Blood of Angels (9 page)

“You weren’t meant to be there.”

István kicked Konrad’s chair around, forcing his friend to look at him. “Fuck, Konrad, anyone could have been there. Mihaela, Elizabeth, countless innocent humans besides all the vampires you don’t even know. Or do the humans not even matter anymore because they’re consorting with vampires? Is Elizabeth the enemy now? Is
Mihaela
, for God’s sake?”

Konrad whitened. “If that’s their choice. It doesn’t change right and wrong.”

“No, it doesn’t. You staked the vampire at the door, didn’t you? You’re bloody lucky not to be a human-murderer. How would you live with
that
?” He leaned forward, grasping the back of Konrad’s chair. “You have to stop this now. You’re out of control.”

Something glimmered in Konrad’s eyes then, like fear or misery, giving István the faintest hope to cling to. “Konrad, I need to talk to you about stuff. I need you back. We all do.”

Konrad rose to his feet, brushing István off him to snatch the memory stick from the computer.

“That wouldn’t be me, would it?” he said coldly. “Because I’m not out of control. I’m finally
in
control, and you, Mihaela, and the rest of the network had better wise up quickly.”

“Or what, Konrad?
Or what?
”

Konrad looked back over his shoulder. “Or everything we ever feared will come true. When you want to talk about
that
, find me.”

****

Konrad strode straight to the library, scene of István’s appalling injuries and the so-called victory of the hunters against Luk’s renegade vampires. There was no sign of that night’s devastation now. Like so much, it had been covered up.

He found his favorite corner seat without difficulty and took out his phone. There was a text from Rabbat, of the second team, his only ally here in Hungary.

“Angel still standing. Much activity.”

Frustration fed his annoyance. How the fuck could it still be standing? He’d given that stupid vamp enough explosive to bring down most of the street. Had the idiot ditched some of it? Saved it for later?

His blood ran cold. He really did not want a vampire running around the city with explosives in his pocket. Bloody vampires. You just couldn’t trust them. Without exception, every single alliance, however temporary, that Konrad had ever formed with one, had always gone horribly wrong.

Next time, he’d use a human.

He texted back, “Been rumbled. Time to get out.” And time to find his undead tool who’d planted last night’s useless bomb.

He left the library and the building as briskly as he’d so often done in the past.

Only this time, he wasn’t coming back.

****

From headquarters, István had a powerful urge to return to the Angel. He could justify it to himself in several ways—needing to check on Angyalka after his discovery of Konrad’s guilt, to track down Konrad’s tool, the vampire bomber—but the truth was, he just wanted to see her again. He wanted to inspire that hazy lust in her dark blue eyes, lose all this other crap in the exquisite distraction of blind, sexual pleasure. Angyalka. Just for a night, a few hours. Angyalka.

But he had another visit to make first.

Mihaela and Robbie were having dinner in their bright, newly fitted kitchen.

“Want some?” Mihaela said, ladling her own rather delicious version of goulash onto a third plate. István sat with alacrity. “You’re clearly far too active,” she observed. “Time you were back at work.”

“I’ve been in to talk about it,” István said vaguely. He didn’t mention the offer of the Operations Manager job, just in case they did rethink and offer it to Mihaela. He didn’t want her imagining she was second choice. And actually he doubted she would be if only Mikl?s could get over the hurdle of promoting a woman. He’d only recently come to accept that women could be equally as good hunters as men. “Saw Konrad.”

Mihaela sat back down and pushed Robbie’s fork toward him. The boy, his fingers buried in the goulash, grinned, quite unabashed, but did pick up the fork.

“I think he’s calmed down,” Mihaela said. “We’re working together on something—a rogue vampire with sadistic tendencies here in Budapest. And you know, it seems really hopeful to me that he came to the party.”

“I think he might have been giving himself an alibi,” István said ruefully, “and saying good-bye at the same time.” And he told her about the bombing of the Angel and Konrad’s part in it.

