Blood Bond (Anna Strong Chronicles #9) (15 page)

Vlad ignores the knife-sharp accusation. “Where does Archambault live?”

“Near Paris. Asnières-sur-Seine.” He rattles off a street address.

“If he took a car,” I say to Vlad, “we could beat him cross-country.”

Vlad crosses to the door and, opening it, calls to his guard. He snaps something in French and the guard disappears, to return an eye blink later. His answer brings a smile to Vlad’s lips.

“His car is gone.”

Frey addresses himself to the shifters. “What form does Archambault take?”

“Bear,” the spokesman answers.

Frey’s expression is almost blissful as he looks at me. “A challenge. It’s been a long time.”

“No, Frey,” I snap back at him. “It’s too dangerous. You can’t come.”

But Frey has already retreated to a corner behind the bar. We hear rustling and I know he’s stripping off his clothes in preparation for making the change.

I sigh. Unless I’m prepared to hog-tie him, arguing with Frey when he’s made up his mind is useless.

Vlad is waving a hand to dismiss the shifters when I stop him. There is still one more piece of the puzzle to snap in place.

“Did something happen tonight between Archambault and Steffan?” I ask. “Did Steffan borrow something of Archambault’s maybe or—?”

One of the younger of the shifters speaks up for the first time. He looks to his friends. “The tie?”

“Tie?” I say encouragingly. “What happened with the tie?”

His face reddens. “It seems Steffan liked Archambault’s tie better than the one he was wearing. He asked if they might trade. At the time we all laughed, it seemed silly. But the two did trade. And Steffan put Archambault’s tie on immediately.”

I nod to Vlad. He waves the shifters off and they waste no time beating a hasty retreat back to the party.

“Well, at least we have more than suspicion. Even if Steffan’s leap to Archambault was unsuccessful, he was planning on trying it if things didn’t go his way.”

I pause as another thought strikes me. “Which means Steffan must have suspected you might show up tonight.”

Vlad shrugs. “Ours is a tight-knit community. There are those whose allegiance to me is strong. Word can and does pass both ways.”

“And was it Chael who told you of Steffan’s plan?” I speak the words without giving them conscious thought. Chael played a major role in getting me here. And his cryptic words in the car about history to be made all make sense now.

“Chael is a friend,” Vlad replies.

He says nothing more.

The rustling in the corner stops. Frey emerges, a sleek black panther, and flashes us a green-eyed greeting—a growl emanating from deep within his chest.

He pushes against my legs until my hand lies on the top of his head.

Vlad watches, a smile touching the corner of his lips. “I may have been wrong about your panther,” he says. “He is not so biddable as I thought.”

Frey snaps in Vlad’s direction and I swear, I see him smile.

Vlad looks down at himself, then over to me.
We are not so fortunate as your cat. We cannot shed our human forms, but we can shed these clothes. Steffan has a gymnasium in the house, which means he must have something we can use to make our travels more comfortable. Come.

Once again Frey and I follow Vlad through another door and up a staircase to the second floor. Frey bounds up the stairs with feline grace. Every time I see him in this form I’m amazed at the powerful muscles that ripple under midnight black fur. He is beautiful. My heart races. And mortal. I will protect him at all costs tonight.

The “gymnasium,” as Vlad called it, is in fact an exercise room: recumbent bike, free weights, a treadmill. Attached is a shower room and then another door that leads into what I guess is Steffan’s bedroom.

Not what I would have imagined a “king’s bedchamber” to be. It is spartan. A plain bed of rustic wood, a huge armoire with simple lines, a writing desk. And yet, a search of the closet and armoire yields Steffan’s clothes, finely tailored suits, slacks, silk shirts of the palest hues. In a drawer, we finally find what we are looking for. Sweatpants and shirts, sports shoes.

Vlad hands me a sweatshirt and pants, a pair of socks and a pair of Steffan’s shoes.
They may be too big,
he says,
although I have found American women to have surprisingly large feet.

I would object but for the fact that Steffan’s shoes look to be a pretty good fit. I head back for the shower room to change. As I shut the door, I see Frey take up position in front of the door and it brings a smile.

When I’ve changed, I lay the dress Steffan bought for me on the bed, reflecting that I never thanked him for the gift.

A moot point now.

