A Vampire's Promise (23 page)

“What did you expect to gain by coming here? I mean, this is all very juvenile, don't you think? Haven't you got enough respect for Gabriel to let him make up his own mind about who he wants to be with?”

Nothing like getting to the heart of the matter.

“What has Gabriel told you,” Katja asked, “about what he does when he's not with you? Do you know where he goes? Who it is he sees?”

“Why do you assume he's keeping anything from me?”

“Because I can see it in your face.” She laughed. “If you want to survive, you must learn to hide your feelings, Little One.”

Well, that answered the easy-to-read question. I decided to come clean. Katja was right. I don't hide my feelings well, but I'm not sure that's always a bad thing, although it does explain why Laycee refuses to play poker with me. Well, that plus the fact I can never remember if a full house or a flush is the higher hand.

And then something else wriggled itself inside my brain. What if there was an entirely different reason for Katja's visit? A reason that had nothing to do with romantic rivalry? What if Katja only wanted me to think that as a way of throwing me off balance? What other reason could possibly bring the Goth Queen to my doorstep?

Oh, yeah, there was another possibility. When you spent your time doing
this and that,
the number of possibilities was endless. And none of them were particularly good.

“Okay,” I said firmly, “if it makes you feel better, he hasn't told me anything. I have no idea what he does or where he goes when he leaves me, so whatever secrets you're worried about me spilling—don't be. I can't tell what I don't know.”

“He has told you
nothing
? Nothing at all?” She sounded incredulous, and I could see her trying to decide whether I was being truthful.

As I'd already questioned her honesty, it was ridiculous to think she'd not do the same with me. We were two women discussing a man we both had a vested interest in, so it was natural to be suspicious of each other.

“But you have thought about it, yes?” Katja continued. “You lie in your bed when he is gone and you wonder why he does not stay. You think perhaps he does not care for you as much as he says, yes?”

How could she possibly know Gabriel didn't stay all night, unless she was the reason he left? The expression on my face must have told her she was getting warm because I saw her mouth change into a sneer. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“It's to keep me safe,” I mumbled.

“Keep you safe?” Disbelief dripped from her lips. “Do you
really
believe that?”

Yes . . . no . . . maybe

Katja shook her head and made clucking noises with her tongue. “I thought you were different from the others, smarter, but I think I make mistake.” The slyness returned, only this time it wasn't in her smile but in her eyes. “Why do you need to be kept safe, Little One? You work in bookstore”—
how did she know that?—
“are you important person perhaps?” Her voice dropped to a whisper next to my ear. I hadn't even realized she had closed the distance between us. “Why would Gabriel tell you such a thing?”

I turned my head slowly and found myself staring into her eyes. The night sky was reflected inside two rings of deep amethyst, each shimmering with a multitude of stars. She was part of Gabriel's Alaskan wasteland, staking a claim deep inside its borders, just like the soldier Aleksei and the guy with the midwestern twang.

Clearing my throat, I returned her gaze, and decided I was tired of playing a game whose rules I didn't know. And no one, apparently, was going to tell me.

“Gabriel didn't say anything, but it doesn't take a very big stretch of the imagination to work out what you all are.” I was astonished that my voice didn't falter once.

Katja looked startled. “And what is that?”

“Well, the accents are a dead giveaway, along with your clothes and the cars, and as I don't actually see any of you holding down a nine-to-five job, I can only assume whatever it is you're involved in is probably illegal. If I had to guess, I'd say you were part of the Russian mob or something.”

Fuck! Had I actually said that? Out loud?

Katja nearly blinded me with the flash of her white teeth in her photo-shoot-perfect smile. She laughed a beer-tavern, rip-roaring belly laugh that I figured old Mrs. Wilcox, my closest neighbor, could probably hear. It was disconcerting to say the least. “You think . . . you think . . .” she gasped, “we are . . .
gangsters?
”

Okay . . . maybe not. Sorry. My mistake. And then, just like that, as if someone had flipped a switch, she became deadly serious.

