A Vampire's Honor (22 page)

“But if you were to see him again, do you think you would recognize him?”

“Of course,” he answered with a rich chuckle. “Why do you ask?”

“Because there's a vampire standing on the terrace . . . and he's got blue hair.”

I
think I'd been expecting something in the punk-rock range of bright blue with streaks of shocking purple, but the blend of colors was far more subtle than that. On the surface, his hair was blue with purple undertones, and all I could think was how perfectly it suited him. And didn't make him look in the least bit gay. Something you can't say about a lot of men who decide to sport a long blue mane.

The only other Original Vampire I'd ever seen was Ryiel, and that meeting had been somewhat stressful. Having a psychotic female vampire threatening to rip your throat out can put a damper on the best of circumstances, but I won't apologize for admiring a good set of pecs. And if that makes me shallow, so be it.

But I'd never had the chance to be as up close and personal with Ryiel as I was with this new vampire standing on the terrace. With only a thick pane of specially coated glass separating us, I could already tell he was going to pop the top of the drop-dead-gorgeous thermometer without even trying. I don't know why I was surprised by this. When you consider that all the founding vampires were angels before making the choice to embrace the Dark Realm, it stood to reason they would be handsome. Was it surprising they were the blueprint the Wraith used for his ultimate predator? And I'm sure it didn't hurt that they already came fully armed with his weapon of choice. Seduction. The human race should be thankful there were only nine of them. Any more and I'm not sure as a species we'd survive.

I could feel Kartel's pale green eyes staring through the glass at me, and I wondered how he'd gotten onto the terrace without anyone noticing, and how long he'd been out there. Had he been eavesdropping on Aleksei and me? I stared back, seeing raindrops sparkling like diamonds in his hair and across the wide shoulders of the long gray duster he wore. Whatever the reason for this sudden, unexpected appearance, it was ridiculous to keep him outside. What was I going to do? Pretend I hadn't seen him? He could easily break the sliding door, and I'd have to explain to Tomas why there was shattered glass all over the floor.

“Does he need to be invited in?” Although the penthouse was now my home, I didn't think I could technically invite a vampire inside.

My question had been for Aleksei, but it was Gabriel who answered. “A vampire does not need permission to enter the home of another vampire,” he said, “but opening the door would be good.”

The blue-haired vampire had stepped forward and wore an expression that was both bemused and mildly irritated. I opened the door, feeling the glass slide smoothly on its track.

“I wonder what he wants,” I heard Aleksei murmur under his breath.

I'm not a big fan of coincidences, and Kartel showing up not a half hour after I'd learned of his existence seemed a little too flukey for me.

The vampire stepped inside. The look of irritation disappeared as he crossed the threshold, but I figured that was due to Gabriel's presence more than anything else. He looked down, and the smile he gave me seemed genuine enough. But he was a vampire. There was no telling what he was thinking.

“You must be Rowan,” he said, presenting me with another weird accent to add to my collection. Not quite English and definitely not Eastern European. Maybe Australian or South African?

I looked pointedly at his hair. “Then you must be Kartel.”

“If you say so, then I suppose I must be.” He reached for my hand, clasping it with long, cool fingers that almost wrapped around my wrist. “It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Except I knew it wasn't.

There are some people you share an instant connection with the very first time you meet them. You just
know
you're going to be lifelong friends even if, on the surface, you have nothing in common. You can be separated by race, religion, social, and economic differences. You can argue over politics, disagree on Miley Cyrus twerk-ing, and ponder the silent half of Penn and Teller—what's up with that guy? But in spite of all that, you will always be there for each other.

And then there are the other kind of people. The ones who give off a really bad vibe. They haven't done anything wrong, mainly because they haven't been given the chance—yet—but they're never going to get a Christmas card from you, assuming you're someone who still sends out Yuletide greetings. And should they ever extend an invitation to any type of get-together, you'll come up with an excuse not to attend.

