left with a copy—”
“Which you wouldn’t have if I hadn’t given you the diary in the first place.” She whirled
away from him. “The diary that you promptly lost—”
“That is so like a woman.” It was all he could do to avoid launching himself at her throat.
“I had to give up the diary or we were all lost, ye fool. Miles had us against the wall and—”
“Oh for crying out loud, why don’t the two of you just whip them out and compare to see
who the real tough guy is in this room?”
Both Sinjin and Elena turned to see Vivian standing in the hall. Her dark curls were
tumbled from her restless sleep and she wore the same clothes, now rumpl
ed, that she’d had from
the day before. Her dark eyes were shadowed and her pale skin was flushed with anger.
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“How dare you—” Elena marched toward Vivian.
Sensing eminent attack, Sinjin stepped between the two women, halting the wolf with his
arm. “Back off, Elena.”
She scowled at him. “I know you didn’t just tell me to back off—”
“Ye heard me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Getting into a fight with Vivian isn’t
going to get ye the information from the diary any faster. I need time and that’s that. I would
suggest ye locate yer brother and let him know what’s going on as this affects him as well. Not to
mention that the police are still looking for ye. A burglary charge, I believe?”
The look on her face clearly said that she resented the suggestion that she leave. Her lips
thinned and her dark eyes flashed, then she shook off his restraining arm. She straightened her
black leather jacket and walked around him toward the door.
Vivian moved into the room, careful to avoid the bloody water both in the bucket and on
the floor. As they passed, Elena paused. “Watch your back, mortal.”
Vivian rolled her eyes. “You are the least of my worries.”
Elena glanced at Sinjin, then back to Vivian. She gave an unpleasant chuckle. “Don’t
count on it.” Her footsteps echoed on the polished wood as she exited the room and ran down the
steps. A few seconds later, the front door slammed shut.
“Well,” Vivian drawled. “That was certainly pleasant.”
“Encounters with Elena always are.”
Her brow arched. “Have you known her long?”
“Nae. Just a few days.”
She moved to an open window, her tone casual. “I assume she’s not… normal.”
Uh oh, dangerous ground here.
“Define, normal.”
“Human.”
Sinjin nodded. “Ye’re correct, she’s not human.”
“What is she?” Vivian sat on the windowsill, her eyes trained on his face. He saw
indecision and confusion lingering in their depths.
“She’s a werewolf.”
She tilted her head to the side. “A werewolf? She gets furry once a month?”
“Aye.”
“I spoke to Jennifer last night and she told me everything.” Her gaze slid away to fix
upon the bloody mess in the doorway. “How am I supposed to comprehend all of this?” She
shook her head slowly. ”How am I supposed to react when a v-v-vampire tells me that I was just
arguing with a w-w-werewolf?” She ran her hand through her tumbled curls and he saw she was
trembling. His heart broke for her. “I just—”
“Vivian?”
“I can’t even begin—”
“VIVIAN.”
She jerked at his raised voice, her gaze swung around to meet his. “What?”
“Can I say something?”
Mute, she nodded.
Sinjin approached, stopping when she straightened. She was on the defensive and he
couldn’t blame her one bit. He sank to the carpet, arranging himself Indian style. By putting
himself in a subordinate position, hopefully he could alleviate some of her unease.
“I’m sorry ye were caught in this. I’m sorry that someone was trying to kill ye. I’m sorry
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that ye were frightened and ye got hurt.” He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.
“But do ye know about what I’m sorry the most?”
She shook her head.
“That I lied to ye. I know better than to involve a human on any level other than in a
completely superficial relationship. But the first time I saw ye, I was drawn to ye. I think I just
might have fallen in love with ye that first night when ye told me ye came to New Orleans to find
yerself.” He smiled at the memory. “I’ve never felt anything like it. Before I knew what had
happened, ye were in my arms and it all felt so right.” He shook his head. “Then along came
Elena with the diary and things fell apart before I knew it.”
“What’s in the diary? Why does everyone want it?”
“It has information vital to the existence of the preternaturals. Do ye know what that
means?”
Vivian nodded. “Jennifer explained a little…”
“There’s a vampire who seeks to destroy the Council of Elders—that is our ruling body–
our congress if ye will. The book contains historical information about the various races, the
origins and, we believe, information about how to engineer their downfall.”
“So the diary is very important.”
He nodded.
“And there are still people who are still looking for it?”
“Aye, probably thousands. Many would return the book to the council, some would give
it to Mikhail, and others still who would use it for their own purposes. The book might hold the
keys to the kingdom or only recipes, we dinna know for sure.”
“And you have a copy of it?”
“Aye. I made a copy.” With your taste lingering in my mouth as you lay sleeping in my
bed.
“Does this put you in danger?”
He shrugged. “Other than the council, no one knows I have it. I’d say I’m not in any
more danger than I was before.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist, clearly uncomfortable. “What is it like being a
vampire?”
Sinjin settled his back against his desk and stretched out his long legs. He had the feeling
he was going to be here for a while. “Not much different than being human. I eat, I sleep, I feel
pain and I love.”
Her gaze shifted away. “But you drink blood.”
“Aye.”
“From humans?”
“Not always. There are those who donate.”
Her gaze slid back to his, her expression curious. “Like a vampire blood bank?”
He nodded. “Ye could say that.”
“And you sleep during the day?”
“For the most part. A young vampire sleeps from the moment the sun rises until it sets
again. I’m a few hundred years old. As long as I’m underground, I can stay awake for an hour or
so after the sunrise.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Being human?” He nodded. “Sure. I miss eating food, drinking wine. I miss the feeling
of sunlight on my skin. But do ye want to know what the hardest part is?”
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She nodded, her gaze wary.
“Losing those I love. If they’re mortal, they’re destined to die before me. That’s the
hardest part, when they leave and I’m alone.”
Vivian swallowed hard, her eyes turning glossy with unshed tears. “What about a
reve…” She stumbled over the world.
“Revenant? They’re immortal. They will live fore’er as long as someone doesn’t separate
their head from their body or remove their heart. They’re pretty hard to kill and they can easily
live as long as a vampire.”
“How are they created?”
“In most cases, they’re fashioned by a vampire, though some have been born from two
immortal parents.”
She frowned. “How does a vampire create them?”
“It’s actually quite easy. The vampire chooses a willing subject and drinks from them
three times. It’s the first steps of the vampire transformation ritual, but the process isn’t
completed. This transformation was discovered by accident over a thousand years ago when
someone who’d initially agreed to transform changed their mind.”
“An incomplete transformation?”
“Aye.”
“That’s it?”
He nodded.
