Cleopatra's Return: A Paranormal/Vampire Romance (12 page)

“Along with your bed
,” said slyly.

“Now
, Mab, you wouldn’t be implying something, would you? I’m quite fond of my guest and, if she’s willing, I hope to make our arrangement more permanent.”

“
Sir Michael finally settling down? I must admit I’m shocked. What does your roommate think of your paramour?” asked Mab, her veiled curiosity not fooling him one bit. She loved strife, especially when she caused it.

“Julius is overjoyed at his reunion with Cleopatra, of course,” lied Michael smoothly. As if he’d admit to anything else. Mab’s outwardly friendly appearance hid a devious mind that reveled in plots. Living for an eternity could become boring. Mab amused herself often at the expense of others.

“
I’ll admit I’m surprised at your choice, Michael. I would have thought you more interested in a person who has lived a life of purity. I never pegged you for a man who enjoyed a woman of
experience
.”

Michael heard the insult and
offer in her words—shudder. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hit the queen, the Fae wouldn’t like that, and there wasn’t a shower nearby to bathe the icky feeling from his skin. Dealing with Mab always left him feeling in need of a stringent cleansing. But his discomfort stemmed from more than her less-than-subtle hint. Cleo still hadn’t returned, and his unease over that fact was growing.

“
Excuse me, Mab. I need to locate my friends.”

“
You mean your whore?” Mab’s pleasant expression transformed in a blink of an eye. Her lips twisted, and her eyes flashed. “I can’t believe you would dare to bring Hell’s own slut to my home.”

Q
ueen or not, Michael would not allow the insult to go unchallenged. Michael’s eyes narrowed and his tone was artic cold when he replied. “Careful, Mab. You tread thin ice.”

“Oh please, like you’d start a war between our kind over a woman.”

Then she’d find herself surprised. “Keep spouting insults and you’ll see.”

Michael
didn’t wait for Mab’s reply. Knowing her arrogance, she might utter something even stupider, and truly force him to act, which would definitely liven things up but leave him with less time to spend with Cleo. Or she’d stall him with more nonsense chatter in a ploy for his attention.

Fuck that.
His instincts screamed at him to find his little goddess. He strode with long steps to where his inner radar insisted she was. Halfway across the ballroom, he sensed it.
Cleo’s in danger.

He practically flew the rest of the way.

Eyes, eyes everywhere
, watching.

Weighing.

Judging.

Lusting.

Plotting.

It made
Cleo want to pull out a gun and start shooting. But she couldn’t. She’d rejoined society. She now lived once again on the mortal plane where deadly games and blood sports resulted in death, not painful recovery.

See
, in Hell, a soul could suffer unspeakable torment. Flaying, beating, limb amputation—which was particularly awful she’d heard—but something about the nature of Hell meant things never truly died. They could take years or decades to heal if the wound was truly grievous or the separated limb wasn’t recovered. But no one ever died again. Nope. Consciousness was the true punishment, not pain.

But that was Hell
. This was the mortal plane where everyone had a weakness. Everyone could be killed; damned souls, demons, even gods—or so she heard. In the case of the escaped souls or demons, their death on earth meant a quick trip back to Hell, and if their jaunt wasn’t sanctioned, a visit from Lucifer himself. When gods died…who knew what happened.

And what about angels turned vampire?

Michael claims he is immortal
. Was he truly or had someone not found his weakness yet? Legends stated a vampire died if staked through the heart, beheaded, or burned. And don’t forget the sun had a devastating effect. She wondered if he truly would survive any injury or if he simply hadn’t suffered a fatal one yet.

What about me?
How easily can I die? What is my weakness?
Or more accurately, what had she become? No longer a damned soul, definitely not human. She’d pondered her state of existence since her arrival. She sensed something within her, a tiny spark which she first noticed during her sojourn in the pit. She felt it even more now since Lucifer booted her out.

Michael called it a power, yet a power of what sort she couldn’t have said. He’d implied he could practically see it. Which meant if he could…

Surrounded by Fae and other beings that even she, with her knowledge of Hell, hadn’t believed existed, she wondered how many of them could see this supposed aura. Whatever their reason for staring, she didn’t care for it and needed to escape from the microscope she found herself under. That or start killing things. Mayhem and violence, while expected at a party in Hell, probably wouldn’t go over well with this stuffy, judging bunch.

Then again,
she’d expected the ball and the guests attending to be a lot worse. She had a feeling her escorts were the reason why most of the insults weren’t snidely given to her face. Not that she’d stand for it. Insults were dealt with swiftly and usually violently. She didn’t believe in half measures.

The variety of
speculation surrounding her proved surprising.
Nice to see Marc’s been busy with his usual smear campaign. I really have to start a rumor of my own about his small pencil dick.

The washroom she entered to escape prove
d spacious and surprisingly empty. Cleo peed because, apparently, even though she’d died and served her time in Hell to come back as something not quite human, she still had bodily needs and couldn’t ignore them.

The silence in the washroom calmed her
, and she took her time as she washed her hands. She even checked in the mirror to see how her makeup and hair were surviving. Good thing, too, because it was the only reason she spied the woman. Standing tall, over six foot at least, and wide, as in linebacker wide and bulging at the seams of her hideous green gown, there was more than just her poor fashion sense to raise Cleo’s suspicion. The needle the strange female held was a pretty obvious clue that the bitch meant nasty business.

