From Fear to Eternity: An Immortality Bites Mystery (4 page)

I tended to make a first impression on people that got them to either like me or hate me. There wasn’t usually a lot of indifference. Maybe I could use this to break through Sebastien’s guard and get to the truth. “That just goes to show that you don’t know me at all. I used to be nice. Then someone bit my neck and made me a vampire against my will, with hunters
lying in wait, wanting to end my life. That can shake the nice out of anybody.”

Thomas walked past us in the hallway with a tray of drinks. He nodded at Sebastien, but didn’t slow his steps. No cranberry juices on the tray. No whiff of blood. Just more champagne.

“It certainly can. But it is a good test of one’s personal will to see how driven she is to survive.”

I couldn’t figure this guy out. Was he an old acquaintance with a strange sense of humor or was he up to something nasty? Unfortunately, my gut instinct was gesturing wildly toward door number two. “Why haven’t you stayed in touch with Veronique or Thierry? Three hundred years is a very long time.”

“You have no idea how long three centuries can feel.”

“True.” The ice in his words made a chill run down my spine. “So why now? Why after all this time have you made the decision to reconnect?”

Sebastien paced to the other side of the room, his face in shadows, his jaw tight. For a moment, he reminded me so much of Thierry that I thought they could very well be blood relatives after all.

“He never told you about me?” he said.

“Sorry, no.”

His expression darkened. “How easy it must have been for him to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“What he did to me.”

I thought I was finally starting to get the hang of this. Sebastien Lavelle was not much better than a fanged college kid with a long list of separation issues when it came to his parents. He was having a temper
tantrum because enough attention hadn’t been paid to him over the years. Well, too bad, Junior.

I was going to try for patience to deal with him. Maybe it didn’t have to get any more unpleasant than it already had. Our number one priority tonight was dealing with the Atticus situation. Anything else wasn’t worth our time and attention.

Still, this guy was obviously in pain about his past with Thierry, a sire who hadn’t really been as attentive as he could have been. In that regard, I felt bad for Sebastien.

“Whatever your deal is with Thierry,” I said gently, “you need to let it go. You don’t have to have a relationship with him, but I’m sensing some serious anger issues here. However, having his drink spiked with blood when apparently you have the very same blood addiction isn’t cool. You’d know very well what kind of torture that is for him.”

“Spiking his drink?” Now a smile played at his lips. “What do you mean?”

I narrowed my eyes, my sympathy waning in record time. “Yeah. Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t you who told the blonde to put blood in Thierry’s drinks. You know his problems and you wanted to make him lose his composure tonight.”

“That would be a cruel trick.”

“Yes, it would.”

“He seems fine.” His attention moved to my neck, mostly covered by my hair. “But perhaps that’s only an act. Is it?”

“You need to back off.”

“Do I?” His gaze grew glacial again in seconds. “Do you know what he did to me? This man you proclaim to love with all your heart?”

I didn’t flinch from his furious glare; I met it full on. “Go ahead. Tell me. It’s obvious that you’re dying to.”

He raked a hand through his hair, turning to pace a few feet down the hall before he swiveled to face me again. “Up until three months ago I was locked in a tomb no bigger than a closet. Trapped. Abandoned. Starving and wasting away to nothing but skin and bones. Your darling new husband did that to me, Sarah. He locked me up and threw away the key.”

I stared at him in shock. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.” There was not even a glint of humor in Sebastien’s eyes anymore. “Spiking his drink to bring out his dark side is the very least I wish to do to dearest Daddy this evening. And if you’re smart, I’d suggest you stay out of my
way.”

S
ebastien walked off without another word, and all I could do was watch him go since I was busy picking my jaw up from the floor where it had fallen.

Thierry had described him as a complication, taking attention away from his assignment regarding Atticus.

A complication
was definitely an understatement.

No way this could be true. Not a chance. I knew Thierry had done some shady things in his life, but locking a fledgling in a tomb and forgetting about him for three centuries? No way.