“Have you transformed anyone?”
“Only one.”
“Bliss,” she said.
“Aye. She’d decided to become a revenant and stay with me.”
“But she didn’t?”
“Nae.”
“She left because she loved you and wished to spare your life.”
Sinjin’s throat tightened and he nodded, mute.
Vivian was silent for a moment. He could sense that she had a million questions running
through her head and was struggling to decide which to ask him next.
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Nae, not from feeding. Being a vampire isn’t like the movies. It doesn’t hurt the donor if
it’s done right and we dinna kill indiscriminately.”
“But have you killed someone?”
“Aye.”
“Do I have anything to fear from you?”
“Nae.” He shook his head. “I’d die before I’d e’er hurt you, you have to believe that. The
reality is that the preternaturals live in a dangerous world, my love.” He looked down at the
palms of his hands, hands that had killed humans and preternaturals alike. “For us, it isn’t always
a question of right and wrong. Sometimes it’s a question of life and death, and we have to fight
for the survival of the whole group.”
She shivered. “It sounds like a brutal world.”
“Aye, ’tis true, but no more than yers. Mortals have humans who plot terrorist activities
to strike at a government they perceive as being evil. They kill thousands of innocents who only
want to work and raise their families and enjoy their lives. Women die in the marketplace in the
Middle East because they’ve left their homes to buy food for their families. And for what?” His
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gaze pierced hers. “The difference in our world is that, most of the time, we know what we’re
fighting for and against. The bad guys may not wear black hats, but they come close enough.”
“It still sounds so frightening.”
“Think about this, Vivian. As a vampire or immortal, ye can live forever. Ye watch time
pass, and you can participate in it as it happens. Ye have a front seat to history.”
“And what about us?” Her arms tightened around her waist. “What happens to us,
Sinjin?”
“We go forward into the great unknown as all living beings do. Where do ye want us to
go?” He held his breath as he prayed for the answer he most wanted to hear.
“I don’t know, Sinjin.” She pushed away from the window and approached, dropping into
a crouch in front of him. She shook her head. “I don’t know where we go from here.”
“I canna make the decision for ye, it is yers and yers alone. Know that ye dinna have to
make any decisions today.” His hands ached to reach for her, to hold her in his arms. “For now,
I’ll be content to hear that ye love me. If ye can go that far, everything else can be decided in the
future.”
She bit her lip. “And you’ll abide by my decision, no matter what?”
His gut tightened. “Aye.”
“I love you, Sinjin, but I’m just not sure about this whole vampire thing—”
Sinjin gave a yelp as triumph rushed through him. She loved him and that was all that
mattered. He grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her off balance until she landed in his lap.
Sliding his arms around her, he buried his nose in her fragrant hair.
“What’s not to like about being a vampire?” his words were muffled against her skin.
“The whole blood thing sort of nauseates me.” She slid her arm around his neck.
He nodded. “I understand.”
“I need to think about this,” she said.
“Think hard and long, but not too long. I dinna want to take the chance of losing ye.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “And I, you.” They sat quietly for a few moments,
enjoying the stillness of the evening in the remains of his library. Outside the cicadas sang their
night song as the house settled around them.
Vivian stirred. “How about a revenant? Are they strong?”
“Physically? Depends upon yer body structure.” He kissed her forehead. “Ye’re pretty
sturdy, so I’d say you’d manage fine.”
“Would I be strong enough to kick Elena’s ass?”
Sinjin tipped his head back and laughed, his arms nearly as full as his heart.
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Epilogue
Los Angeles, CA
Three months later
After tonight, all will be different. She would be different.
Vivian tipped her head back, allowing the golden light to wash over her skin. Tonight,
she would receive the dark kiss from Sinjin. She’d thought long and hard about this decision
over the past few months. Becoming a vampire was out of the question as she enjoyed her wine
too much to be forced to give it up for all eternity. So instead, she was to become a revenant.
How better to prove her love for Sinjin than to become the gatekeeper, the person who guarded
his lair while he slept?
A shiver of reaction whispered down her spine. Who would have thought that at the age
of forty-four she’d give up her mortal life for an immortal one with the lover of her dreams?
She smiled as she picked up the large bouquet of yellow roses from the backseat of the
limousine. Life definitely had taken some fascinating twists and turns lately. She could hardly
wait to see what came next.
The gravel crunched under her sandals as she approached the burial chamber whe
re
Melanie and Ray rested for eternity. On each side of the doorway was a series of step-like
shelves specifically built for floral tributes. Every inch was crammed full from admirers from all
over the world. She smiled as she scanned the handwritten notes, most in
English, though one
looked like Farsi and another was Chinese. Several candles burned, their feeble light dimmed by
the brilliance of the sun overhead.
Near the door was a marble bench engraved with Melanie’s and Ray’s names. She sank
onto the hard stone surface, resting the flowers on her knees. Her gaze flickered across the
multitude of flowers, teddy bears, candles and letters scattered near the miniscule building.
Did Melanie know how much she was loved by the world?
Yes…
Did it mean as much to her as the love of one man, her husband Ray?
Not on your life…
Vivian smiled. Now she, too, understood what Mel had talked about all th
e years she’d
been married to Ray. How it felt to know that her man would always be there, waiting for her,
loving her in spite of anything she did or any mistakes she might make. True love was
unconditional.
The last few months had proven that to her. The police had determined th
at it was her
stepmother, Felicity, who’d hired the gunman to kill her. While there’d been no love lost
between Felicity and herself, it still had come as a shock to realize that the woman had wanted
her dead. Her children had been devastated at their mother’s actions
and Vivian felt sorry for
them. Felicity may not have been much of a parent, but she was all they knew. At least Vivian
had some good memories of her own mother to cling to. They had nothing.
After having confessed to her crime, Felicity now sat in prison, stripped of her worldly
possessions.
So long, stepmonster.
For the past few months, Sinjin and his assistant had spent most of their time poring over
Page No 99
Temptation by J. C. Wilder
99
the copied diary pages, trying to make sense of them. Progress was slow, but they all had high
hopes that the secret of the diary could be gleaned with time and effort.
Only the time was in short supply.
The longer it took to decode the diary, the better chance that Mikhail would succeed in
his plans. She shook her head. In her mind, it was all madness. She knew well the havoc money
and power wrought on someone and it simply wasn’t worth it. The price was too high.
And she wanted to join with her lover as a preternatural when their world was on the
verge of collapse? Vivian fingered the two-carat Burmese ruby necklace Sinjin had presented her
with last night.