If pressed, you couldn't give any viable reason for not liking this person, but something inside you says you need to distance yourself both literally and figuratively. This “something” is your sixth sense. The one that most of us acknowledge only in hindsight, if at all. And no, it doesn't mean you're going to start seeing dead people. Haven't you ever felt a weird prickle on the back of your neck and thought,
I've got a really bad feeling about this?

Yeah, that's right,
that
sixth sense. The only way I can explain it is to say, good or bad, the person you're dealing with left a strong enough impression that it carried over from a previous lifetime. Unfortunately, most of us have replaced our sixth sense in favor of technology, so that when it does speak we just don't hear it. Or if we do, we don't believe it.

Being with Gabriel has taught me not to ignore anything—especially not the voices in my head—and right now my own sixth sense was pinging all over the place like some malfunctioning video ping-pong game telling me to be wary. And with good reason. I could tell from the flicker of annoyance Kartel didn't hide quickly enough that meeting me wasn't a pleasure. It was an infuriating aggravation.

I pulled my hand from his grasp as politely as I could, while doing my best to resist the urge to wipe it down my pant leg. But I think Kartel was fully aware of what I was feeling even as his smile remained fixed in place. He looked over my head, and I noticed the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Ah, it's the peasant farmer. You cannot know how pleased I am to see you survived our initial meeting.”

Aleksei inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment before saying, “And I find it hard to believe you did not already know such a thing.”

Our guest made a noise that might have originated in the land of mirth before saying, “Regardless, it does not diminish my pleasure in seeing you again. You came through the transition well. Being a vampire suits you.”

“I was fortunate,” Aleksei said solemnly. “I had a strong hand to guide me.”

Kartel's eyes suddenly flashed a darker shade of green at the not-so-subtle criticism. “Indeed you were fortunate. No one could ever fault Gabriel's level of commitment.” A trait that, according to what I'd just been told, this particular Original lacked.

I wasn't the only one getting weird vibes from Kartel. Aleksei was also dealing with old feelings, but I had no idea in which direction they were running. While Kartel was not the first vampire the big guy had met, he had the dubious distinction of being the first to take Aleksei's blood, drinking so much that Gabriel almost hadn't been able to offer Aleksei the chance to become a vampire. Did something like that leave a bad taste? Or don't guys care about such things?

Maybe if the vampire had been female?
My inner bitch snarked.

“Kartel.” Gabriel crossed his arms and nodded at the other vampire, who nodded back. Guess handshakes weren't a vampire form of greeting. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thank you. Scotch, if you have it.”

He shrugged off his wet coat and held it out to Aleksei, who seemed to immediately engage Kartel in some wordless conversation. From their body language I assumed it was one of those male don't-come-into-my-house-and-piss-on-my-shoes type of exchanges. The fact that this wasn't actually Aleksei's house was a minor detail not worth mentioning. His point made, the big guy grinned and took the outer garment from Kartel, unceremoniously throwing it across the closest chair.

“Let me,” I said as Gabriel made a move toward the bar. Pouring a drink was well within my range of capabilities.

“You said scotch, right? Any particular brand?” I added as I began checking labels.

I'm a simple girl who drinks bourbon. Scotch intimidates me, mainly because there are so many different brands, all called Mac-something, Glen-whatever, or Highland-what's it.

“I believe our guest is partial to Ballantine's,” Gabriel said, coming to stand on the other side of the bar from me.

“I'm honored you remember such an insignificant detail.”

“Hardly insignificant when I basically had to stop you from drinking the distillery dry.”

“Yes, I was determined.” Kartel was definitely pleased and more than a little flattered by Gabriel's recall.

“There should be a bottle behind the Glenfiddich, sweetheart,” he said, pointing to the shelf behind me.

Seeing his reflection in the mirrored wall made me want to kiss the ever-loving bejesus out of him. He gave me a flash of his dimple.

