Blood Bond (Anna Strong Chronicles #9) (8 page)

CHAPTER 12

C
HAEL
. MY TONE IS GUARDED, CLIPPED.
WHAT ARE
you doing here?

In his perfectly tailored Armani, a white linen shirt open at the neck and polished brogues, he looks right at home in this French sidewalk café. Only his complexion and eyes, dark and exotic, emphasize his mideastern rather than French roots. He is, in fact, the head of the Middle Eastern Vampire Tribe and literally the last man, human or vampire, I would have expected to run into here.

With a snapping of fingers, and flawless French, he bids the waiter to fetch another chair.

Somehow his rudeness appeals to the waiter, who while only a moment ago was grousing at me for dropping a cup, now springs into action to not only grab a chair from another table but hold it out for Chael to slip into.

Irrationally, his imposing presence ratchets my dislike for Chael up another notch.

I asked what you are doing here. I did not invite you to join us.

Frey has my hand under the table. He will not be able to hear what I’m saying—since Chael speaks no English we must communicate telepathically—but he will understand Chael’s side of the conversation. He squeezes my hand softly, as if assuring me that he has my back.

Chael, for his part, has taken a leisurely drink from his cup. His eyes flick to Frey. He knows him, from Monument Valley, knows he’s a shape-shifter, knows he’s my friend, but he neither acknowledges his presence nor bothers to demand he leave us while we talk.

He merely dismisses him entirely by ignoring him and shifting his gaze to peer at me intently over the rim.
You still see me as an enemy.

Not an enemy. An annoyance. A rude annoyance.
The words resonate in my head like a hiss.
Like a mosquito I’m about to swat.

He laughs.
Colorful as ever, Anna. But there is a reason I am here. Just as I believe it was fate that you should arrive here, too, at just this moment. When I heard you were coming, I—

A chill touches the back of my neck. We, Frey and I, had only found out about my mother’s illness a day ago. No one else knew except David and Tracey.
How could you know I was coming to France?

Chael lifts his well-dressed shoulders.
You are an important figure to the vampire community. I make it my business to know what you do as I’m sure most of the leaders of the Thirteen Tribes do as well.

You have me followed?

Nothing so pedestrian,
he replies, his tone registering disdain that I would think so little of him.
I have contacts in all major airports. When your pilot filed his flight plan, I was notified.

Just like that? Anger sends the blood racing. Not for the first time, I want to slap that smug smile off his elegant face. Frey must feel my body tense, because he squeezes my hand again.

I exhale.
So why are you here? I won’t ask again.

This time, Chael lets the smile fall from his face. He leans toward me.
I told you in Monument Valley if you let me go, I would be indebted to you. I intend to honor that pledge. It’s why I’m here. To warn you. But first, to help you.

Help me?

Your mother. I know she is very ill. If you should decide to bring her over, to make her one of us, I offer my services to see . . .

My stomach clenches.
Don’t speak of my mother.

The anger, the challenge in my voice makes Chael blanche. He bobs his head, once.

Fine. Then there is just one thing we need to discuss. Something of utmost importance to the vampire world.

I release a sigh. Chael, melodramatic as ever. I keep my thoughts guarded.
Go on.

Have you never wondered why there was no ambassador from Europe in attendance when you were acknowledged as the Chosen One?

Until this very moment, no. I’d never noticed. I was too busy fighting for my life. I meet Chael’s eyes.
Explain.

He leans back in his chair, cup in hand, legs crossed.
The European vampires refuse to join the Council. Have from the beginning. They are among the oldest, some say the first, vampires in existence. They are also the most powerful—at least in their own eyes.

He takes a sip of coffee, wipes at his lips with a napkin.
They are well organized and disciplined. And answer to a vampire who calls himself King Steffan.

That brings a snicker to my lips. How like an old-soul vampire to proclaim himself a king. But something in Chael’s manner makes me swallow back the sarcasm. His thoughts are dark and his tone concerned. His usual cockiness and arrogance are not in evidence, either. Which, above all else, makes me uneasy. I incline my head in a go-ahead gesture.

There have been rumors circulating lately. Steffan is ready to begin the process that will end human domination over the vampire. He sees the collapse of the European Union and the decline of the United States as a world power as a signal that the time is ripe to put his plan into action.

I pass a hand over my face in frustration. As usual, Chael exercises his penchant for overstatement. Collapse of the EU? Decline of the U.S.? Another scheme to achieve vampire world domination?