Yes…
She, Vivian Carrington, was head over heels, stupidly in love with a man several hundred
years her senior. The best part about it was that he was in love with her, too. Soft warmth moved
through her chest at the thought of Sinjin. She was truly blessed and, this time, she’d had sense
enough to realize it before it was too late. Poor Marc. She hoped he knew that she’d loved him as
best she could. Maybe it wasn’t enough, but it was all she’d known twenty years ago. Thanks to
Mel and Sinjin, she now knew how to love and be loved in return.
Vivian rose from her perch and approached the sealed entrance to the mausoleum.
Moving aside the dead flowers and other wilted offerings, she arranged her flowers on the top
step.
“Thank you Mel for being my friend and showing me the way.” She wiped the tear that
ran down her cheek. “I will always miss you and love you from the bottom of my heart.”
A soft breeze whispered over her skin, cooling her damp cheeks and ruffling her hair.
Vivian gave a shaky laugh as the warmth wrapped around her like a hug. It was almost as if Mel
were saying good-bye to her as well. Her heart light, she pulled a tissue from her pocket and
blew her nose as she walked toward the limousine.
It was time to prepare for the evening ahead. What did one wear when they turned into an
immortal? Was this a casual occasion or more formal in tone? Whatever it was, she wanted a
little something new to spice up the occasion.
The driver opened the door of the car and Vivian slipped into the plush leather interior.
She kicked off her heels as she reached for the mini-bar.
“Where to next, Ms. Carrington?” her driver asked.
“Victoria’s Secret in Beverly Hills.” She pulled a Spanish Cigarillo from her bag and lit
it, inhaling the fragrant smoke deep into her lungs. Exhaling, she picked up her glass of
champagne.
Yes, Victoria’s Secret would do nicely for what she had in mind for one vampire named
Damien St. James…
Page No 100
100
About the Author
J.C. Wilder lives in Westerville, Ohio where she’s owned by a Japanese Akita named
Severena and a really obnoxious Jack Russell Terrier named Copper Penny. She spends the
majority of her time dusting her 6,000 books and staring at her blank computer screen in
complete terror.
After six years working for CompuServe Inc., she’s working as a Business Analyst for
the State of Ohio. When not writing, she devotes much of her time to studying the medicinal uses
of herbs and essential oils and howling at the moon.
Temptation is the sixth book in the Shadow Dweller Series, available in a wide range of
electronic formats or as special double-volume trade paperbacks from LTDBooks.com.
You can write to J. C. at wilder@jcwilder.com or visit her webpage at
Page No 101
We hope you enjoyed
Temptation
!
Now, read on for excerpts
from two more great
LTDBooks!…
Page No 102
Redemption
The Shadow Dwellers:
Book Four
by J. C. Wilder
Page No 103
Copyright © 2000 Lisa Hamilton
Previously published by Dreams Unlimited.
Cover Art by Emily Black
Cover Art copyright © 2001
Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1,
Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com]
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced,
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of
the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Wilder, J. C., 1965-
Redemption [computer file]
ISBN 1-55316-080-0 (electronic) ISBN 1-55316-919-0 (REB
1100&1200)
I. Title.
PS3623.I45R43 2001 813’.6 C2001-902069-4
Page No 104
Dedication
For Mom
Page No 105
Acknowledgements
Carol – My favorite Grammar Goddess and
dearest friend – I adore you.
Bonnee – For proving that dreams are
unlimited and making a few of mine come true.
Thanks Kia – we miss you
Page No 106
Prologue
He both frightened and fascinated her.
Gabrielle DesNoir paused, her pen hovering above her journal, to
watch the vampire through lowered lashes. Mikhail sat on his makeshift
throne, his face hidden in the shadows; his long legs sprawled before him.
Once a daunting figure of a man, he now resembled, at best, an untidy pile
of dirty clothing.
Dried blood splattered his tattered cream linen trousers. His white silk
shirt had turned a mottled gray from stains left unattended. His feet were
shod in battered leather wingtips, the laces undone. Draped across his lap lay
an overfed black cat. The creature purred loudly as the vampire’s narrow,
bony hands stroked its gleaming fur.
He was but a shadow of his former self.
Until Conor MacNaughten had interfered at the ancient druid circle
during the last winter solstice, Mikhail had been one of the most powerful
vampires in the preternatural world. Handsome, intelligent and completely
ruthless, he’d been a leader to be admired by some and feared by others. As
his consort, Gabrielle had held a coveted position in the hierarchy of the
damned. Their parties were legendary, their friends plentiful. Life had been
good.
Now they were on the run like common criminals.
After Mikhail’s ill-fated grab for the leadership of the Council of
Elders, the ruling body of the preternaturals, prices were placed on their
heads and their army scattered, leaving only the weakest behind. Inwardly,
she sighed. The days of parties, jewels and people at her beck and call were
gone. For now, at least. A smile threatened to form and she squelched the
urge. Now wasn’t the time for levity.
Edward was dead and Cassiopeia had vanished, leaving the two of
them to pick up the pieces. She stifled a snort of disgust. If she ever wanted
to regain her former position in society, she’d have to see to the matter
herself.
“Gabrielle,” he hissed.
Page No 107
His voice, raspy and hollow, trickled over her nerves like icy fingers.
She masked her unease at the sound of his ruined voice and fixed a serene
expression on her face. “Yes, my love?”
“It’s time to contact Mortianna.”
She jerked and her forgotten pen dug into the paper and tore a small
hole in the creamy parchment. Mortianna was the most powerful witch on
earth, rumored to be terrifying to behold. As the de facto High Priestess of
the witches, she was possibly the only person left who could help them
redeem themselves and reassemble their dispersed army. Her powers were
legendary and, with the death of her only daughter, Bliss, she’d most likely
join with them to destroy Alexandre Saint-Juste and the last remaining
council member, Fayne.
Gabrielle’s lip curled.
A vampire and a were-cat were the only ones left on the Council, the
only creatures standing between her and her former life. A tremor of
anticipation ran through her. Success was close; she could almost taste the
sweetness.
“I understand.” She dropped the pen and rose to her feet, smoothing
her palms over her black leggings. “I’ll leave at once.”
She moved to the door, happy to leave the underground bunker where
they’d existed for the past few months. Her breath quickened at the thought
of fresh air and even fresher blood. Mikhail’s voice stopped her as her hand
closed around the knob.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” His tone was wry.
She forced a silky laugh. “How silly of me.” She turned and sauntered
to him, her movements deliberately sensual. It didn’t matter what she did or
wore. Since the accident, he’d avoided coming to her bed, which suited her
just fine. The thought of Mikhail in her bed once more made her skin crawl.
