Bloodlines (Demons of Oblivion) (8 page)

Outside the room, the footfalls grew louder. Then fists started pounded making it
really
hard to concentrate. They followed that up with calls for the recently deceased Mr. O’Connor.

I could do it. I could get the safe open in time, so long as the filing cabinet held the door—

Two bullets whizzed past my head as the guards started firing their guns wildly. Wood splintered as the men outside rammed something heavy into the door.

Goddamn
it
all
to
hell!

I gave up on the safe—temporarily, of course—and raced for the only other exit in the room. Just as I reached for the knob, the door flew open in front of me and I was confronted by a pair of the most startling blue eyes I’d ever seen. “Startling” because my little vampirey heart tripped up for a moment, the beat stopping as if to say,
What the fuck is going on
now?

Standing before me was Nathan O’Connor. Mishka’s goddess must have blessed me, because despite my brush with headlessness, it was turning out to be an okay night.

“You...” Dark brown brows furrowed; he gave me a once over, but not the checking-out-a-hot-girl type. No, it was a cursory glance, taking me in before he met my eyes again. Which is the kind of look I find vaguely insulting because it’s just common courtesy to pause on my awesome bits. “You’re—”

A crash behind me—the guards were breaking through the door at last. The younger O’Connor grabbed my arm and swung me into the room, then slammed closed the door that separated us from the office.

I broke out of the hold and he let me. His lips were moving, whispering, and his eyes got a dark quality to them—a murky sheen that spoke of magic warlocks sometimes got. Since his attention wasn’t focused on me, I stayed the hell out of the way and glanced around. Yep, bedroom. Bigger than my old apartment Mishka now lived in, with a four-poster bed, sitting area, heavy drapes that pooled artfully on the floor below the windows.
Nice
. I mean, not my taste, but I’d happily live in it a while before I felt compelled to redecorate.

I glanced back at the warlock himself. He finished whispering; though I didn’t see anything happen, the guards demanded entry and pounded away at the door but couldn’t get in.

“What did you do?” I asked.

Nathan blinked a few times, gave his head a slight shake as if waking from a dream. Jeez, Old O’Connor brought telekinesis to the table and didn’t break a sweat, yet here was the kid ready to pass out over what was probably nothing. Wimp.

“A barrier.” He gave the door a final look, as if afraid it might not hold, but there was no sign his spell was weakening. He turned to me. “So...you did it?”

Uh...what?
I shifted on my feet, prepped for a fight—even though I figured it would be over real quick. “To what would you be referring?” This time I wouldn’t let my target know I was there to kill him—not right away. I’d just snap his neck when his back was turned. Wimp or not, I couldn’t go back on a promise I made to myself like five minutes earlier to not underestimate warlocks. I’d have to stick to that one for at least another week.

“My father.”

Wait—he knew I was there to kill his father? Okay, this was weird... I said nothing. Waiting. Bracing.

His voice darkened. “Did you do it or not?”

Ah, hell. I shrugged. “Kill him? After getting knocked around by the odd piece of furniture, yeah.”
And back to the bracing—

But he didn’t attack me; he sighed. Relief or sadness, I couldn’t say. His gaze fell, shoulders dropped. Though he stood a couple of inches over me, he seemed smaller suddenly. Deflated. “Then it’s done.”

Oh god, drama.
I so didn’t have patience for that. “Yep, I snapped him like a twig. Do you mind me asking how you knew that?”

He blinked and his eyes were on me again. Lips paused slightly apart and it was a moment before he spoke; when he did, his words were careful and deliberate-sounding, tone suggesting I should already know what he was talking about. “Mishka told me you were coming tonight. You
are
Zara, right?”

“Yeah...wait, you know Mish?”

“She didn’t tell you about me?”

Oh god, was I ever confused. Oh, the hell with it. “Um, well, yeah, if by tell me about you, you mean show me your picture and pay me to kill you.”

Those eyes that were so startling got very startled themselves. “
What
? She—”

“My turn. How do you know Mishka?”

“Mish is my wife.”

Oh god, I was even
more
confused. “What the fuck? Mish is married?”