I’ve heard this before.
I glare pointedly at Chael.
It’s a very familiar refrain. And just what is King Steffan’s plan?

Chael plunges ahead as if my voice exuded enthusiasm instead of dripping sarcasm.
I don’t know the details. It’s a closely guarded secret among Steffan’s inner circle. But what I do know is that if he is to be stopped, it must be now, before he has a chance to rally his supporters. And I understand there are humans who are ready to fall in line with him, too. It’s a serious threat.

I throw up my hands.
Why would he listen to me if he does not acknowledge the Council? I would have to assume my title as the Chosen One would hold no sway over him.

Chael smiles, but a smile that is cold and just a bit resentful.
True. But you have proven yourself a mighty arbiter. After all, you convinced the Thirteen Tribes to turn down my plan.

Ah, for the first time a bit of the old Chael shines through.
Which makes me wonder again why you’ve come to me. Steffan sounds like someone you would want to join forces with.

Chael and I have both been carefully guarding our thoughts, letting only what we wish the other to know to come through. Now he lets down the barrier completely, allowing me to
feel
as well as hear the sincerity of his words.

I am indebted to you. You could have taken my life in Monument Valley. You did not. For that, I owe you allegiance. I do not think Steffan is the kind of vampire to be allowed to risk our very existence in his attempt to overthrow our human brethren. You are the strongest vampire. If you cannot reason with him, you have only one alternative.

I raise my eyebrows, guessing what is to come next but wanting to hear Chael say it anyway.

You must kill him.

I sit back in my chair.
Chael, you sly dog. You are either the best actor in the world, or you’ve managed to find a way to cloak your real feelings. I don’t buy for one moment that you’d prefer Steffan’s death over mine.

Chael shrugs, shakes his head.
I don’t know what I can do to convince you of my sincerity. I can only report to you what I know. It’s up to you to decide if the threat merits your attention.

Shit. Along with everything going on in my life, my mother’s illness, the upcoming nuptials, I now have one more thing to worry about? Chael knows I can’t let this threat go. At least until I’ve met Steffan and can assess the situation myself. All this I keep hidden from Chael until I open my thoughts to say with a reluctant sigh,
Can you arrange a meeting?

Yes. I will do so. How do I get in touch with you?

Is that relief I hear ring through, or satisfaction?

I give him my cell number.
I will be busy for the next couple of days. Try to set up the meeting for Thursday evening. Can you do that?

Chael nods and pushes up from the table.
I will be in touch.

And then he is gone, melting back into the throng on the sidewalk as subtly and artfully as he appeared.

Frey releases a long breath. “Do you believe him?”

But I have something else I want to say before I talk about Chael. I lean over. “Thank you. For being here. For putting up with this crap. You know it’s not going to get any better. No matter where we go we might run into Chael or one of his counterparts.”

“Comes with the territory,” he replies matter-of-factly. “I knew you were the Chosen One from the beginning. It’s part of the package.”

I take his hand and press it to my lips. “Some package.” Then I sit back. “As far as I can tell, Chael was perfectly sincere in what he said. As for the rest of it, I won’t know about Steffan until we’re face-to-face.”

“You won’t be alone,” Frey says. His jaw tightens. “I will be with you when you meet him.”

I look away. That may not be possible, for Frey’s own protection, but it’s also not something I want to argue about now. In fact, I don’t want to argue about anything. Nor do I want to think about Chael. I have two days before I hear from Chael about a meeting. I motion to the waiter for the check.

“Let’s get back,” I say, gathering the shopping bags. “I want to spend as much time as possible with my folks and the kids. I don’t want to think about Chael or this King Steffan or anything remotely connected with vampires. I want only to think about you and our wedding. Happy things.”

Frey’s brow furrows. “Nice dodge. But I mean it, Anna. I want to be with you when you meet him. We’re a team now. In everything.”

Then Frey is distracted by the waiter arriving with our check. I watch as he presses some bills into the waiter’s hand.

It would be nice to
think
we could be partners in everything. I
know
it’s not possible. Just as Chael pointedly ignored Frey, didn’t even acknowledge his presence, I have a feeling this
King
Steffan would be no less disrespectful. The attitude of most vampires is that we are the top of the supernatural hierarchy and every other creature not only falls far below, but is expendable. I would never risk Frey’s life.

Frey is backing away from the waiter. Evidently my transgression in breaking a cup is forgotten because we’re now being assaulted by an effusive stream of
mercis
that follow us all the way down the sidewalk.