CHAPTER 24

V
LAD, FREY AND I LEAVE THROUGH A BACK ENTRANCE
. THE HOUSE BEING PERCHED ON THE TOP of the hill makes the first part of our journey effortless. Downhill all the way, we easily pace each other, panther and vampire. Vlad is our guide. He knows the countryside, and once we reach the main highway to Paris, he keeps us to underbrush when we can find it or out-of-the-way back roads when we can’t. An auto trip of five hundred miles takes about eight hours. We should make it in three.

Vlad and I exchange very little communication during our race. He once comments that I have remarkable stamina for a new vampire. That gets a chortling snort from Frey and no comment at all from me.

The countryside goes by in a blur. I can’t distinguish village from town from city. It’s still dead of night and at our speed, even farmland and gently rising hillock flow under our feet and paws like a smooth river. The star-dazzled clear sky above is a Milky-Way smudge. It’s a most wonderful feeling—as close to flying as an earthbound, flesh-and-blood being is likely to get.

My worry that Frey would be unable to keep up with us is unfounded. He sometimes bounds ahead like a frisky puppy off the leash and I realize we, he and I, need to make sure we set ourselves free like this on a regular basis.

It’s almost as satisfying as sex.

Then you must not be doing it right.

Vlad. Impertinent and insolent as ever.

Keep out of my head.

I can’t help it. You American women think such delicious thoughts. Like children, whatever pops in your mind, you express.

My mind, Vlad. My mind. You don’t find me violating your privacy.

He chuckles.
You should. Oh, the things I could teach you. Frey would thank me.

Frey would chew you up.

So provincial. Wait until you’ve been around as long as I have. Morality becomes an archaic concept.

And love? Does that become an archaic concept as well?

No reply. Vlad turns his thoughts off like a curtain coming down. Good.

We’re approaching the outskirts of Paris. Vlad stops and Frey and I gather near him.

“Archambault lives in a northwestern suburb of Paris. Rue de Château is a main street. We have beat him by many hours. We will go directly to the address. We can rest there and wait for him to show up.”

Frey presses against my legs and I scratch the top of his head. An act that sets Vlad to laughing.

“A girl and her pet,” he snorts.

Frey raises a paw and growls a retort.

* * *

ARCHAMBAULT’S HOME TURNS OUT TO BE A BIG VILLA
on a street studded with them. It is approaching three in the morning yet there are lights on inside. We can only guess that he must have called ahead to let someone know he was returning—perhaps a servant. Or a wife. I realize we should have asked for more particulars about his household.

Too late now.

The house has a huge walled garden in the rear. Frey bounds over the fence easily. In a moment, he is back, taking my hand in his mouth to pull me toward the yard.

“I think it’s clear,” I tell Vlad.

Frey is gone again, clearing the six-foot-plus wall in one graceful leap. I follow, Vlad close behind. We alight in a garden, newly planted along one wall, centered by a stretch of green lawn, bordered on two other sides by flowers and what look like fruit trees. Nothing much in the way of shelter. But Frey has already found a place between the greenery of some big, flowering vines and a cherry tree. He lays down and looks up at me. I snuggle next to him, my head on his chest. He nuzzles the top of my head before letting his body relax. His breathing becomes deep and regular, his heartbeat slows. In a moment, he is asleep.

Vlad has picked a spot a few yards away to hunker down, his back against the trunk of a willow tree. I feel him watching.

You should get some rest, too,
I tell him.

I don’t require that much sleep anymore,
he responds.
One of the benefits of age. But you should close your eyes. I’ll stand guard.

There is a moment of silence and just as I’m drifting off, Vlad’s voice is in my head once more.

How did you know it was Avery who possessed your friend?
he asks.

She was not a friend,
is my immediate reply.
Far from it. She was another victim of Avery’s. But at first, I didn’t believe it was possible—transmutation. Until Avery started to manifest himself in the were more and more, giving himself away with cruel words and acts. He tried to coerce a friend of his host’s to kill me and when that didn’t work, set the werewolf upon me himself. It was only because the host he chose was strong enough to thwart him that he was vanquished.

Vlad is quiet. I let a moment go by before I ask,
How will we know for sure if Steffan is present in Archambault?

Steffan is nothing if not egotistical,
Vlad replies.
I think he will give himself away the moment he sees us. He will want us to know how clever he has been.