“Oh God,” Mihaela exclaimed, tugging at her hair in frustration. “Why did we not see that he’d go that far?”

“Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to grass him up. I still don’t want to.”

Mihaela let go of her hair. “He’s dangerous, István,” she said flatly. “And we need to find that vampire before the others discover a hunter put him up to it. Can you imagine what this could do to Saloman’s alliance?”

“I’m going back to the Angel tonight, see what I can learn there. Apparently Saloman was tracking the vampire from Angyalka’s description.”

“I don’t know whether that’s good or bad.”

“Neither do I.”

Mihaela glanced at Robbie. “I can’t even come with you. Max has just left—on earthquake business.”

Maximilian was one of the vampires who, through his affinity with stone, could sense imminent earthquakes. It was part of Saloman’s system of détente that they’d do their best to warn and evacuate humans before such natural disasters overcame them.

“I’m probably less threatening on my own.”

Mihaela looked him in the eyes. “Can you fight?”

“For a minute. I’d rather not have to.”

“Do you reckon Saloman’s protection will survive Konrad’s betrayal?”

István closed his eyes. “It isn’t betrayal to him. He’s holding on to principles formed in exceptional circumstances.”

“I think if I can let go, so can he,” Mihaela said tightly.

“He was older than you, Mihaela. Adults are less—adaptable.”

She frowned. “What happened to him? He never told me.”

“He doesn’t tell anyone.”

“Except you.” There was hurt in her voice.

István gave her a twisted smile. “He didn’t tell me either. I was just an observer.” He stood up. “Damn fine goulash, Mihaela. Thanks. I just wanted you to know, I don’t think he’ll be coming back.”

****

Andrea had just got in from work and was closing her front door when she glanced across the street and saw Mihaela’s door opening. She paused and saw last night’s crush on the doorstep, exchanging words with his hostess. István, ex-teenage hooligan, murderer, and security consultant, if you believed everything you heard. To Andrea, he looked more like a geek. A sexy geek with dangerous eyes. She had a softness for both, and her curiosity was piqued by his sudden disappearance from the party last night.

Midweek parties were a bad idea. She’d barely got through today’s hangover, and yet, as she watched István jog down the road to a parked, rather battered old car, she suddenly found a new lease on life. Before she could change her mind, she slipped back out of her front door, closed it and locked it, then dashed off to her own car, keeping her eye on which direction István took when he pulled out.

As dusk darkened to night, he drove through the winding streets in the direction of the river but didn’t cross it. Instead, he parked in a quiet dull street full of warehouses, used and disused. The sort of street where you were liable to get mugged by the kind of teenager Lara claimed István had been. At least until István had smiled at her, and then she’d stopped talking about his past. As if association with Mihaela lent him respectability—which it probably did. Or as if she was thinking inside her pants because he’d smiled at her.

Well, he’d smiled at Andrea first, and Lara was practically married.

István got out and wandered across to a slightly incongruous-looking shop. Angel Art, according to the sign. But he merely glanced in the window before walking past it to the next doorway, an appallingly dingy and quite unappealing place. He pushed open the door and vanished inside.

Andrea climbed out of her car and locked the door before she followed in his footsteps as far as the Angel Art shop. It seemed to be some kind of art gallery. She couldn’t see inside, but the window displayed an oddly gothic painting and a couple of big, eye-catching necklaces.

She glanced upward. Did István live up there? Was he just visiting the owner? And what the hell was she doing spying on him? Apart from anything else, this wasn’t the kind of neighborhood she was comfortable hanging around in after dark.

Still, she’d come this far; the least she could do was push open the same door he had and just glance inside. Perhaps there were names on apartment doors.

As the door eased open and she stepped inside, an icy shudder shook her body. The place stank of dampness and worse. Plus there were no doors that she could see, just a dark, endless staircase dimly lit by a solitary, bare electric bulb.