The scent of old blood and stale air reached her nose as she neared
him. Her knee brushed his as she leaned forward, her lips teasing the icy
skin of his cheek before retreating. She gasped as his fingers dug into her
wrist and he leaned into the weak light.
His once-beautiful face was hideously scarred. Pale flesh glistened
with newly healed pink skin, shiny from powerful burns. Almost half his
face was obliterated as if he’d been dunked in a vat of acid. His ice-blue
eyes were vacant with the stare of the sightless.
“Don’t fail me, Gabrielle,” he hissed.
Menace laced his words and a trill of fear raced down her spine. Even
blind and in the proverbial gutter, Mikhail could crush most vampires with
his powerful mind alone. Not even she was safe from his wrath should he
Page No 108
decide to turn on her. She’d seen what Mikhail could do to someone who
failed him and it wasn’t a pretty fate.
She forced a soft chuckle. “Darling, I’ll not fail you.” She pressed her
lips once more to his undamaged cheek as he released his grip on her wrist.
“I’ll bring us victory,” she whispered.
He settled back against the chair, a grim smile twisting his misshapen
lips as she turned away. Her heels made sharp clicking sounds on the cement
floor as she hurried toward the door, her mind whirling with delicious
possibilities.
Victory would be hers and hers alone.
Page No 109
Chapter 1
She looked good, for a corpse.
From the doorway, Quinn stared hard through the coffin’s glass lid.
His half-sister, Bliss, lay on a bed of cream silk surrounded by dozens of
fresh pink rosebuds, which lined her eternal bed. Her golden hair framed her
face in delicate ringlets while her skin retained the blush of life. Her lips
were still pink and full; her thick lashes shadowed her cheeks. She looked as
if she were sleeping.
Witchcraft had accomplished this feat.
He’d been at home in the mountains of Washington when the news of
her death had arrived two months before. According to the missive, the
minions had carried her body to their mother’s home in England. Bruised
and broken, her head had been neatly severed from her shoulders, her life
ended by a vampire. Looking at her now, Quinn knew only witchcraft
could’ve put her back together again.
Humpty Dumpty should’ve been so lucky.
He shifted his attention to the rigid figure standing by the coffin.
Mortianna.
Their mother wore black from head to toe, as was her custom. Her
pale brown hair, lightly threaded with silver, was pulled into a tight roll on
the back of her head. Her full-length cape hung from her shoulders to the
floor, shrouding her figure in its velvet folds. Dust and a few blades of damp
grass clung to the hem. Her gaze was fixed on her daughter’s face.
What sort of dark thoughts raced around her diabolical brain?
He moved into the room, his leather-soled shoes making little sound
on the solarium’s polished marble floor. The stone was inlaid with a massive
brass pentagram upon which the casket sat on a catafalque draped in yards of
pale pink silk. Fat white candles in towering wrought iron floor holders and
overflowing urns of roses and lilies encircled the macabre display. Their
cloying scent hung thick in the chilly air.
Surrounding the scene in a widely spaced circle were some of
Mortianna’s minions. Quinn stifled a grimace of distaste as his coat brushed
the robe of one of the little beasts. Mortianna’s personal army of demons
Page No 110
only stood as high as his waist, but they were lethal. It was rumored they
could rip a man apart in seconds.
No one knew exactly what they were or where they came from. There
were persistent rumors that they were, in fact, demons called from the depths
of the earth to serve their mistress. He doubted that particular tale but he did
know they were completely loyal to their keeper and obeyed her every
command even if it meant their demise. They were midget kamikazes
willing to die at a crook of her finger.
They stood silent and still, their beady eyes glowing from the dark
recesses of their hoods as he breached their circle. Ignoring the needle prick
of malevolence that danced across his skin, he concentrated on his mother.
The scent of Mortianna’s perfume, dark and heavy, assaulted his nose
as he reached her side. She was a beautiful woman, though it appeared she’d
aged several years since yesterday. Her skin looked papery and dry while
fine lines bracketed her mouth and more radiated from the corners of her
pale blue eyes.
He had her eyes.
Something shifted inside him. A longing he’d denied most of his life
reared its head as he stared at her. Never had he dreamed this moment would
come. Growing up, he’d known this powerful witch had given birth to him,
but they’d never met until yesterday.
According to his father, Keirgen, Mortianna had declared within days
of his arrival that she had no use for a male child. After several more
attempts at pregnancy, each one ending in failure, she’d expelled Keirgen
from her life with baby Quinn tucked in his arms.
Now, years later, they were reunited. Mother and son. Only this time,
he was preparing to leave on his terms and he had no plans to ever return.
“You should rest,” he kept his voice low.
She stirred, turning her head as if she’d been awakened from a deep
sleep. Her gaze was flat. “How can I rest when my child lies in her coffin?”
“Standing here won’t change what’s happened. You cannot alter
history and you do Bliss no good. Already your magic fades.” He raised a
hand to indicate the increasing threads of silver in her hair.
She turned away, her gaze fastening on her daughter’s face as if it
were a lodestone. “I care naught for magic. I want only revenge.”
He knew well the price of revenge and the cost was too dear, even for
the death of his sister. He shook his head. “Edward killed Bliss and he’s but
a pile of ashes now. What more do you want?”
“I want the life of the man who brought her to this.” She spun toward
him, her hand raised in a fist. “I want the life of Damien St. James in
Page No 111
exchange for that of my daughter. He’s the one who took her from me years
ago when he made her an immortal.”
Sinjin.
Quinn stilled. The vampire was well known in the preternatural world
and something of an enigma. Rarely, if ever, appearing in public, he lived in
a massive castle in the northernmost reaches of Scotland. Among the
preternaturals, he was rumored to be insane. It wasn’t unusual for a vampire
to go mad as their longevity inherently led to their demise one way or
another.
“You cannot go after an elder vampire.”
She whirled away from him, stalking around to the other side of the
coffin. “Bah! I can and I have.” Her gaze met his and he saw the anger
boiling within her. “That creature destroyed my perfect child and she
defended him. She defended his appalling actions and made me promise to
spare him. For years I kept my promise to her and I spared his life. Now she
lies dead before me and nothing will stop me from having my revenge.”
Awareness formed a hollow pit in his stomach. “That’s why you
invited me here, isn’t it? You want me to help you bring Sinjin down.”
A soft smile curved her mouth. “I did, indeed. My son, the writer and
noted authority on ancient weaponry, would have the perfect excuse to
contact him. Everyone knows St. James has one of the most extensive and
complete collections in Britain. The best part is no one would ever link the
two of us together.”