Sebastien had to be lying . . . although, he sure hadn’t looked like it. No, he’d looked as serious as a heart attack.

There had to be another explanation for this and I was going to find out what it was.

I quickened my steps as I moved back toward the parlor to find Thierry. At the very least, I knew Sebastien was responsible for spiking Thierry’s drinks with blood tonight. What exactly had he expected would happen? That Thierry would have killed me?

He hadn’t. He’d stopped.

One day he might not be able to stop,
a little voice said quietly inside of me.

I liked to call her my “sliver of doubt.” She was small but insistent, especially when I had fresh fang marks on my neck.

When I spotted the blond server approaching just outside the parlor doors, I stopped her.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

I eyed her with more attention this time. She wore a strong perfume that smelled pleasantly of vanilla. She was medium height with a shapely body—pretty, but not overly Hollywood-looking, despite our current location. “What’s your name?”

“Melanie.”

“Can you do me a favor, Melanie?”

“Of course, ma’am. What is it?”

I tried very hard not to raise my voice. “Stop putting blood in my husband’s drinks.”

Her eyes widened. “But I—I—”

“Sebastien told you to do that, didn’t he?”

Confusion crossed her face. “Yes, but . . . your husband is a vampire. Didn’t he appreciate the addition to his drink?”

She knew we were vampires and didn’t seem remotely fazed by it. To me that indicated nonhuman. “Are you a vampire, too?”

“No, I’m a . . .” She hesitated. “A werewolf.”

Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that at all, but I hadn’t met very many werewolves before. “Okay. Then let’s put it this way. If you spike Thierry’s drinks again tonight I’ll have you permanently leashed.
Capiche?
”

“Yes, ma’am.” She didn’t say it with attitude or snark; she said it as if she legitimately felt bad about what she’d done. Maybe I’d scared her. It would be
hard to scare a werewolf, so I felt rather accomplished. And maybe a little guilty.

“Good,” I said. “Thank you.”

She nodded and turned to move away from me, balancing her full tray of drinks as she entered the parlor. I gave her a moment before I followed and scanned the busy room for any sign of Thierry.

Who, of course, was nowhere to be seen right when I needed to talk to him the most.

I groaned with frustration. This was turning into the longest cocktail party ever. Seriously.

Still searching, I threaded through the throng of auction guests, nodding and smiling until my face felt strained as I made my way toward an unoccupied corner where I could catch my breath.

But then someone stepped right in front of me to block my path.

“Finally, we have a chance to meet,” he said. “I’m Atticus Kincade, an associate of your husband’s with the council.”

My heart and stomach sank in unison like a pair of synchronized swimmers.

Be cool, Sarah,
I told myself.

“Sarah Dearly.” I took his hand and he squeezed mine rather than shaking it. “A pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine.” He bent his head and brushed his lips against the back of my hand.

I pulled it back without looking too anxious and swept my gaze over the cocktail party, trying again to pinpoint Thierry’s location.

Hello? Evil boss man front and center. Where are you?

Atticus leaned in a little. “I’m surprised your husband has left your side. If you were with me I wouldn’t
let you out of my sight for fear that another man might sweep in and steal you.”

Since Thierry had left him with the impression earlier that our relationship had as much depth to it as a sheet of paper, I wasn’t too surprised at his careless flirtation. Maybe he even thought it might work.

For the record, it really didn’t. Atticus was attractive, but I got a very unpleasant vibe from him—and not only because of what he’d been accused of. This man had threatened my life before. He was dangerous. And seriously creepy.

But . . . wild guess here. Maybe he had a thing for brunette fledglings allegedly in unhappy marriages.

Could I use this unexpected friendliness to my advantage? It made me uneasy to be this close to someone like Atticus, but I wanted to be helpful in Thierry’s investigations. And his current assignment was to investigate the man who’d just kissed my hand.

“Thierry is . . .” I searched for an adequate word. “Easily distracted. At least, it seems that way when he’s with me.”