I let another moment pass.
How will we kill him? With Avery, with the werewolf, he was defeated because he could not stop Sandra from changing. With a shifter, there is no imperative to change. He could remain in the shifter’s body for as long as he wants.
Another thought strikes me.
I don’t know if he could impart immortality to a host, do you? If he can, and he’s smart, he will not give himself away to us.

Vlad chuckles softly. At the sound, Frey stirs and opens his eyes. I stroke his head and the panther relaxes again, falling back into a deep sleep.

If only it were so easy for me.

Vlad is watching us again.
I think I was mistaken. You two may be well suited after all.

I take that as a compliment.

You should. I haven’t met too many mixed-species couples that have made it work. Your strengths balance each other’s. You are strong, a leader. He is strong in his own way, but a follower.

I bristle.
Frey has his own mind. If anything, he gives me strength. He is clear-headed and loyal—

Vlad raises a hand.
I was not disparaging your mate. To the contrary, I was complimenting him. You have chosen well and I hope you have many good years together.

Not what I was expecting. I release a breath. Let my mind wander back to the problem at hand.
Why did you laugh when I asked if Steffan could impart immortality to a host?

Vlad rests his chin in his hands.
Because I cannot answer you. It is unclear.

Unclear? In all your years on this earth, you have never known a vampire who transmuted and continued in his host as an immortal?

No.
Vlad’s clipped answer is followed by a brief pause, during which he climbs from his crouched position and stretches his arms over his head. When he feels my mind probing for more, he continues.

Vampires who transmute do it because they are escaping—someone. In every case of which I am aware, the someone they are escaping eventually catches up to them. It may seem a good choice at the time, but inevitably it leads to permanent death.

For the vampire, surely. But what about the host?

I do not know the shifter Steffan chose as his host. If he was a willing participant in the plan, he accepted the risk.

And if he was not a willing participant?

In the dark, I see Vlad shrug.
It makes no difference, does it? The only way we can be sure Steffan is gone is to destroy the host and its parasite.

CHAPTER 25

I
FINALLY DRIFT OFF, UNEASY THOUGHTS OF WHAT
LIES ahead for us transforming themselves into uneasy dreams in which Avery and Steffan lie in wait. I had reason to want Avery dead. I can’t even remember what Steffan’s host looks like. I had only one brief glimpse of the five shifters standing together when we walked into Steffan’s party. Their attention had been on Frey.

Frey.

I absently run my hand along his sleek neck. If Steffan’s shifter goes after him, I will gladly end both their lives. We have a wedding—

I bolt upright. We’ve been gone almost eight hours. What are my parents going to think when they wake up and find us gone?

Shit. I look at my watch. It’s close to five. If Steffan and Archambault are traveling by car it will be another four hours at least before they get here. Frey and I have an appointment this afternoon with the officiates of our wedding ceremony.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This is not supposed to be happening.

Frey and I are supposed to be at home with our families.

What was I thinking agreeing to come with Vlad?

As if speaking his name in my head is an invitation, here he is.

I’m sorry I have usurped time with your family. I promise we will end this thing as quickly as possible and I will get you and Frey back to your family.

In a few hours, they will miss us. We don’t even know if Steffan is on his way here. I can’t believe I let myself get dragged into this.

Did you have a choice?
Vlad’s tone is shock with a touch of annoyance.
Weren’t you the one who first uttered the eloquent words I quoted today about protecting humanity?

I close my eyes, breathe in and out. Yes. Damn it. And thanks to Chael, here I am.

Chael.

Do you have a cell phone with you?
I ask Vlad.

He digs one out of a pocket.

I don’t suppose you have Chael’s number?

No. But I have the next best thing.
He punches some numbers into his phone. There is just a moment’s hesitation before he is speaking rapid-fire French to whoever answered on the other end. He holds the phone away from his ear.
Shall I have Chael tell your parents that you took a romantic last-minute road trip to Paris? We’ll say you’ll be home by early afternoon.

Can we be home by early afternoon?

I will see to it.

Miserably, I nod.

Vlad finishes his call.
My assistant,
he explains.
He will take care of everything.

I mumble a thank-you, but it’s without heart. What if something happened to my mother last night? I’m miles away with no way to get back until we’ve taken care of—

Frey suddenly comes awake with a growl. At the same time, Vlad jumps to my side. An outside light has come on over the front door. We steal across the yard to get a better look.