Betrayal burned hot and thick in his throat as anger arose. He
struggled to quell the words that battled to burst forth. Never would he let
her see the direct hit she’d just scored. “I won’t help you.”
Her expression turned pitying as she shook her head. “You disappoint
me. I think I knew, within moments of our meeting, you’d be unable to aid
me.”
“Not unable, unwilling. There’s a difference.”
She waved her hand as if to dismiss his words. “Not to me. I’ll have
my revenge with or without your help.”
“Your anger will destroy you.”
She laughed; a bitter, ugly sound. “You’re mistaken, my son. My
anger will be the death of Damien St. James. I’ve already sent the minions to
bring him to me. It’s only a matter of time now.”
“No good will come of this.”
“Tell that to your sister.” She turned away, effectively dismissing him.
Her gaze locked once more on the face of her slain daughter.
Page No 112
Finally, he was gone.
Maeve stepped into the library, taking care to close the door behind
her. Her leather-soled boots made only the faintest scuffling on the thick
carpet as she advanced toward the desk.
She’d been living in Sinjin’s home for almost a year, though the
length of her stay wasn’t her decision and she longed to return home to the
United States. She’d originally come to the Highlands to concentrate on her
training and she’d stayed because Val and her host had decided it was too
dangerous to let her go. They seemed to think Mikhail would come after her
in retaliation of the debacle last winter solstice.
While Sinjin might call her a “guest”, she snorted under her breath, a
prisoner was more apropos. Even though it was luxurious, this place was
still a cage. His castle in the wilds of Northern Scotland was as isolated as
could be.
But it had served its purpose.
He was a thoughtful host when he was around. A recluse almost to the
point of obsession, he rarely left the library and, when he did, it was only to
visit the catacombs beneath the castle. It was rarer still when he left the
confines of the house. Lucky for her she’d been in the upper gallery when
he’d announced to the butler he’d be absent for several hours.
This might be her only chance to find the answers she sought.
A low fire was the only light in the room as she wove her way around
the furniture toward the desk. Unless Sinjin was present, the library had been
declared off limits from the moment she’d stepped foot in the house. He’d
allowed her to spend many hours secure within its hallowed walls, enjoying
the library’s many treasures. The only books she was forbidden to read were
the ones located behind his desk. Only once had she breached his personal
domain, but that one time was enough to enable her to recognize what she
was looking for.
She turned on the small lamp when she reached the desk. Papers were
scattered over the polished top, but she paid them no mind. Off to one side
sat a massive leather book. Well-used, the leather was discolored from
centuries of eager hands wishing to divine the secrets contained inside. In
the dim light, the gold script on the cover gleamed.
LEEGEN.
Her heartbeat accelerated as she beheld the first step in her quest. She
held her breath as she brushed her fingers over the oiled leather. She didn’t
have to turn around to know the floor-to-ceiling shelves behind her were
stuffed to overflowing with leather tomes, each matching the one in front of
her. Within this volume was the key to the Chronicles of the Shadow
Page No 113
Dwellers and the answers she desperately needed.
Sinjin was the chronicler of the preternaturals, the one chosen to
watch and record every aspect of history and the lives of the unnatural. In
this room were the fruits of a lifetime of research. Centuries of words and
knowledge tucked into a mountain of oversized ledgers. Hidden in one of
these massive volumes was the enlightenment she sought.
How to kill an elder vampire.
She exhaled as she traced her finger over the gold letters, curiosity
burning bright within her. What she’d give for the time to read all the tomes.
A mirthless smile curved her lips. She was probably the only revenant on the
planet cursing her lack of time. While being an immortal had its uses,
unfortunately, she couldn’t reap the rewards in her current situation. Maybe
afterwards, if Sinjin didn’t hate her, he’d allow her to read some of the
books.
If you survive.
Maeve scowled and pushed the errant thought away. Survival wasn’t
important in her situation, success was. She forced her attention back to the
index. Pulling it closer, she opened the book and scanned the alphabetical
entries. There appeared to be writing in several different hands, some
spidery and old-fashioned, while another was loopy and more modern. One
hand she recognized as Maggie’s, Sinjin’s assistant. The others were
unknown to her. She flipped to the next page and continued scanning the
entries. Too bad he hadn’t progressed to a computer, it would certainly make
things a lot easier for her. Her heart gave a stutter as an entry snared her
attention.
Killing a Vampire, Volume 132.
Gotcha!
She shut the book and replaced it on the corner of the desk before
turning to the shelves. Craning her neck, she scanned the bindings until she
located volume 132 on a bottom shelf. Dropping into a crouch, she pulled it
out and laid it on the floor. Opening the leather cover, she scanned the table
of contents. Near the bottom, she found what she wanted.
Killing an elder, page 359.
Her breath caught as excitement welled up in her throat. Finally, after
years of planning, she was closer to realizing her goal. Maeve flipped to the
correct page and eagerly scanned the neat, narrow script.
The method of killing an elder will depend greatly upon the powers the
vampire possesses. Should the vampire possess telepathy, abandon the methods
listed below and proceed to page 370.
Page No 114
Maeve frowned. Was Mikhail telepathic? She had no clue. She bit her
lip and continued reading.
The first step is to incapacitate the vampire. Beware - this is the most
dangerous and deadliest step. This can be done using several methods:
1. Stake through the heart – this is not guaranteed to kill an elder but it can
be used to incapacitate and render them immobile. When dealing with an
elder, this is not the best method. A stake through the heart can be used to kill a
younger, less experienced vampire. Be careful, it is very messy.
2. A silver cross – a silver cross pressed between the eyes of a vampire will
incapacitate until a more permanent method can be used. However, the danger
in this method is in having to be physically close to the vampire to be effective.
This method should never be used on an elder.
3. Magic – a spell known as a binding spell can immobilize a vampire. Be
warned, while there are several types of binding spells, only the A’ bhais
Cadail spell will work on an elder. The A’ bhais Cadail spell is handed down
generation by generation through only a few lines of witches and the
knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance and only a
witch of-
Clink.
Maeve tensed, her head snapping upward. Warily, she scanned the
room. Was Sinjin back already? Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the bank
of French doors and tall, narrow windows that comprised the far wall. All
were shut and locked tight against the fathomless darkness outside. Nothing
appeared to be amiss.
She returned her attention to the book.
The A’ bhais Cadail spell is handed down generation by generation
through only a few lines of witches and the knowledge is held sacred. The
lineage is of the utmost importance and only a witch of pure intention should
train the caster. This spell has never been documented and only a few
traditions even possess the ability to cast -
Plink.