“Stupid girl—you have no idea what you're involved in.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her why she didn't just go ahead and enlighten me because it seemed obvious she wanted to. I have no idea what stopped me from actually saying it, but I didn't. Instead, I asked another question, “Katja, are you sure this is just about me and Gabriel? Is that why you dislike me?”

I got the frosty duchess look again, full force. “I care nothing for you.”

That wasn't what she'd said a few minutes ago. Talk about fickle. “Then why are you here?”

“Because this infatuation he has with you, it has gone on for too long!” She spat the words out scornfully. “Every time he is with you—he risks us all.”

“But . . . how?” From her reaction just moments ago, it was obvious she thought my notion they were all part of some imported Slavic gang was ludicrous. So what else could there be? “Are you drug dealers? Is that it?”

I watched as she rolled her eyes and muttered to herself in what I presumed was her native tongue. In an odd way I could totally understand her wanting to protect herself and her accomplices.

“I can't tell anybody anything about you because I don't
know
anything,” I protested. “I haven't got a clue who you are or what you do. Gabriel has kept your secrets.” I didn't think it was prudent to mention that he had promised to tell me everything. All I had to do was ask.

For a few moments there was only silence as Katja mulled over my words. I began to shiver. The thin jacket I was wearing was more decorative than practical, and not meant as a shield against rapidly falling temperatures.

“Yes, it would seem he has.” She spoke disdainfully, and I couldn't understand why she wasn't pleased, or relieved, by my confession. I had the weirdest feeling, however, that whatever the reason behind this unexpected visit, I had somehow given her the answer she'd been looking for.

“Gabriel won't be coming to see you tonight.”

“How do you know that?” I could have kicked myself for taking the bait.

“Because he's otherwise occupied.” She focused her stare on me, and I could see something I didn't like. “Do you want to know what he is doing right now, while he's not with you?”

It was taunting, and it was cruel. I hated her for it, but I also knew she was watching my face, waiting to see the effect her words had on me. Laycee would have been very proud. For the first time in my life, I actually achieved a workable poker face.

“Not particularly.” My heart was hammering wildly inside my chest, and for the briefest moment, from the way her head tilted slightly, I though Katja could hear it. Nausea churned ominously in the pit of my stomach as her mouth twisted in a malicious smile.

“Oh yes you do—you want to know so much it's chewing up your insides!”

“Oh, why don't you just go fuck yourself!” I exploded, infuriated by her spitefulness. With my keys in my hand, I pushed past her, needing to get inside the safety of my own four walls. But her hand snaked out, and like bands of steel, her fingers wrapped around my forearm. I was amazed that this pencil-thin girl, who looked as if she would have a hard time staying upright in a stiff breeze, had a grip of iron.

“You may not be so eager to have him back in your bed once you know the truth.”

“Don't think for a minute you have any idea what I will or will not do,” I spat back with some venom of my own.

Her face twisted into something ugly, and a light flashed behind her eyes, revealing an incomprehensible rage that was gone in an instant. Her features settled back into glossy magazine perfection. “If Gabriel won't tell you, then perhaps you should learn for yourself why you can never have him,” she hissed poisonously.

With her fingers still around my forearm, she jerked me off the porch, dragging me toward the Hummer. Flinging open the passenger-side door, Katja dared me to get inside. “It's time you understood why a future with him is impossible,” she barked.

I thought about resisting but had the craziest notion that if I did, this slender wisp of a girl would simply pick me up and throw me inside. I climbed in and watched as she came around and vaulted herself into the driver's seat with ease. Looking across the spacious cab, she started the engine, her face perfectly smooth and calm despite the malice in her voice.

“This game he is playing with you has gone on too long already, and now it needs to be ended,” she said grimly.

I shivered, only this time it wasn't because I was cold.