Well, István might be intriguing, but she was damned if she’d follow him up there. The door swinging closed behind her made her jump. In panic, she reached for the handle, scrabbling to find it. At last, she found it and wrenched the door open with relief. A man stood in the darkness, staring at her.

Her heart thudded in terror.

“What’s the matter?” the man demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled. “I’m just leaving.”

“Did you go up there?”

“No! I mean, none of your damned business.”

The man stood aside to let her out but said urgently, “It
is
my business. Trust me, bad things happen up there. You shouldn’t go. Ever.”

Something in the serious voice struck her, and she peered at him in the darkness. Young, fair, strong, the sort of man who could take care himself. Yet he didn’t look immediately threatening. For some reason, he reminded her of István.

“I just saw a friend of mine go up there,” she said reluctantly. “That’s why I looked.”

“I know,” the man said. “He’s a friend of mine too.”

****

It was only just dark when István got to the Angel, and there was no bouncer guarding either the street door or the club entrance. But if he’d hoped to find the club quiet at eight o’clock in the evening, he was disappointed.

Clearly, it was a grand reopening. Although the stairway was even dingier than ever with thousands of workmen’s boot marks all over it, the club itself was immaculate. A fresh black marble bar top, new mahogany tables and red velvet sofas, either new or speedily reupholstered, according to how much damage they’d incurred. A plush new carpet covered the floor. Everything smelled and looked new.

And the music, traditional gypsy music, came from a solitary fiddler among the crowd. István could make out no more than a flashing arm and a glint of the bow, but the musician was good. No doubt he’d had many decades to become so.

Most of the current guests appeared to be vampires, and they all turned and stared at István as he strolled in.

Well, they would. He was a hunter.

A dead hunter, probably, if they’d discovered Konrad’s involvement in the bombing.

He kept walking toward the bar, scanning for signs of attack. Which required a ridiculous amount of willpower after he’d spotted Angyalka, since his eyes kept trying to return to her.

The shaven-headed vampire—Béla?—who’d ejected the troublemakers yesterday, appeared to be dancing barefoot along the length of the bar top, with Angyalka sitting on his shoulders, her long, alluring legs dangling down his chest. Both of them held glasses of pink champagne—at least István hoped it was pink champagne, but the coloring could easily have come from blood—which they strove to hold steady while Béla danced and Angyalka swayed and the vampires clapped along.

Saloman himself leaned against the bar, looking as only he could, at once amused and immeasurably above the amusement. But he clocked István’s entrance, even inclined his head, which appeared to be the greeting he accorded everyone he was prepared to tolerate. There was no way of telling from those veiled ancient eyes if he knew of Konrad’s treachery or what he thought of István’s presence.

Now, at last, István allowed his gaze to focus on Angyalka’s dance. One of Béla’s hands held quite casually on to her white, shapely leg, just above the knee. A surge of jealousy shot through István, together with a quite unreasonable anger that she was allowing such intimacy.

But then, for all István knew, they were lovers, and had been for centuries. István had no hold over her, no control or say…

She flung up both arms, holding the glass steady above her head, revealing the delicious outline of her pert, beautiful breasts. Her dark, sparkling eyes found István’s, and she smiled, a smoldering, promising smile that was only half teasing as she danced past him on Béla’s undulating shoulders. Desire surged through István, draining the blood from his head as efficiently as her bite would.

No, he had no hold, no control; but fuck, he did have hope. He was a hunter, and he was hunting angels now. Tonight, whatever happened, he was hunting
this
angel.

Béla knocked back the last of his champagne and threw the glass upward. Angyalka caught it without even looking. Either they’d rehearsed this or it was vampire reflexes in action. She held both glasses high now as the dance went on. With both hands, Béla reached up to her waist and lifted her above his head. Angyalka raised each glass to her lips while the fiddler played and the audience clapped.

And then Béla hurled her at the ground.

Chapter Eight

István’s arrival took her by complete surprise. She’d resigned herself to returning to her fantasy world and looking out for him in vain. The sense of his presence hit her like a shock wave. She had no idea where astonishment ended and pleasure began, but tonight, she knew she’d have him.