Either that or somehow our association with the exquisitely dressed Chael has raised his estimation of this casually clad American couple up a notch.

CHAPTER 13

W
HEN WE GET BACK TO THE ESTATE, MOM AND Catherine are marshaling the troops in the kitchen like a general and her aide. John-John runs up to me when Frey and I come in and hugs my legs. He doesn’t have to say a word, his shining eyes say it all. Trish follows him over, encircling Frey and I and John-John in a group hug that threatens to topple us all over in its enthusiasm.

Laughing, I pull back. “What’s all this about?” I ask innocently.

Then everyone, Mom, Dad, Trish and John-John are talking at once, each offering a suggestion about what they want to do to help with the wedding preparations. I can tell it’s all they’ve talked about since Frey and I departed. Already, Mom has lined up a caterer, a party planner to handle renting tables and chairs and a local baker to make the cake.

“Wait a minute.” I hold up a hand in protest. “This is supposed to be a
small
affair, remember?”

“It will be,” Mom insists. “But there are some neighbors we’d like to invite and I’m sure you and Daniel will want to include friends from San Diego. David, for instance. Which reminds me, no time to mail out invitations. You’ll have to call everyone. Better do that tonight. You said your jet was here? Maybe you could arrange to fly—”

She continues to babble happily on. I tilt my head, studying her. I’m happy to see her so animated. I find myself smiling, agreeing to every suggestion. No way will I ruin her glow.

At that moment a tiny germ of an idea takes root. Something Chael said this afternoon.

Maybe I won’t have to.

* * *

THE TRIP TO THE CONSULATE GOES SMOOTHLY. UNTIL
we’re presented a list of the documentation necessary to marry in France. One item jumps off the page—medical certificate. Blood tests and a medical exam by a French doctor have to be completed before the marriage application can be approved.

The clerk helping us offers a list of doctors to consult, but for the same reason I have avoided my own doctor in San Diego, I know I can’t go to just any doctor in France. I have no idea how vampire physiology differs from human, but I don’t intend to find out now. I glance at Frey. Chances are, he would pass a normal exam and routine blood tests. He is more human than not.

Everything else, passports, birth certificates, certificates certifying that we are free to marry, proof of domicile—all are dispatched with alacrity. Frey has his lawyer friend in San Diego with whom he’s already talked. I call David and he promises to get the bureaucratic wheels spinning for me. After, of course, an excited chorus of whoops from both he and Tracey when I tell him why I’m calling.

Then he says, “By the way, Harris stopped by the office yesterday. You are never going to guess what’s happened? They’ve identified Warren Williams’ killer! And the same guy confessed to killing Judith Williams, too. Can you believe it?”

My breath catches. Not possible. Warren Williams’ killer is a vampire long dead. By my hand. Judith was killed in Monument Valley. Frey’s hands were on that weapon, but I was at his side, urging him to take the shot. It takes me a second to compose myself enough to ask, “Who?”

“Some lowlife ex-con who had a grudge against the chief. Confessed to killing them both and burying Judith Williams’ body in the desert. Left a beautiful letter addressed to the DA before blowing his brains out in front of SDPD headquarters.”

Frey is watching me, reading my body language. We’re back in the car, getting ready to head home. As soon as I end the call with David, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

When I repeat what David told me, he’s as shocked as I am. “Somebody engineered this,” he says. “But who?”

“And why?” If I’m supposed to be relieved that Harris will no longer be harassing Frey and me, the feeling is overwhelmed by a sense of dread. Whoever did me this “favor” will undoubtedly be around at some point to collect for it.

“Jesus, Frey. A man is dead. The case tied up with a pretty ribbon. What the fuck?”

Frey’s eyes meet mine.

“I can’t help feeling this has Chael’s signature all over it.”

Frey is shaking his head. “Well, we can’t do anything about it now. When we get back home, we’ll do some digging.” He spreads his hands. “Right now we have a wedding to plan, right? I saw how you reacted when you saw that medical requirement. Let’s tackle that problem.”

Frey is right. I close my eyes for a minute, push Williams to the back of my head, focus on the present.

Where Chael is once again front and center. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I know he wouldn’t be your first choice as a go-to guy, but maybe Chael can help,” he says, proving that we are indeed thinking the same thing. “He’s obviously spent a lot of time in France. He speaks the language like a native.”

I release a breath. “I hate going to Chael for anything. He’s such a smug bastard. But you’re right, he’s been around for a long time. I’m sure there’s a network he can tap into. I can’t be the only vampire to ever get married in France.” I glance at Frey. “What about you? Could you pass a routine physical?”