K
atja had absolutely no respect for speed. Hurtling along the road, she kept her eyes glued to the windshield, staring straight ahead and giving me a taste of what a NASCAR ride-along most likely felt like. I was confident, however, that I'd be a lot less anxious if Tony Stewart were in the driver's seat. I kept a death grip on the seat belt across my chest, and I was pretty sure my other hand would leave an imprint on the door handle.

And her constant muttering wasn't helping the situation either. I was tempted to tell her if she insisted on keeping up a running commentary, then at least have the courtesy to speak English. While I might not be able to grasp the more subtle nuances of her one-sided conversation, I could tell she was furious. And it was strange how “fuck” seems to be a universal curse word.

Staring out the window, I tried to get my bearings so I'd have some idea what direction we were going, but the tint on the glass was too dark. All I could see was my own reflection staring back at me, my face as pale as my abductor's. I was numb. I had no idea what was happening or what to expect, but the feeling that it was going to be bad was strong. In an effort to beat down the rising sense of doom, I clung to the slim hope that Gabriel wouldn't blame me for creating this particular set of circumstances. He cared about me a great deal. He wasn't yet at the point where he could say the L word, but I thought he was getting pretty close. As if offering its support, my internal torch flared up, and I tingled cautiously.

We turned off the main highway onto a private road, driving over a cattle guard as we did so. I recognized the noise and feel of it. Our way wasn't as smooth as before, forcing Katja to come down from the more or less one hundred miles per hour she'd been averaging to a speed better suited for the uneven terrain. I guess the Hummer wasn't as invincible as I had thought.

Unfortunately the slower speed did little to help me guess our location. Judging from all the trees illuminated by the headlights, we were driving through a forest. I bounced around in my seat, worried that either fear or the jostling was going to make me throw up. I wasn't sure which prospect terrified me more—actually vomiting in my seat or asking Katja to stop so I could upchuck out the window. Thankfully I didn't have to do either because just then the tires gripped asphalt, making the ride smooth out once more.

Ten minutes later Katja brought the vehicle to a stop with an unnecessarily loud squeal of rubber as she applied the brakes. She jumped out and had my door open before my shaking fingers had unsnapped the seat belt. Grabbing my arm, she hauled me unceremoniously out of the Hummer, marching me across a circular driveway like some POW in a bad war movie. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a half dozen or so cars parked in a long line. They all looked expensive and luxurious, and one in particular caught my attention. The odds of there being two powder-blue Fairlanes in this part of the state struck me as pretty astronomical. A rough jerk on my arm propelled me forward, so I gave my attention to what was in front of me.

“House” wasn't really the appropriate word to describe the architectural nightmare we were headed for. It was an over-the-top monstrosity that was three turrets shy of a real castle. Something the Wicked-Queen-slash-Stepmother from any fairy tale would be at home in.

Every window I could see was ablaze with light. Craning my neck, I looked upward and saw—good Lord—gargoyles! Real, honest to goodness medieval sentinels that snarled down at me, warning me to think twice about crossing the threshold they guarded. Like I had any say in the matter. Perhaps this qualified as a castle, after all, but who in their right mind would live in a place like this? I prayed it wasn't Gabriel's ancestral seat.

Katja pulled me up a set of wide concrete steps to a pair of doors with a bad case of Tower of London envy. Fifteen feet tall, they were covered with iron studs that stood out about six inches. I decided I must have missed the moat and drawbridge on the way in. A pair of enormous black iron rings, positioned at head height where each door met, had me thinking Katja might need my help to push. Amazingly, the doors swung open with barely a whisper, revealing an entrance hall dominated by the most incredible fountain.

Resting on a pedestal was a huge, black marble basin from whose depths rose a three-headed dragon spouting water from each open mouth. And if that wasn't enough to make my eyes fall out of my head, then the banquet room Katja steered me toward definitely was. And yes, I do mean banquet room, as in dining on a grand scale, medieval-style.

Colorful heraldic banners hung from the cathedral ceiling, and the walls were covered with richly detailed tapestries that looked a mile long. The room boasted a fireplace I estimated to be at least ten feet high and twenty wide. I could only imagine the sheer spectacle a roaring blaze would produce.