Maeve abandoned the book, this time rising to her feet. An icy calm
descended as she sharpened her preternatural senses. Keeping the shelves at
her back, she scanned the room.
The library was a long, narrow room filled with bookshelves on three
walls. The fourth wall contained numerous glass doors leading out onto a
broad stone terrace. As she moved swiftly, the darkened panes of glass
reflected her image and the darkness outside.
Page No 115
She moved about the room, checking behind each piece of furniture.
Nothing.
She exhaled as a movement caught her eye through one of the French
doors. A thick fog was rolling in, rapidly enshrouding the grounds,
obliterating anything recognizable.
Was someone watching her?
She brushed her fingertips down the inside of her left forearm. Under
her turtleneck, she wore a custom-made leather sheath that held a thin silver
blade strapped to her arm. A simple ebony handle gave it good balance and
made it an excellent throwing knife.
Reassured, she reached for the top of her left boot and slipped her
fingers inside. Warmed by the heat of her skin, she welcomed the solid feel
of an ivory handled dagger. In her right boot was its mate.
Calmer, Maeve straightened. She was armed and in top physical
condition. She’d spent much of the last ten years, in particular the last year,
working on her hand-to-hand combat skills. No opponent, dead or alive
would ever take her unawares ever again.
Images of Mikhail and her slain sister, Rebecca, flashed through her
mind. Ignoring the familiar jolt of pain, she ruthlessly pushed the images
away. Now wasn’t the time. She had work to do.
She glanced around the room once more and saw nothing out of place.
Satisfied all was well, she headed for the desk. As she reached the middle
window, a shadow caught the corner of her eye. Before she could turn, the
window exploded in with a terrific crash, raining shards of glass and chunks
of wooden molding across the floor.
With a cry, Maeve’s fingers curled around the hilt of her forearm
knife as something small and solid slammed into her right shoulder,
knocking her off balance. Tilting wildly, she wrenched the blade free as a
heavy cloth was flung over her head, blinding her. Fingers dug into her
shoulders, tightening the cloth over her head.
Her knee hit the edge of the coffee table, the pain stealing her breath
as she slashed at the hands tormenting her. Her attacker emitted a squeal as
the blade hit flesh. Abruptly, she was released.
As she clawed at the blinding cloth, she fell to her knees. Before she
could remove it, something slammed into her left side making her lose her
balance completely. She hit the floor with a solid thud as something landed
hard on her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.
She tore the cloth from her face as a shriek of fury broke from her
lips. She bucked and rolled to her right side, her attacker clinging to her
throat. Agog, Maeve stared at the creature who held her in place. Small, the
Page No 116
size of a six-year-old, but much heavier, the brown-robed figure’s head was
hidden beneath a concealing hood. Shiny red eyes glittered in the depths of
the hood while scaly, sticklike fingers dug into her throat, threatening to shut
off her airway.
Gasping, her energy fading fast, she grabbed the chain of a black
pendant around its neck and yanked, trying to draw the creature down and
away. A snarl came from the recesses of the hood and, with a mighty heave,
it grabbed her by the hair, raised her head and slammed it into the floor.
Starlight burst before her eyes and she knew no more.
Page No 117
SINS OF THE FLESH
Book V of The Shadow Dwellers
By J.C. Wilder
Page No 118
Dedication
To my fellow “Serious Writers” – Beth, Carol, Donna and Rosemary.
Thanks for kicking me in the backside when I needed it.
Page No 119
Acknowledgments
Writers may work alone but we don’t work in a vacuum. Many
thanks go out to the following people without whom this book would
have never been completed:
Miss Binta, friend extraordinaire!
Stuart, who still thinks every hero is modeled after him and he
just might be right…a little anyway…
Debbie, thanks for the cover photo and the laughs.
Emily, for managing to take my vision and turn it into a
gorgeous cover every time!
Page No 120
Chapter 1
Not her - please let it be anyone but her.
Alexandre Saint-Juste, vampire and head of the Council of Elders, looked up from the
photo of a burned corpse he was studying to see a figure hesitating in the doorway. She was little
more than a shadow in the dim lighting but he knew it was her. The soft, citrus scent of her
perfume gave her away.
Sunni.
He closed his tired eyes. He was slipping. As an Elder, it was near impossible for another
vampire to sneak up unawares. He’d trained himself to be aware of his surroundings at all times
and the talent had saved his life on numerous occasions. But he’d been pushing himself too hard
lately and, if he didn’t take more care, the next time might be his last.
He rubbed his forehead. Maybe she’d be gone when he opened his eyes? That would be
his wish. Could he be that lucky? He dropped his hand and opened his eyes.
Damn, she was still hovering in the doorway.
Inwardly he groaned. Right now he had his hands full and the last thing he needed was
this flighty, empty-headed little vampire.
As she stepped into the room, he dropped the photo onto the others scattered across the
top of his desk. Knowing Sunni, he’d not get any work done until he could get the little
busybody out of his house. He made a mental note to fire his housekeeper, Nelson, who’d
obviously let her in the front door. He was a sucker for a pretty face.
“What can I do for you, Sunni?”
“A lot actually. The question is, will you?” She grinned as she advanced, her sandal-shod
feet making no sound on the thick carpet. “But today I’m going to do you a favor.”
His mouth went dry as she strolled closer. Sunni was tiny, barely over five feet, and she
resembled a young Mia Farrow with her cap of short, silky blonde hair, doe-brown eyes and
delicate features. Dressed in a sheer, yellow, cropped shirt over a matching bikini-style top, she
was bare from the bottom of her insubstantial shirt to the waistband of her skirt.
Slung low on her slim hips, the cotton skirt looked as if it had been left wadded in the
back of a drawer for weeks. The rainbow-colored material swirled about her slim legs, briefly
outlining each delectable inch as she walked. Tiny she may be, but she was exquisitely formed
from her pale hair to the tips of her petal-pink toenails. Damn, she was beautiful.
Alexandre swallowed hard against the unfamiliar rush of lust, his toes curling in his
Bacco Bucci shoes. Startled, he stepped back and sat hard in his desk chair.
He must be more tired than he thought.
Slick with pale gloss, a bewitching smile played about Sunni’s mouth as if she could read
the lascivious thoughts dancing through his mind. His gaze shifted from her mouth to skim her
pert breasts and drop to her hips, which swayed provocatively with her easy gait. The air in the
room seemed suddenly in short supply.
What the devil was wrong with him?
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He’d never had a reaction to a woman like this, and certainly not with a woman like
Sunni. She was luscious…No, no – annoying - that was the word. Annoying and exasperating.