“If Thierry doesn’t appreciate what he has with you”—he shook his head—“then he’s a fool.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Melanie moved past us and Atticus grabbed two glasses of champagne from her tray, handing one to me.

“Has there been something specific on his mind lately to distract him?” he asked.

I took a quick sip of the bubbly. “Oh, I don’t know. I just figured it’s how he is. I suppose anyone would be the same at his age.” I forced a smile. “I’m assuming you’re much younger.”

“Not as much as you might think. It’s true, once one has seen centuries pass them by, life appears differently than it would to a younger man. It can change us—some for the better, many for the worse. Time is one thing that brings out our truest selves.”

“Kind of like having too much champagne.”

“Quite.” He clinked glasses with me. “I want you to feel comfortable with me, Sarah. If there are any specific problems you’re having with your husband, anything that might be troubling you, I encourage you to come straight to me.”

Somehow, the direction of this conversation felt increasingly odd. “Problems? Other than feeling ignored?”

His grip on his champagne glass tightened. “Thierry de Bennicoeur has always been a dangerous man, no matter what current goals he claims. I don’t think time has changed this.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“If that’s so, then I’m glad to hear it.” He swirled his untouched champagne, looking down into the crystal flute as if it might give him some answers. “Let me ask you this, Sarah. Do you know what piece Thierry is interested in acquiring at the auction tonight?”

I tried my best to look confused. By now it wasn’t all that difficult. “I don’t know, really. Something shiny and expensive, I’m sure. He doesn’t share info like that with me.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus nodded, then reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a business card, and pressed it into my hand. “I would like you to call me if you need anything, either now or in the future.”

I looked at the card, which had his name and a phone number printed on it. “Anything?”

“Advice. Assistance. Anything you like.” He leaned closer so no one else could hear. “It would be best if Thierry not know I’ve made you this offer. He might not understand I’m only trying to be helpful.”

“Of course. I understand.”

With a nod, Atticus moved away from me and joined another nearby group who were toasting something and wanted the leader of the Ring to be a part of it. I was left standing there in the corner of the parlor trying to decipher my short conversation with him. Was Atticus Kincade a devious murderer who’d paved his road to success with the bodies of dead elders? Or was he a flirtatious centuries-old vampire who was legitimately concerned for my well-being after knowing me all of five minutes?

My gut instinct was not helping me at the moment. Not at all.

“Looks like you just got an earful,” a female voice said.

I glanced to my left to see that Tasha Evans now stood next to me.

The
Tasha Evans, my favorite movie star ever, looking every bit as flawless two feet away as she did on the big screen, with her long red hair—I didn’t think they were extensions—tight designer halter-style black dress, black pashmina draped over her right arm, sky-high silver heels, and visible (but tasteful!) tattoos adorning her left shoulder blade and encircling her upper left arm. Apparently the writing on that one was some old language and it translated to “always believe in yourself.”

Or something like that. I didn’t really care what it meant; it just looked seriously cool.

I finally found my voice. “An earful?”

“From Atticus.” She grinned. “He’s a notorious womanizer, you should know.”

“I kind of gathered that.”

“We dated once. He’s . . .” She flicked a look in his direction. “Certainly interesting enough.”

“Faint praise.”

“Oh, no. It’s actually full praise. It didn’t work out, but there were no hard feelings between us. Just not a love to span the centuries.” She extended her hand. “I’m Tasha.”

As if I even needed the intro!

“I’m Sarah.” I shook her hand, trying to compose myself. “Great to meet you.”

“You too.” Her gaze swept the room again. “So when is this auction supposed to start? The invite said nine o’clock and it’s nearly ten. I have to be on set bright and early.”

References to movie sets seriously made me swoon. And it nearly made me forget my need to find Thierry and talk about Sebastien—and now more Atticus—with him.

“It’s been pushed to ten and I hope it won’t be delayed any longer than that,” I told her. “Do you know Sebastien?”