“For the past month—”

The guards continued to bang on the door, this time with even more force. Wood groaned and I eyed the doorframe. Built solid but the hinges wouldn’t hold forever.

“They’re breaking the barrier,” he said, gaze also on the door. “They’ll be through soon.”

“This is just too much,” I muttered. Fuck, I’d totally missed it earlier—Mishka kept calling him “Nate”. Diminutive form usually equals familiarity, but I’d had so many damn dollar signs in my eyes that I hadn’t clued in. Shit. “Okay, I’ll kill you, kill them, collect my money from Mishka, then kill her for confusing the hell out of me.”

The door burst open then, wood cracking and splinters flying. Bodyguards filed into the room and surrounded me—a whole damn army of them. I did a quick count: eleven. Mish would pay big time when I was done the slaughter. Fuck her fifty grand cap—she sent me in without all the information I needed. She owed me.

One of them lunged. I caught him and tossed him out the window. There hardly seemed cause for subtleties anymore, and that was my first extra five grand in the bank.

Three of them grabbed Nate and ushered him from the room. Great, so now I had to chase him. I knew being locked in the room with the last person I had to kill was just too good to last. But that wasn’t a problem—I just had to take out the seven remaining guards and catch up.

Another one, two, three....oh, fuck,
nine
guards raced into the room and aimed their guns at me.

Well, bullets I could probably dodge, and even if I didn’t, they couldn’t exactly do any
permanent
damage—

The seven in the front pulled out steel rods, about two feet long, and with a pointed tip...perfect for impaling my heart, which
would
be a problem.

I brushed the hair from my face and eyed them each in turn. “I don’t suppose anyone’s up for a good ol’ fashioned seduction?”

Non-responsiveness and grim faces would probably count as a “no”.

“Okay...then would anyone like to engage in some witty banter which would slow you down and ultimately give me the advantage?”

Still no takers. Well, I supposed it was time for a traditional ass-whooping.

Two of the guards near the door shouted. My eyes darted their way; they were airborne suddenly and flew into the others, sending several of them sprawling into a heap.

I did a double take as I looked at the person in the doorway. His jacket and tie were gone, his sleeves rolled up, but damn, that was him.

“James Andrew Lauder?” I cocked a brow and tilted my head.

His jaw dropped when he saw me. “Well, just Jamie’s fine, actually...” True to the smooth guy I had made out with earlier, he regained his composure in an instant. “So what are you doing here, Helene?”

“Oh, you know, just about to kick some serious ass, even though I’m highly outnumbered. And it’s Zara Lain, by the way.”

He was about to respond when the security team finally leaped into action. Half of them went for him, and half advanced toward me.

James—or, rather, “Jamie”—tossed his glasses to the floor, and at a speed no mortal eye could detect, he closed the distance between himself and his group of guards in only a few steps.

Have I mentioned how utterly confused I was?

Chapter Eight

Competition

I didn’t have time to question Jamie further. The eight armed and pissed-off-looking men circling me took priority.

One guard charged with his stake raised. I grabbed the end and swung the man around, smashing him headfirst into the wall behind me. He released his grasp on the weapon as he fell into unconsciousness, and I thrust the rod into his back, piercing something vital and killing him. Just as another bodyguard came running at me, I yanked out the stake and slammed it into his chest.

He stared at me blankly, lips parted wordlessly, and reached for the weapon protruding from his heart. I twisted in a roundhouse kick and sent my foot into the rod, pushing it all the way through him and straight into the man behind him.

I glanced over to see Jamie punching the hell out of one of his guards. He grabbed the man’s neck and was about to snap it.

“No!” I shouted to him. “Don’t kill them!”

“Why the hell not?”

One of my guards swung his fist at me, and I ducked. “Just don’t!”

Jamie shrugged and settled for hitting the man again.

Someone else took a swing at me. I sidestepped the blow and somersaulted across the room to where Jamie was. I snatched the bloodied-nosed and near-unconscious man from his grasp, and twisted his head until I heard the telltale “snap.”

“Hey, you said—” Jamie began.

“
I’ll
be doing the killing.” I dove out of the way just as someone tried to punch me. The hit missed me, but slammed into Jamie’s chin.

“Thanks,” he muttered and kicked the guy.