Gabriel had obviously sensed Kartel's presence the moment the other vampire stepped onto the terrace, and he had forced himself to rise earlier than he should. By my reckoning, he needed a few more hours in the protective confines of his sarcophagus. He still looked tired, but I think I was the only one who noticed. I was, however, glad not to have to deal with our unexpected guest on my own.

I located the bottle of scotch and poured a generous measure of the amber liquid into a heavy-bottomed crystal tumbler. “Where's Tomas?” I asked Gabriel, curious about the sentinel's absence. “Doesn't he know we have company?”

“He's keeping an eye on Anasztaizia . . . and yes, he knows.”

The change in Gabriel's voice as he said the last part made me look up. There was a reason for Tomas's nonappearance. A reason that had to do with Kartel. First me, then Aleksei, and now Tomas. What was with this guy?

I glanced at the other Original Vampire. He appeared to be studying a painting on the wall. An original Chagall, it had been given to Gabriel by the artist himself. I shook my head and felt my brows pull together. With his heightened vampire senses, Kartel had to be aware of the negative effect his presence was having on us. Aleksei had already put him on notice, for God's sake! Still it was possible—make that probable—that he just didn't care. His concern was with Gabriel, and as Original Vampires, they had to share a common bond.

But there was one thing I was certain Kartel hadn't taken into account. If he knew who I was, it stood to reason he also knew what I was, and putting me on edge seemed a particularly stupid thing to do. If the situation were reversed, I would have gone out of my way to try to put him at ease. If only to not risk pissing off Gabriel. Whatever he'd picked up from me by shaking my hand was more than enough interaction between us. But the tension was growing. His reason for being here was important enough to risk the equivalent of a nuclear meltdown should the wrong thing be said.

I pushed the glass of scotch across the bar, as well as a separate glass of Stoli Elit. My man is a vodka drinker by choice. Sensing my overall lack of warmth, Gabriel pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth before picking up both drinks.

“I always did admire your taste in art,” Kartel said as Gabriel handed him his glass. “Personally, I find anything by Dali strangely compelling.”

I knew who Salvador Dali was. Gabriel had taken me to a showing of the surrealist painter's works. Compelling wasn't the word I would have used to describe his art. Clever yes, weird definitely, but if I'm honest I also found his work more than a little creepy. It didn't surprise me to hear Kartel was a fan.

As both vampires took a seat, I saw Aleksei chose to remain standing. He positioned himself behind Gabriel's chair, crossing his arms over his chest. My lover looked over at me and raised a brow. I shook my head, preferring to watch the show from behind the bar. I wanted an unobstructed view as I watched this drama play itself out.

In spite of my best efforts, Gabriel continued to make black the predominant color in his wardrobe. Not that he didn't look absolutely spectacular in it, but I had come to the conclusion that this was not accidental on his part. Black not only made his hair look stunning, it also intensified the blue of his eyes. How was I supposed to argue with that?

I don't know what color Ryiel favored, but dark leather pants and skin seemed to work well with his black hair and silver eyes, as I recall. Kartel had a fondness for gray. The muscle shirt and pants, the belt and boots were all within a shade or two of each other, and as much as I hated to admit it, it was a good choice, complementing both his hair and the pale green of his eyes.

And just like Gabriel and Ryiel, he also bore exotic tattoos. Gabriel's ran the length of his spine, Ryiel's across his upper chest. Kartel wore his down the inside of each arm. The symbols told each Original Vampire's story, what they had once been and how they came to be what they were now. Seeing Kartel's, I had to wonder if all nine Original Vampires were tattooed in different places on their bodies. And was that by choice or design?

No one spoke for a good five minutes. Vampires don't seem to bother with small talk, or maybe they did, just communicating in a different way. Perhaps the steady staring at each other was their way of saying
Hey, how you been? How's the wife? Is Junior playing baseball this year? How about them Cowboys?
Yeah, right, whatever.