A huge table ran down the center of the room, with high-backed chairs lining each side. It probably sat fifty people, with plenty of elbow room, and the heraldic theme continued with a coat-of-arms design on each place setting. Personally I didn't care much for the china and silverware, the brightly colored pattern was far too busy for my taste, but the table decorations were very impressive. Enormous pedestal vases, overflowing with snowy Christmas roses and bright green holly, ran down the center of the table, interspersed with elaborate wrought-iron candelabras set with scarlet candles. I felt as if I was in some bizarre time warp. It was glorious and took my breath away.

“Looks like you're expecting company,” I said to the black leather trench coat in front of me.

Katja dismissed my comment with a rude grunting noise, dragging me over to the stone staircase against one wall. As I tried to make sure I didn't trip up the stairs, I felt a prickle at the nape of my neck. A prickle that told me I was being watched. Immediately I thought of Gabriel and wondered if his uncanny senses had alerted him to my presence inside these walls. I was surprised our arrival hadn't brought someone to greet us. I would have expected something in the way of staff, but apparently not.

At the top of the staircase, Katja hesitated. The way before us branched off into three separate hallways and she seemed to be in a quandary over which one to choose. Taking advantage of the momentary respite, I caught my breath. It sounded loud and ragged in my ears.

Staring at my abductor's profile, I watched her lips purse and her eyes close. She swiveled her head, first to the left, then the right, and paused as if she was listening to something. Whatever she could hear was beyond my range. Or perhaps she didn't hear anything at all and that was what seemed to disconcert her. I was about to offer my own choice on which direction we should take—retreating the way we had come struck me as a good option—when a figure stepped out of the shadows, scaring the bejesus out of me and making me shriek.

He was in his mid-fifties, if I had to guess, and though he could easily match Gabriel for height, he was definitely nowhere near as muscular. The heaviest thing this guy probably lifted on any given day was a cup of Earl Grey tea or a glass of sherry—both, no doubt, with his pinkie extended. But despite the lack of any showy muscle, there was a strength flowing from him. It made me think that underestimating him would be a serious mistake.

Couldn't fault him for his wardrobe, though. He was dressed in a dark gray pinstripe suit, his shirt the pale lavender of wisteria blossoms that matched the handkerchief in his breast pocket. Both would have looked effeminate on most other men, but he carried it off with panache.

Jet-black hair, similar to Katja's, was combed straight back from his forehead, revealing the most amazing widow's peak, the kind of thing I'd only seen in old, late-night horror movies on TV. In fact, that's exactly what he reminded me of, a debonair matinee idol lifted straight from a black-and-while celluloid strip.

“Good evening, Katja.”

Her name rolled off his tongue; his speech was smooth and cultured, with a casual intimacy and a similar accent to my abductor's. I was starting to wonder if being with Gabriel meant I was destined never to meet anyone born and raised in the U.S. again, and then I remembered Oscar, with his wonderful Kansas accent.

The man stepped forward and grasped Katja lightly by the shoulders, kissing her chastely on the forehead before taking a step back and turning his eyes on me. Tilting his chin, he inhaled deeply. I watched his nostrils flare and his eyes widen. He stared at me with such penetrating intensity, I had to look down and remind myself I still had my clothes on.

“Well, well, well . . . who have we here?”

His voice rippled with an edge that I found unsettling. I had enough on my plate already, with no space left to deal with the attentions of a fifties-style Lothario. Katja tried pushing me behind her but didn't have much success, mainly because I wasn't exactly being cooperative. If her intent was to hide me, it seemed pretty ridiculous, as I'd already been seen.

As she tightened her grip on my arm, I yelped in protest. Any more pressure would result in a broken bone or, at the very least, compromise my circulation. The matinee idol snapped out a few words that I didn't understand, but Katja let go of me. I rubbed the area above my elbow gratefully.