He would be a disappointment, of course. That went without saying. But it didn’t stop her wanting, and it wouldn’t stop her extracting all his other secrets, the ones that would change the balance of power back in her favor and enable her to protect her own weakness. So she flirted with her eyes and her body and saw its effect. She was glad to have Béla under her, stimulating his jealousy and his lust. Humans were just so damned predictable.

And this one really was good enough to eat. She could smell his rich hunter blood from up here, and the combination of the music and the movement and the sight of him, so muscly and lean, casual and handsome, the man who’d once held her immobile, was enough to arouse all her desires. Her breasts felt heavy and tingly as she rubbed her nipples against the silk of her dress. Dampness pooled between her thighs. She’d do it now. Dive into his arms, dance him round the club and into her bed. Or perhaps she wouldn’t wait that long. She’d seen humans as well as vampires fingering and copulating on the dance floor. And this time
she
’d hold the hunter immobile.

Maybe.

She remembered, just in time, to catch Béla’s glass. She targeted the figure of István with his dark, clouded eyes unable to leave her for a moment, and when Béla threw her, she tossed the glasses behind her for Béla to catch, and dived straight for István.

Of course, he’d never seen the trick before, but even so, the change in him was startling. His mouth fell open in some silent cry, and he launched himself forward as if he meant to catch her. She had to adjust her jump to land in his arms, slithering slowly down his hard, muscled body. She lifted her smiling face to his, ready for his kiss.

His lips closed, and parted again. He was actually trembling. She had only a tiny fraction of an instant to realize that something was wrong, very wrong, before he proved it. His hands fell limply to his side. She’d never seen such distress in his face, even when he was riddled with pain and exhaustion last night. His lips parted one more time, but all that came out was, “Sorry. I have to—”

And then he rushed away from her toward the door, lost in the crowd of vampires and the few humans who’d managed to come in while Béla was off duty.

Baffled, Angyalka stared after him.

“Tactless,” Saloman observed in her ear. “Luk drained him almost to the point of death, then threw him on the floor from a great height. That’s how his spine and ribs were damaged.”

Angyalka twisted slowly round to face the Ancient. Stupidly, her throat had closed up.

“Humans are so frail,” she observed. At least her voice didn’t shake. “One forgets.”

“Sometimes,” Saloman said, setting down his empty glass, “one shouldn’t.”

The hunter hadn’t gone far. She could pursue him before he left the building.

Or she could let him go.

Oh Jesus Christ and
fuck
!

She flitted through the separating crowd to the door, and, ignoring the feeling of dread that always came upon her as she approached the outside world, she walked more slowly down the dirty staircase.

He sat on a step just around the last bend, as if he’d gone as far as he could before his legs gave out. This time, she doubted it had much to do with physical weakness. He didn’t look at her as she sat down beside him. He was a proud man who’d just given away more weakness than he’d voluntarily have shown anyone. To a room full of vampires.

“We’re not so unalike, you and I, are we?” she said ruefully.

When he didn’t answer, she laid her head on his rigid shoulder and waited.

After a moment, he turned his head to look at her, but she kept gazing straight ahead in silence. Under her cheek, his shoulder began to relax.

He said, “I’ve been fighting most of my life; never came so close to death before. You start to think you’re immortal.”

His hand gripped his knee harder until the knuckles shone white in the dingy darkness. Then it loosened again. “I’m not. I’m not even very strong when the nightmares wake me up, or something harmless stirs up my memory.”

“I didn’t know. It was an act, circus nonsense for the punters.”

“I know.”

She lifted her head, leaving her face very close to his. “Then you’d better kiss me to feel strong again, hadn’t you?”

A breath of laughter escaped him. “If I didn’t want you so much, you’d emasculate me entirely.”

“I still might.”