A cab is pulling up to the curb in front of Archambault’s house. The door opens and the shifter steps out.

Vlad shakes his head.
Of course. He must have flown to the party from Paris. The car was to take him back to the airport.

A thrill of relief washes over me—small and maybe inconsequential. But at least our wait is over.

Vlad cuts my optimism short. Archambault pays the driver and is turning toward the house when he suddenly stops. He is still shrouded in shadow from the trees lining his street, but this is the first chance I’ve had to really look at him.

Bear is an appropriate totem for the huge hulk of a man dressed in a tux that had to have been customized to accommodate his six-foot-six, three-hundred-pound frame. His complexion is coarse, features blunted, lips drawn and thin. He is breathing through his mouth, teeth bared, as if his flat nose is merely a placeholder on his face and has no useful purpose. Suddenly, he raises that nose, sniffing the air, adding to the illusion that we are watching an animal.

Does he sense Frey, the panther, hiding in his garden?

I reach down to touch Frey, an unconscious gesture to reassure myself that he is here, beside me. The panther is crouched and growling so softly, no human ear would pick it up.

I look to Vlad.
What now?

Maybe he’ll make it easy for us,
Vlad says.
Come through the back into the garden.

But Archambault doesn’t accommodate us. After a long moment, he continues up the front walk to his door. From our viewpoint, we hear but cannot see a female greeting him and the closing of the door as they go inside.

Shit.

Could you tell if it was Steffan?
I ask Vlad.

He shakes his head.

What now?
Impatience sharpens my tone.
Maybe I should walk right up to his door and see if he recognizes me. Steffan would. I doubt Archambault could. We were never introduced. At least we’d know for sure if we were on the right track.

Frey suddenly tenses beside me. No longer growling softly, he rumbles a warning as the back door is flung open. I reach down to steady him, eyes on the rectangle of light spilling into the yard.

No longer wearing his tux jacket, Archambault steps into the garden. “Is that you, Anna Strong?” he asks in a voice instantly recognizable. “I should have known with your experience, you might suspect I’d have an escape plan.”

I motion for Frey and Vlad to stay hidden and step forward to the center of the garden.

“You and Avery have a lot in common, Steffan.” I smile. “How did you know I was here?”

He touches the tip of his nose. “Funny thing. As a vampire, I had many heightened sensibilities. I never appreciated that of smell. Seems it’s one of the few I have left now in this form. Your perfume in the car the other day, and tonight, it is memorable.”

He is holding a wineglass and he takes a sip. “Why have you come here? I have been effectively neutralized, have I not? I will spend eternity in the cumbersome body of this ignorant shifter.” He gestures toward the house behind him. “Hardly the domicile of a king.”

“Ah, but you have plans, don’t you? Like Avery, you would never be content to remain an
ignorant shifter
.”

“Perhaps.” Another sip of wine, a slow smile. “But that is not your concern. You are here for a short while and then you will return to America. Don’t let me interrupt those plans. It would not be in your, or your fiancé’s, best interest.”

He gestures toward the corner where Frey and Vlad wait. “You know, I could have taken your pet. That would have been interesting, would it not? And not without it’s pleasurable aspects. But I have no desire to be consort to the Chosen One.”

“A wise choice, Steffan. Though a shortsighted one. I have no reason now to delay ending your existence.”

He smiles. “Think carefully before taking action, Anna. After all, one funeral in a family is hard enough. It would devastate your father should he lose a daughter as well as a wife.”

I don’t sense Frey approach until he attacks. Like a specter, he rushes by on silent paws and launches himself at Archambault, fangs bared. Archambault retreats back, Frey clawing his way up his torso to snap at his neck.

“Frey, no.”

But my words are lost in the thunder of his growls. Frey has tasted blood and he continues to rake at Archambault.

Instinctively, the shifter under attack loses control. Clothes shred as bone and sinew transform themselves into fur and muscle. Archambault’s face contorts, snout forming with teeth as sharp and fearsome as Frey’s. His head on a stout neck transforms into the round-eared mask of a polar bear and when he shakes Frey off with a huge paw, the panther is flung to the far wall.

Terror clutches at my heart as Frey lies still among the newly turned earth of a flower bed. Behind me, the bear roars, but my eyes remain fixed to Frey’s still form. At last, he stirs. And when he looks up at me, I know. It’s time.