Cleo whirled and kicked out, glad she’d worn stilettos. They made an effective and fashionable weapon.
In Hell, she’d had them specially made with razor-sharp tips that transformed into daggers when used correctly. How she missed them, especially right now because then her heel would have at least penetrated something. But no. All they did was advertise the jig was up. A shimmer later and a hulking gray demon grinned with pointed teeth at her, which considering it was wearing the awful green dress, was really not a pretty sight to see.

Even nastier than the big wide bow at its front?
It wasn’t alone.

The
bathroom door opened, and two more women entered, who, instead of turning tail and running, screaming, like a normal person, dropped their glamors to show the beasts beneath.

Next time maybe I will b
ring Michael along to wipe my snatch because, dammit, I hate it when the odds are stacked against me.

Some things never changed.

“Can I help you?” she asked, stalling for time.

“Come with us,” was the expected reply.

“Sorry, but my dance card is full,” she taunted.

One of them
rushed her, a big gray bull in blue taffeta. Just who was their stylist? Did no one pay attention to style anymore?

She might have asked
, but she needed to duck under the swinging fist decorated with claws. “You know, you really should think about seeing a good manicurist.” She jabbed back, her manicured nails finding and puncturing one of the demon’s eyes. Eew. She shook her hand to dislodge the goo as the beast bellowed in pain, a sound she echoed when her hair was caught in a tight fist and yanked back.

“Hey, watch the hair
. I just had it styled today.”

All she got in reply was a grunt.
Despite the pain tearing at her roots, she kicked back and was rewarded with a grunt. But the hold on her hair didn’t slacken. On the contrary, it tightened, and some strands pinged free. Ouch. Say what you would, those brought tears to the eye.

Watery eyes
, though, didn’t mean she missed seeing a demon approaching at full speed, the needle held high.
And me with no way to avoid it.

Although she did try, twisting her body as best as she could and kicking outward.
She caught the demon in its thigh, having missed her mark.
Not my fault. They have such tiny balls to aim for.

The beast lunged forward
with the needle, and she didn’t see a way to dodge it.

Dammit, I hate shots.

Whispers followed
Julius no matter where he went. Speculation about him and Cleo. Him and Michael. All three of them together.

He did his best to ignore it, but the little fuckers kept bantering in low voices. It was enough to drive a man mental.

I wonder how Michael and Cleo are faring.
Initially, she’d seemed aloof, but as she danced with Michael, the pair of them so in tune with each other, so intent, Julius could see the vibe between them. A connection he both hated and envied.

Once upon a time, he’d have been the one dancing with Cleo. Now, he was the jealous
third wheel, the man on the sidelines, watching enviously. But also alert to danger.

Unease sat on him. He couldn’t have said what or why, but something seemed off kilter to him. Was it
just his general dislike of these phony social functions, or something more? Whatever the reason, he paid attention to everything, especially Cleo once she left Michael’s side. A silent, unseen shadow, he stayed well back of Cleo as she entered the washroom.

He leaned against the wall a few feet down the hall from the door
she entered.
Cleo would have a kitten if she knew I was guarding her.
The woman who’d once ruled Egypt, and almost taken over Hell if rumor was to be believed, didn’t like anyone to imply she was anything but strong. She fought her own battles when possible.

But how would she fare in a face
-to-face confrontation? Verbal warfare was one thing, physical another. His interest was perked as one of the biggest, ugliest women he’d ever seen entered the washroom, closely followed by her sister. That in itself wasn’t what made the hair on his nape prickle. It was their lack of scent, any odor at all, that made him take notice and approach the door to the washroom.

All beings had a s
mell—vamps smelled of darkness and death, the fae of sunshine and spring, the merfolk of salty oceans, and humans of mortality. A lack of scent could only happen through subterfuge and magic. Just as these thoughts clicked into place he heard thuds and then Cleo’s cry.

With no care for himself, he bust
ed through the door, his shoulder taking the brunt of the thick wooden door and snapping the flimsy lock. His eyes scanned the area and sized up the situation.

Not good and not just because there were t
hree ugly demons dressed in prom castoffs. The situation was dire as one held Cleo by the hair while another threatened her with a needle and a third egged them on with excited grunts.

Prioritizing didn’t take long.
Julius launched himself at the demon with the needle pointed at Cleo first. While fast, he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the demon he passed. He hissed in pain as the beast scored a bloody strip along his ribs with its claws.

So much for his tux.
And he wondered why the rental place charged them such a high deposit.

Despite his wound, h
e managed to wrench the arm with the claw holding the needle away from Cleo, who did her part by slamming her heel down onto the demon’s instep.

Crunch.

The demon howled as Julius spun around in time to see a blur of motion. The demon he’d passed had joined the party. Julius sensed more than saw the air currents moving and ducked in time to avoid a nasty head swipe.

B
attle fever coursed through his veins, an adrenaline he’d not enjoyed in a long time. He laughed. “Missed. Come on, you ugly bastards. Pick on someone more your size. If you dare.” Julius followed his words with jabs that made the demons around him scatter back, just enough for him to pull the silver dagger he kept sheathed in a special holster between his shoulder blades for special occasions. A man never knew when a silver blade would come in handy. Full moons especially came to mind, especially if a certain vampire, well loved by the ladies, happened to run into some Lycans who didn’t appreciate their girlfriends having a bit of fun on the side.

He was momentarily distracted when he saw Cleo fly past him to crash into a wall and fall heavily to the floor
.
Hey, that wasn’t nice.
For some reason their action really pissed him off. With a fierce yell, he spun, slashing and stabbing anything in reach. Black ichor splashed him, gross but not harmful to him. The demons didn’t say much unless grunts and squeals counted.