He held his hand out to me, palm up. I glanced at Katja, but she remained focused on him and didn't look at me. A quick movement of fingers told me to come forward. Seeing no other option, I tentatively placed my hand in his open palm and allowed myself to be maneuvered out from behind the black leather coat. I heard a soft hiss following my movement. Katja's face may have been an emotional blank screen, but I could feel the anger rolling off her in waves. It was pretty obvious she hadn't wanted this person, whoever he was, to see me, much less take a decided interest in me.

Dropping my hand, the matinee idol made a slow circle around me. I held my breath as Katja, feigning boredom, leaned against the wall and examined her nails. There were no tapestries here, I noticed, just deep red flocked wallpaper with a design that reminded me of ugly bowls of fruit. Katja appeared to have a bunch of grapes hanging from one earlobe.

“Katja?” The man turned his head in her direction, waiting for an answer. I tried to remember what the question was. Oh yeah, who was I?

“Rowan,” she answered with a dismissive wave of her hand before curling her fingers and attending to her cuticles.

He smiled, showing me a mouthful of pearly whites. “Ah, so you are Rowan.”

I nodded. He sounded as if he'd been expecting me, which was completely ludicrous, of course. The smile he wore grew broader, crinkling the corners of his eyes and deepening the brackets at either side of his mouth, but all it did was increase my uneasiness. Something was very off about him.

“Charming,” he murmured, “absolutely charming.”

I remembered Aleksei saying the same thing about me, and I wondered if it meant something different to them.

“You think so?” Katja pushed herself away from the wall and came up behind him, looking positively irritated. “I fail to see the attraction.”

“Of course you don't, you can't . . . you're female.” Raising an eyebrow, he continued looking me up and down. “Rowan was not designed to inflame your senses.”

Inflame your senses?
Was this guy for real?

Apparently Katja did not share the sentiment, and behind his back she opened her mouth and made a gagging motion with her finger. I snorted back a giggle. It was the last thing I expected her to do. The man looked sharply over his shoulder.

“Does she inflame yours?” she asked sweetly, her hands disappearing inside the trench coat.

He shook his head. “Of course not, but I do find something intriguing about her.” His nostrils flared again. “Designated for one specific purpose, but linked only to one specific male.”

I felt better. Whatever I had that intrigued the Lothario, it was purely academic. He walked slowly around me again. I'd never been given the once-over like this before, and part of me said I ought to protest at such demeaning behavior. Being talked about in the third person was especially galling, but for some odd reason I really didn't feel degraded. The matinee idol was making me feel as if I was giving him the most extraordinary gift, just by letting him look at me.

“May I?” He held both hands out in front of him, palms up. His fingers curled, and I noticed his nails were neatly manicured. And long. I've never seen a man his age with long nails before. Actually I've never seen a man with such long nails, period.

I had no idea what he wanted, but I nodded, then almost took a step back as he moved toward me and the long nails flashed past my neck. He caught a handful of my hair and twisted it around so it was piled on top of my head, exposing my neck.

“There, much better.”

Katja decided she'd had enough and stamped her foot angrily. “My God—would you stop this foolishness!”

The man sighed loudly and ignored her, which elevated him a step or two in my estimation. I stared at him and concluded he and Katja had to be related because they both had the same black hair and violet eyes. Only his sparkled a little darker. He let go of my hair, watching as it tumbled around my shoulders.

“I'm sorry,” I said, deciding it was time to join the conversation. “I don't think I caught your name.”

I held out my hand for him to shake. The way he looked at it reminded me of how Katja had reacted when I'd done the same thing with her the first time we met. Oh yeah, these two were definitely cut from the same cloth; however, Lothario recovered a lot quicker than she had. Taking my outstretched hand in both of his, he raised my knuckles to his mouth and pressed his lips against my skin.

“My apologies, Rowan,” he said, straightening up. “I am Vladimir.” Of course he was. With his widow's peak, accent, and those clothes, what else could his name have been? “Did Gabriel send you to fetch Rowan?” he asked Katja, all the while keeping his eyes on me.