That summed up the little vampire. He reached up to loosen his tie. His reaction to her was
simply a combination of his need to feed and lack of rest. Yes, that was it. A few hours of sleep
and a quick prowl would set his world to rights once more.
Fighting for a cool demeanor, he fixed a bored expression on his face as he forced his
gaze to meet hers once more.
“What kind of favor would this be?” he asked.
“Jennifer sent these over to you.” From behind her voluminous skirt, she withdrew a
medium-sized manila envelope. “Knowing I was headed this way she asked if I’d drop it off.”
Alexandre silently cursed his old friend as he reached for the offering. Jennifer knew
Sunni annoyed the hell out of him on a good day, which this definitely was not. Her eyes
gleamed with secret amusement as she reached the edge of the desk and leaned forward, offering
him a glimpse of her cleavage as she handed the envelope to him.
“Thank you.” He took it, forcing his gaze away from her shadowy cleft.
He’d been waiting for this information since he’d received word of its arrival. He tried to
ignore the delectable creature before him as he opened the envelope and withdrew a folded sheet
of paper and several photos. A quick glance told him the photos weren’t of the greatest quality.
Fuzzy and indistinct, he nevertheless recognized the features of Cassiopeia, the woman who’d
betrayed the Council of Elders by siding with the vampire Mikhail in an attempt to overthrow
Alexandre’s rule.
The ever-present pain in the back of his neck made itself known once more as he stared at
the blurry face of his one-time co-council and lover. With the distinctive features of middle-
eastern descent, Cass was intelligent and charismatic, an excellent conversationalist and
breathtakingly beautiful.
Her thick dark hair was piled on her head with a few tendrils allowed to escape and curl
against her slender throat. Deep brown eyes framed by sooty lashes and a curvaceous figure
usually covered in the finest of silks, she was an exquisite woman to behold and an elder vampire
to be feared.
She was also cunning and devious as only a woman could be.
Curse her black soul.
He flicked the photo to the back of the pack and scanned the others. All were of either
Cass or the immortal revenant Miles. As one of Mikhail’s creations, he’d been rumored to be
traveling with Cass for the past month or so, acting as her personal servant. He was intelligent
and ruthless, an adversary to be wary of. He was also the keeper of Elsabeth’s diary, a tome
sought by everyone in the preternatural world.
He flipped through the photos once more, noting that all of them had been taken in
Vienna. Nothing new. She’d been in residence for the past few weeks while Miles had been seen
in various parts of Austria and the Carpathian Mountains.
He dropped the photos in his lap and flicked open the note to scan its contents. Val and
Shai were currently in Vienna on Cass’ trail. According to the hastily scrawled memo, they’d
lost both Cass and Miles several days ago. He frowned. Those two could be anywhere in the
world within twenty-four hours.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“Problems?” A sweet voice sounded in his ear.
Page No 122
Alexandre’s head jerked upward, and he was startled to find Sunni standing beside him.
Her perfume teased his nose, sending a rush of heat shafting through his body. The warmth of
her skin radiated against his arm as she leaned close.
She’d fed recently, giving her skin the blush and warmth characteristic of a live human.
She licked her lips, and he felt the sensual draw of her presence like never before. His breath
caught in his throat as she moved in, her breath soft on his cheek.
She was going to kiss him!
He shifted away then froze as she reached, the silver rings on her fingers gleaming as she
aimed for his lap.
Oh, no.
The last thing he wanted her to see was the evidence of his arousal. If she ever found out
how much her presence affected him physically, he’d never get rid of her.
Then he realized she was merely reaching for the pictures in his lap.
Half relieved, half-disappointed, he caught her wrist. Pushing her away, he gently
maneuvered her against the desk, away from the photos and his lap.
“No problem that I can’t handle.” His words came out more abruptly than he’d planned.
She placed her hands on the edge of the desk and, to his surprise, boosted herself onto the
polished top.
“Your reaction certainly indicated there was a problem.” Her soft green gaze was fixed
on his face as if committing it to memory.
“You’re mistaken.”
Disturbed by her nearness, he gathered the photos and prepared to rise. She crossed her
legs and he heard the soft tinkle of bells. He looked down and caught a glimpse of her slender
ankles, barely visible under the skirt hem. A finely wrought gold anklet with a row of tiny bells
encircled one of them.
A rush of desire hit him, rendering him so dizzy he had to look away. He didn’t dare
move, especially since his increasing erection would tell her exactly what effect she had on him.
Trapped by his wayward impulses, he dropped the photos in his lap, hoping they sufficiently
covered his body’s betrayal.
“Hmm.” She began to swing her leg, the sound of the bells causing him to grit his teeth.
“I assume since it’s from Val that the news is about Cass?”
Alexandre frowned, irritated with her and himself. He shifted, trying to ease the ache in
his groin. “What would you know of the situation?”
She shrugged. “Probably as much as any spectator. Mikhail invoked the Law of Seven
and challenged you for the rule of the Council. To aid him in his cause, he enlisted your right-
hand people, the vampires Edward and Cass, thus vacating two spots on the Council. Mikhail’s
bid for your position was thwarted when he ran into Mac…a very talented Druid from what I
understand.”
She leaned forward, and her voice dropped. “It’s rumored that Mikhail was blinded in the
ensuing battle. Since they lost, Edward, Cass and Mikhail have been on the run for the past
fifteen months. The majority of the preternatural world is looking for them but you’re
determined to find them first.”
“For a spectator you seem to be remarkably well informed.”
Sunni straightened and flashed him a bright smile. “What can I say?” She shrugged. “I’m
observant and I pay attention.”
Page No 123
“So it would seem. However, the one thing you forgot to mention is that Edward is dead,
killed last fall.”
Her expression turned thoughtful. “I hadn’t heard. So now you’re looking for the
remaining two?”
Cass, Mikhail, Miles, the diary, and a few hundred of their supporters, but that was none
of her business.
He nodded. “Something like that.”
“I might be able to give you a hand with this.”
“Indeed?” He swallowed a laugh, fighting to keep his tone level. He couldn’t imagine any
way she could be of help to him. “How is that?”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I am a woman.” She leaned forward and he caught
another whiff of her perfume. “I might be able to give you some valuable insight into what Cass
will do and where she’ll go next.”
Alexandre couldn’t contain his snort of laughter and he covered it with a cough as her
eyes narrowed dangerously. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for the kind offer, Sunni. I’ll
certainly keep you in mind should something come up which would require your, err…particular
talents.”
A hurt look came into her eyes and she leaned back, dropping her gaze.
Damn, why do I feel as if I’ve just kicked a puppy?
“Sunni - ”
“I saw him.” She pointed to the top photograph in his lap.