“Temptress,” he mocked, but without warning, his mouth crushed hers, hard and demanding, and she glimpsed again the strength that had once overpowered her. The butterflies in her stomach surged into life, diving lower and feeding her lust. And yet his hands didn’t touch her. There was just his thigh jammed into her leg and his mouth devouring hers with invading tongue and teeth and lips.

It was she who touched first, sliding her arms around his neck and letting her fingers tangle in the soft hair at the back of his head. She grazed her fangs along his tongue and moaned when he licked them greedily. She touched his cheek with her fingertips, loving the feel of human male stubble.

His arms came around her at last, grasping her hair, tugging her head back for a deeper onslaught. She allowed it, gloried in it while her hand wandered down his shoulder and arm to his thigh and stroked upward until she found the hard bulge of his erection. He groaned into her mouth.

“That’s my hunter,” she murmured, caressing and adjusting it in his jeans until she could stroke its whole length. Satisfied, she set to work on his button and zipper.

“Oh Christ,” he muttered, almost anguished as he tore his mouth free. “You’d really let me fuck you here on these filthy stairs?”

“Or up against the wall, if you’re fastidious. I’ll mask us both. No one will know who’s bumping and grinding as they pass us. Come on, hunter, you’ve wanted it for eighteen months. Take it, fast and hard like we both want it…” She latched her mouth back on his and straddled him, rubbing his erection between her thighs, and God, that felt good. She could orgasm just from this, like some randy young human girl with her first boyfriend.

Except she wasn’t young and he wasn’t her first, and she wanted much, much more, with an urgency that consumed her. She wanted him inside her, pushing, pushing…

She let out a sound, almost a tiny sob of gratitude when he turned abruptly, flattening her under him on the stairs, his hands under her buttocks, beneath the silk dress.

For a glorious moment, his mouth was wild on hers, and she knew she’d won. Then, slowly, he detached his lips, breathing like a steam engine.

“You’re wrong,” he said unsteadily. “I don’t want that—hard and fast on these dirty stairs. I want you in your own bed, soft and willing, for a long, long time.”

She stared into his eyes. Stunned, she saw that he meant it, that he meant to make her wait.

Bastard.

Well, two could play that game too.

She stretched luxuriously, both arms above her head, and he couldn’t seem to help rubbing his body against hers. But without her arms to hold him, he simply stood and reached down one hand to help her rise.

She looked at his large, capable fingers, imagining them on her breasts, in her most intimate places. She bet they were good hands, sensitive and giving…

She said, “I could just throw you down and drink your blood.”

“You could. But you could have done that at almost any time during at least three out of our four encounters.”

“You think you’re safe?” she enquired, taking his hand and rising to her feet in one smooth movement. It took practice but looked pretty cool in a vampiress, even among such insalubrious surroundings.

Again the breath of laughter distracted her, and she became fascinated by the texture of his full, generous lips. She hoped he made love as he kissed. She’d like that.

“Oh no,” he said. “I’ve never been safe from you.”

They walked upstairs hand in hand as she brushed the dirt off her dress, and returned to the club, where the fiddler had stopped and the most regular of her rock bands had started up.

But if István imagined that at his command she was going to take him straight upstairs to her bedroom, he was much mistaken.

“Take a seat,” she drawled. “I’ll send someone over to take your order.”

He couldn’t even make a grab for her, if such had been his intention, not in this place full of suspicious vampires and Saloman himself. He gave a soft groan of frustration, which she heard quite clearly as she walked away from him. She only smiled and signaled to one of the free waitresses.

****

“If it hadn’t blown me into the road,” Jacob murmured as he strolled into the noisy nightclub with Basilio and Gabby, “I could imagine there’d never been an explosion here.”

Basilio spoke inside his mind.
Remember what I told you. Say nothing important aloud and mask your thoughts at all times. Saloman is here…and so is a hunter.

Shit,
Jacob commented, looking warily around him.