“Watch out next time.”

Someone started firing a gun, and a bullet grazed my shoulder. Fire licked and sent spikes of pain through me; the blood started clotting immediately but that didn’t come with a numbing agent. I tore through the room, snatched the gun from the man who shot me, and sent a bullet into his skull. It turned out to be a lot messier than simply snapping necks or even stabbing, but, as I said, the time for subtleties was way over.

I turned and fired two more bullets into two other guards. Each man fell to the floor, dead.

Funny, there should have been a couple more...and as I scanned the bodies in the room, I knew there were definitely several men missing.

Jamie was only left with one more. He knocked him hard on the side of the head, then tossed him toward me. I broke his neck and he slumped to the ground.

I swung my gun up and aimed at Jamie just as he did the same.

We stood there for a few silent moments, each eyeing the barrel of the gun facing us. Bodies piled all around.
Yep, knew this night would turn into a Tarantino movie.

Normally I’d happily assume I was fast enough to disarm my opponent, but he’d demonstrated way more speed than an average human. I suspected he was thinking the same thing about me.

“So you’re a vampire too, I suppose,” he said with a grin.

“Small world, isn’t it?”

“I thought you seemed a little cold.”

“Speaking of which, you were pretty warm. When was the last time you fed?”

“About fifteen minutes before I approached you at the party. Cute little hors d’oeuvres server.”

“I didn’t taste any blo—oh, the cinnamon.”

“Less suspicious than toothpaste.”

“Clever.”

“I thought so.”

Neither of us moved for thirty seconds more. Still watching me, Jamie lowered his gun slowly. I waited a beat longer, then did the same.

“Well, my dear, I’d love to discuss some more tricks of the undead trade, but I’ve got someone to kill.” He tucked the gun in his belt and stepped over some corpses to make it to the door.

“That wouldn’t be the elder O’Connor, would it?”

Jamie turned back to me. “Yes it would be—why?”

“I’ve already taken care of that.”

“Jesus Christ!” His expression sank. It was still pretty adorable, truth be told—especially with his hair all mussed up after the fight. “I’m in trouble. Maybe I can get something for the son.”

“Sorry—he’s mine.”

O’Connor’s antique, four-poster bed lay between Jamie and me. I grabbed the nearest post, put one foot on the end of the bed, and vaulted myself into the air. I swung around on the pole and slammed my heel square into Jamie’s chest.

He staggered back a few feet. “Wow, you’re good on that pole. So I guess we won’t be picking up where we left off earlier?” Jamie dropped into a fighting stance, as if he already knew the answer to that question.

“After I’ve taken out Nate, we can talk.”

He dodged my next few hits, then tried to throw some of his own.

“I really don’t like to hit girls,” he admitted.

I blocked both punches, and ducked out of the way of his next uppercut. “Doesn’t look like that’ll be a problem.”

“You know, that guy with the fake invitation I hired was supposed to keep out anyone else uninvited tonight.” Another attempted punch, and I caught his arm and swung him across the room.

“I guess I’ve got better resources,” I said with a shrug.

“I’ll say,” he replied as he hopped to his feet. “Care to introduce me?”

“I’m thinking no.”

He pulled out the gun and aimed it at me.

“Sorry, sweetie, but I really don’t have time for this.” He repeatedly fired at me.

I evaded the first three shots, but the fourth caught me in the abdomen, causing me to stumble back. It pierced my skin, burning my insides as it tore into me. Though the bullet couldn’t kill me, it remained lodged in my stomach. My steps slowed and I winced, fought not to show the pain but likely failed considerably.

“You put a hole in my fucking dress!” I said. “Why do people keep ruining my clothes?”

“I’ll make it up to you sometime,” he promised with a grin.

“Keep dreaming.” I gasped as I lost my fight to remain upright and doubled over.
Shit, shit, FUCK. This sucks.

Jamie started for the door.
Oh, no you don’t.
I pushed the pain to the back of my mind, drew up my gun, and squeezed the trigger.

The remaining bullets slammed into Jamie’s back and legs. He dropped onto all fours, feet scrambling—and failing—to get him standing again. I tossed the empty gun aside; it thudded on the carpet near Jamie’s head.