He looked down and saw she was pointing at a clear photo of Miles. “Where did you see
him?”
“Here in New Orleans.”
He stifled the urge to groan. This was just great. She was so intent upon helping him that
she was seeing things. There was no way Miles nor Cass would enter his city. As prey, it was too
dangerous for them. They knew he was on their trail.
He looked up. “Sunni - ”
“It was a few days ago, I guess.” She frowned. “I don’t remember for sure. Maybe three
days? I went out to pick up some henna and cloth and he was standing by the fountain in Jackson
Square.”
His looked at the picture once more. Could Sunni be right? Was Miles here in New
Orleans? He picked it up and beneath it was a fuzzy photo of Cass and there, beside her in the
shadows of the Palazzo Grassi, was the hulking figure of Miles. He flipped it over to look at the
date. Nine days prior, they were together in Venice. He shuffled through the rest of the photos.
None of the others showed them together, just that one. Were they still together?
He looked at Sunni and held up the clearest one of Miles. “Are you sure it was him?”
She nodded, her expression earnest. “Yes. I couldn’t miss him to save my life, he’s
huge.”
“Was anyone with him?”
“Not that I saw. It was late and not terribly crowded. He was standing by the fountain,
looking around as if he were waiting for someone. I only noticed because he’s a revenant.” She
grinned. “I’m getting better at picking them out.”
Chances were, if Sunni was right and Miles was here, then Cass was with him. But why
would they come to New Orleans? They both knew he and several other Elders lived in and
around the city. They certainly knew they were being hunted. The Council had levied a death
Page No 124
sentence against Cass for treason. For now, Miles had no charges against him, but his
transgressions were mounting with each passing day. What could they hope to accomplish by
entering his city?
“Who is he?” Sunni plucked the photo of Miles from his fingertips.
“An old acquaintance.” He retrieved the picture before she could get a good look at it.
She snagged the next one, a close-up shot of Cass taken several days before the photo
with Miles. “How old?”
Alexandre reclaimed the second and opened the center desk drawer. “Not too old.” He
scooped everything - all of the photos, the letter and the documentation he’d been reviewing
before she arrived - into the drawer then closed it, safe from her inquisitive eyes.
“Was there anything else you needed?” He rose from the chair.
“Is he mixed up with Mikhail and Cass?”
She slipped off the desk, her skirt brushing his pant legs. Standing so close to him, he was
once more assailed with the warmth of her skin and the scent of her delicate perfume.
He ground his teeth in frustration. She was maddening. There’d been many times he’d
had to restrain himself from throttling her. He’d noticed her as a man would a beautiful woman
on several occasions, then she would spoil the illusion by opening her mouth and irritating the
hell out of him. The logical side of his brain knew Sunni could never keep him satisfied as a
mate and a relationship with her would be a disaster for both of them.
His job as an Elder and the head of the Council was to look out for the health and welfare
of all preternatural beings. Regardless of how he felt, he didn’t want Sunni anywhere near him
when the carnage began. He would do anything in his power to avoid the coming battle, but it
was inevitable. Cass and her ilk would see to it.
He ruthlessly tamped down his wayward desires. His position required it.
“No, he is not mixed up with them.” He moved around her.
“Then why is he in a picture with her?” She stepped in his way. Her gaze was direct as
she placed her hands on his chest to prevent his escape. “You’re lying to me.”
He encircled her wrists with his hands. A shock radiated through his palms at the feel of
her skin against his. “This may come as a surprise to you, Sunni, but it’s none of your business.”
He gently removed her hands and pushed her back before releasing her to step away.
“It is my business if it concerns the Council.” She moved to intercept him, crossing her
arms over her chest. “I’m a vampire and the Council is supposed to represent all of the Shadow
Dwellers. If this man is wanted by the Council then I, as a Citizen, have a right to know.”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes. She was, without a doubt, the most exasperating
female he’d ever met. “First off, he isn’t a wanted person and we have little interest in him, only
Cass. Second, there isn’t much of a Council in power at this point. Only Fayne and myself are
left.”
“It’s said that Val will be stepping in for Cass and you’ve asked Quinn to assume the
position vacated by Bliss’ death.”
Damn, who is she talking to?
“That is a possibility, but, as of yet, nothing has been decided.”
“Alexandre - ”
He held up his hand to stem the tide of words. His patience had reached the end and it
was time to take off the kid gloves with the annoying little blonde. “Look, I appreciate your
interest, but right now I have my hands full with this and other matters. Everything is under
control and there’s nothing to concern you.”
Page No 125
“Nothing to concern my little head about, you mean?” Her eyes narrowed as she placed
her hands on her hips. “I just want to help, so why won’t you let me? I might be able to find this
man. Really, I’m very stealthy and…”
She moved backward and her foot caught in the hem of her skirt, causing her to stumble.
Pinwheeling her arms, she gave a squawk and reached for the desk to stop her fall. Before he
could give it a thought, Alexandre’s hand shot out and he caught her arm, pulling her upright.
The warmth of her skin singed his palm as a jolt of awareness shot up his arm. Stung, he released
her and stepped back.
“So I see. Graceful, too.” He winced inwardly at his sarcastic tone. What the devil was
wrong with him? He never gave in to his emotions, especially where his constituents were
concerned.
Her expression turned annoyed. “It was an accident and it could have happened to
anyone.”
“Anyone wearing a skirt that’s too long, you mean?”
Damn, there I go again.
She put her small fists on her hips and cocked her head to one side. “Since when are you
the fashion police? You probably own twenty suits, all in the same color and style. Black.” She
snorted. “That’s original.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Look, I appreciate your bringing the envelope over.” He
ushered her toward the door, reluctant to touch her but desperate to get her away from him before
he did something unforgivable - like kiss her. Or strangle her. Both were possible right now.
“I need to ask you to leave. I have many issues I need to attend to post haste and I really
don’t need any help at this time. If I do, I will certainly contact you.”
She stepped to the side, her expression remote. The warmth and fire that had inhabited
her eyes as she’d entered the room was now but a memory. Her gaze chilled his skin with its
coolness. “Of course you will. As long as the task requires - how did you put it - my ‘particular
talents,’ I believe?” She turned to exit the library. “Don’t patronize me, Alexandre. I’m not a
child and I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”
“Sunni - ” He followed as she stalked into the hallway.
She ignored him. Throwing open the front door, she fled into the New Orleans night in a
flurry of color and bells. The door slammed shut behind her.
He dropped his head, fixing his gaze on the tips of his polished shoes. Silence surrounded
him, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the far corner of the hall.
Damn.