In fact, the overlord was easy to spot because he wasn’t troubling to mask. Sheer power emanated from him, a bottomless well of energy and knowledge. The last of the purebred Ancients sat alone at the corner table nearest the bar. He was stunning to look at. Dramatic black hair tied behind his head, lean, handsome features, all cheekbones and hollows. Even though he was sitting, Jacob knew he was tall and dressed with style, elegance, and expense.

And yet, incongruously, Saloman’s leg vibrated under the table as his feet tapped and stamped to the rhythm of the loud rock music coming from the live band. But he didn’t watch the band. His attention appeared to be all on a laptop open on the table in front of him. His long-fingered hands flew across the keys, blurring Jacob’s vision.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Saloman glanced up, straight into his eyes. For an instant, Jacob was paralyzed with fear—not because of his own hostile plans, particularly, or the possibility of Saloman reading them. Just because the darkness there could swallow him whole. This was no enemy to con and charm and cajole. It was as pointless as dueling him. This was the vampire who’d forced just about the entire undead population of the world—a fiercely independent, chaotic, and individualistic population—to bow to him and obey him. For the first time, Jacob could understand why.

Worse, helpless in the beam of the Ancient’s gaze, he began to understand the pointlessness of trying to fight him by any means whatsoever.

Someone walked in front of Saloman, breaking the eye contact, and Jacob shuddered with relief. Basilio shoved him roughly onto a vacant sofa, hissing telepathically,
For God’s sake, what are you doing? Introducing yourself?

We could do worse than get close to him,
Jacob retorted with defiance. In reality, he didn’t want to go anywhere near the Ancient. The vampire who’d come between them now sat opposite Saloman, who casually yet impenetrably masked the conversation.

Dragging his wayward gaze away once more, Jacob pulled himself together enough to order drinks from the human waitress. She was a pleasant distraction, fair and pretty and exotically accented. Jacob smiled at her winningly, inhaling the warm, sweet smell of her healthy blood, which he could probably taste quite discreetly…

No fighting, no biting.
That had been the warning of the bald, laconic bouncer who’d let them in and, recognizing them as strangers, informed them of the house rules. Judging by the expressionless stare of the same bouncer, who now stood with one elbow leaning on the bar, watching him, he was prepared to enforce them.

Jacob would have quite liked to see the bouncer take on Basilio. But it was no part of their plan to alienate the local vampires, and if this was what worked for them, fair enough.

“So where’s the hunter?” Gabby demanded aloud. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“Find him yourself,” Basilio said, playing the indulgent teacher. “Focus on the humans and find the one who radiates strength. Almost like a vampire, but alive.”

Jacob played the game too and found the hunter easily. He sat by himself, twirling a bottle of beer in his long, capable-looking fingers. He was strong, as the Awakener was strong.

“They welcome hunters here?” he murmured and, rather to his surprise, received a telepathic reply from another vampire somewhere in the room.

Welcome is too strong. Tolerate. He watches us. We watch him. It’s not so bad.

Why do you watch him?
Jacob asked curiously, letting his companions in on the conversation.

He’s a clever hunter. Uses Ancient technology lost to most of us and combines it with modern science to make tools.

Tools?
Jacob frowned.
What sort of tools? Hunting tools?

Presumably. Rumor says he’s almost completed an instrument that can combine, store, and magnify the supernatural energy of hundreds of vampires.

That isn’t possible,
Basilio said flatly, but Jacob felt the excitement zinging through him, and knew they were on to something. On their own closed and masked telepathic channel, Basilio issued his order to Gabby.
Go bat your eyelids at the hunter. And stay out of Saloman’s way.

Gabby rose with alacrity, and as the friendly if argumentative local vampire appeared suddenly in front of Jacob, she sashayed over to the hunter and sat seductively opposite him to give him the best view of her remarkably fine cleavage.

The hunter raised his eyebrows but didn’t send her away.

****

Angyalka was aware, as the evening progressed, of several women sitting down to chat with István. Beautiful, human women. And one curious, very young, foreign vampiress whom Angyalka disdained to send about her business.