“Sebastien?”

“The host, Sebastien Lavelle.”

Her brows drew together slightly. “Hmm, I don’t think so. My invitation was sent anonymously. Call me crazy, but I was intrigued enough to show up to see what might be available. Auctions like this typically have secretive hosts.”

“I wouldn’t know. This is my first one.”

Thomas and Melanie now circulated through the room with more drinks and hors d’oeuvres. There was no sign of either Sebastien or Thierry. Or, for that matter, Veronique. I did spot Veronique’s publisher boyfriend, Jacob, in the corner, laughing boisterously at a joke someone had just made.

My gut churned.
Thierry, why do you always disappear on me?

“What do you do, Sarah?” Tasha asked.

“I assist my husband with his job with the vampire council. He’s their newest consultant.”

“Oh, very nice. Thierry de Bennicoeur, right? He’s an interesting man.”

“That’s how I like my husbands. Very interesting.”

She laughed at this. “Well, I wish you the best of luck. The Ring isn’t the easiest organization to deal with. Personally, I think it’s the fault of the current leader—no offense toward Atticus intended.”

“I’m sure he’d be open to the criticism,” I said dryly.

“Definitely. All vampires of that advanced age are open to criticism and not set in their ways at all.” She raised an eyebrow when I didn’t reply. “I suppose you’re wondering how old
I
am.”

“I’m going to go with a solid twenty-seven.”

Her smile widened. “Eternally, thankfully. Although the latest gossip is that I’ve just hit forty.”

“You look great for forty.” I couldn’t keep it inside any longer. Despite my commitment to being professional—although, when had I made that particular commitment?—I had to get this off my chest. “I have to say it, Tasha—I’m a huge fan of yours. I’m
so thrilled to meet you. Sorry . . . I’m gushing. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all.” She laughed. “Gushing is good—I don’t mind. It means I’ve done something right in my life.”

I was glad she was taking it as a compliment and not running in the opposite direction. “I wanted to be an actress after college. It didn’t work out, but you were my idol. I mean, two Oscars, doing everything from comedy to thrillers . . . so amazing.”

“Thank you so much.” Tasha reached down to squeeze my hand. “That means a lot to me.”

Frederic Dark and his wife, Anna, brushed past me and gave me a disapproving look from their black eyes—but maybe that was how they looked at everyone who hadn’t embraced the Purist vampire lifestyle like they had. I swear the air around them was even a few degrees cooler. I shivered.

Someone else caught my eye. Veronique entered the parlor and moved directly toward Jacob, who was still speaking animatedly to his new friends. I couldn’t help but notice that Tasha’s expression grew chilly at the sight of her.

“Do you know Veronique?” I asked.

“I’ve had the displeasure.”

An interesting response. “Is there bad blood between you two?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.” Her attention returned to me, her expression relaxed and filled with nothing but good humor. “Listen. If you’re in town for a few days, why don’t you come by the set for a visit? It’s a remake of
Dracula
.”

“I read about that in
Entertainment Weekly
.” My
heart started pounding very hard. “You’re playing Dracula.”

“How’s that for a twist? A female Dracula. If only they knew the truth.” She finished her champagne and set the glass on a nearby table. “I’m sure I can get you on camera as an extra if you’re interested.”

“You would—really? Wow, that would be fantastic! Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome.” She glanced across the room. “Your husband seems to be looking for you.”

I turned to see that Thierry was now in the parlor again, scanning it until his gray eyes landed on me. I babbled some more thanks to Tasha and started to make my way over to him, feeling like I’d drunk a thousand glasses of champagne.

And I’d thought this night would only be filled with difficulties. Wrong! Tasha Evans wanted me to be an extra in her new movie. So much awesome!

But I knew I couldn’t let my conversation with Tasha distract me from the most important problems tonight. Atticus’s weird offer of help. And Sebastien’s vendetta against the sire he believed had locked him up for centuries. I couldn’t lose my head over all this talk of movies and acting and . . .