He smiles. “Of course. Have many times. Only my DNA contains the strand that would identify me as a shape-shifter and I doubt they’re going to run DNA tests on us. Or recognize what it was if they did.”

Frey is at the wheel and has guided the car onto the road so I dig my cell phone out of my pocket. “Never thought I’d ever be calling Chael for a favor,” I mumble, calling up his number from the contact list. He gave the number to me in Monument Valley and some inexplicable impulse made me program it into the phone even as I swore it’d be a cold day in hell before I used it.

Wonder what the temperature is in the Syrian Desert today?

The phone rings once before the call is answered with a brisk, officious male voice that rattles off an impressive greeting in Arabic.

I didn’t think before calling that there’s no mental connectivity through a phone line. Stupid. I hesitate before saying, “Anna Strong, calling for Chael.”

There’s not even an instant’s hesitation on the part of the unidentified male on the other end. “Ms. Strong, how nice of you to call.” The switch to English is done effortlessly. “I am Chael’s assistant. Can I be of service?”

Okay, now what? May as well just tell him why I’m calling. Since he recognized my name, he must know my nature. “I am planning to marry in France. I need a doctor to handle the necessary medical paperwork. Does Chael know of someone who can help?”

Again, the answer comes instantaneously. “Of course. I will see to it right away. Is there anything else?”

I have the feeling if I’d asked for a full moon on the night of our wedding, he would have answered the same way.

And probably swung it.

“No, that’s it,” I reply. “Thank you.”

“I will tell Chael that you called. He is a great admirer.”

I hike my eyebrows at Frey as I ring off. “Maybe I need to get an assistant like that.”

“Are we all set?”

“Oh yeah,” I say, grinning. “We’re good to go.”

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, BEFORE THE HOUSEHOLD HAS
time to gather for breakfast, there is a ring at the front door.

Since Frey, John-John and I are already up, I rise from the breakfast table to answer it. A man in the familiar brown UPS uniform hands me an envelope and a clipboard.

I sign at the “x”, the messenger bids me “bonjour” and is off down the driveway in his truck.

“Wow, that was fast,” I comment to Frey, rejoining them in the dining room. “David must have worked all night to get this stuff together so fast.”

But when I tear open the envelope, I see I am wrong about who it is from. Four official-looking French documents are inside. Along with a note, written in a precise hand:

Miss Strong, here are the documents you requested. Present them to the Mairie at the consulate. Chael suggested I take the liberty of including documents for your fiancé as well. I hope you don’t think it presumptuous.

Chael also asked that I pass on to you the information that the meeting has been set as you requested. He suggests you meet him at Le Course café and he will take you to the castle. 6:30, Thursday.

Please do not hesitate to call on us if we can be of more assistance.

The note is signed with theatrical flourish: Pierre LeDoux.

I look up at Frey and hand him the documents. “I
definitely
need an assistant like this.”

His brow furrows as he notes the set of certificates with his name on them. “How does he know my blood type?” he asks, scanning the pages. “And my exact height and weight. This is creepy.”

I nod. “Yes, it is. But then
Chael
is creepy, so I guess we should be thankful he seems to be on our side now.”

“What does the note say?” Frey asks, slipping the papers back into the envelope.

I read the first paragraph aloud, hesitating before going on to the second. For a split second, I consider not telling him that the meeting has been set. Wondering again if I should go alone.

But I don’t want to lie to him. And I don’t want to have to sneak away. I continue reading.

John-John catches the word “castle” and pipes up, “You’re going to a castle? A real castle? Can I go, too?”

We both look at John-John, then at each other. “There are lots of castles around here,” I answer, taking my place next to him at the table. “And if it doesn’t work out this time, I promise we’ll plan to go again, okay?”

He agrees with a bob of his head and digs a spoon into his cereal.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask John-John, squeezing his shoulders.

“James said he’d take me on the tractor to show me how they water the vines,” he replies with a grin. “Then when Trish gets home from school, we’re going next door to see the horses.”

“Sounds like a pretty good day,” I say. “Much better than the one your daddy and I have planned. More running around to finish the paperwork for the wedding.”

“We have to go shopping sometime, too,” Frey adds. “A suit for me. A suit for the best man, here.” He leans in and tickles John-John’s ribs.

“And the bride needs a dress.” Trish is suddenly in the doorway, grinning. “So tonight, we go shopping.”