Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel) (17 page)

Chapter 16

Everett had turned up again at Enza’s house at twenty minutes after six with two magazines filled with .45 caliber silver bullets and a pristine new gun case. It was the most he could get on short notice.

I’d popped open the case and ran my fingers gingerly along the sleek, sexy curve of the brand new Smith and Wesson 1911. Just like back home.

The gun was beautiful, like a work of art encased in foam. I knew I was salivating but couldn’t stop myself. I’d missed the feel of cold steel in my hands.

I lifted the gun from the case and held it, easy and light, in my right hand. Fitting my grip perfectly, it was as if the gun had been made for me. A chill of excitement ran through me as the weapon melded with my hand like an old familiar friend. Grasping one of the magazines in my left hand, I snapped it into place.

Everett’s navy blue eyes widened in disbelief and his shoulders reared back.

“So you’ve handled one of these before?” he asked, his voice shaky and unsure.

“Once or twice,” I said, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. I winked at him and watched the tension leave his body. The Smith & Wesson was a little over two pounds, a hair lighter than it would’ve been with lead bullets. I shoved the gun into the back of my jeans and fitted my shirt down over it just like old times.

I’d snagged one of Enza’s empire waist tops with the flowing chiffon bottom from her closet. The easy flow of fabric hid the bulge of the gun and allowed me an ease of movement that I appreciated. I was a tad bit bustier than my cousin and it showed as the scoop neck of the black top bulged with my extra cleavage, mounded breasts, and a whole lot of skin. It would have to do.

I left Everett, against several protests, at Enza’s house with two letters. One for Patrick and one for Dean. I wanted them to know it all, where I was, what I was doing, why I’d left, what I’d learned in the last few days, and how I felt about them. Leaving the letters in Everett’s shaking hands, I gave him explicit instructions that if I wasn’t back by dawn, he was to drive straight to Columbus and deliver them to Jade. I gave him her address, knowing she would take the letters and take care of Everett, too. Someone would need to if I couldn’t.

Detective Cordero Salazan had called while I was in the shower . . . practicing. He’d left a message on the voicemail saying he was running late but could meet me at his house around eight. I was on my way, early, to do a little surveillance before walking into the lion’s den. He wasn’t just a cop. Cordero Salazan was something more, making him more dangerous than I’d originally thought.

Once I parked the bike, I waited almost fifteen minutes for any sign of life. Inside, the house was dark as the sun set over the desert. I hopped off the bike and crossed the street, moving at a quick pace. The neighborhood was dead and activity had dwindled to an eerie quiet.

I was used to kids running everywhere and people out in the yard. That type of neighborhood atmosphere didn’t exist in the desert. It was too hot and the summers were spent inside or in the pool. Rising temperatures over the past few days had forced everyone into the comfort of air conditioning as the desert heat started its upward climb to unbearable.

Stepping lightly, I did my best not to disturb the rock garden surrounding the house. I peeked in all the windows and saw exactly what I’d seen the previous night. The house was PRISTINE. Not a piece of clothing was out of place and the bed was made to military standards. I made my way around to the back of the house and the pool. Landscaping lights lit up the pool like an altar for a sacrifice. My skin rippled with gooseflesh as my gut screamed that something was off.

Granted, I hadn’t known all that many vampire servants, not true servants anyway, but it didn’t seem like a relationship that allowed for the type of distance and freedom that Cordero Salazan exhibited. If Marabelle had been in Las Vegas since 1967, how did Cordero Salazan live in Phoenix prior to five years ago? I inched along the edge of the house where the rocks were bigger and I was less likely to leave a path.

I tripped.

“Damn it!” I swore as rocks and pebbles skidded everywhere. So much for going unnoticed. Glancing back at what I’d tripped over, I caught the bronze glimmer of a key attached to the bottom of a fake rock. “A fake rock? Really?” Even disappointed at the lack of creativity, I wasn’t going to look that gift horse in mouth.

I ripped the key from the bottom of the rock, shoving it into my jeans pocket, and set about returning the rocks as best I could.

When I couldn’t do any more damage, I got up and brushed off my jeans. Tiptoeing to the back sliding glass door of the patio, I slid the key into the lock. I didn’t remember a security system and I hoped I hadn’t missed it. The key slipped in easy and clean without a hitch. Turning the key in the lock, I hoped for the best as I slid the door aside.

Silence.

I stepped through the door. The air burgeoned on cold as the air-conditioning was a constant, soft hum in the background. Having already searched the house once, I didn’t have a chance to give the bedroom a really good once-over. When I’d searched it before, Cordero Salazan had been knocked out cold in the bed. I hadn’t wanted to take the chance of getting caught, not without a weapon.

Stopping only a moment as I passed his office and the hum of the Gladius hanging on the wall sank into my being, I hesitated. I could feel the sword in my bones vibrating with pleasure.

“I’ll come for you soon. I promise,” I whispered, continuing down the hall.

The bedroom smelled of Cordero, a mixture of hair gel, his aftershave, and his natural musk-heavy scent. It wasn’t unpleasant but it wasn’t Patrick’s cool musty book smell or Dean’s musk on a fresh spring day scent either. I skimmed through the areas I’d already searched; the bathroom, the closet, his drawers, and the nightstand.

Picking up the lamp, the alarm, and the landline phone, I found nothing attached or hiding underneath. I opened the drawer and was instantly confused. Two items lay at the bottom of the drawer that shouldn’t be and hadn’t been there before.

A long braid of dark silky hair that had long ago lost its shine lay lifeless at the bottom of the drawer. I ran my fingers over it, light and unsure, feeling the thick hair slide easily beneath my fingertips. The second item was an emerald-encrusted claddagh ring and a bleached finger bone. Strands of auburn hair the color of fire shimmered in the low light and tied the two items together. I reached for the items but yanked my hand back when the burn of magic tingled up my fingers and heated my flesh clear down to the bone. The black lacquered box containing a vile filled with blood was gone.

The space under the bed was clear. Between the mattress and box springs was clean as a whistle. Glancing around the room, I knew I was running out of time. I headed back down the hall and out the patio door. Locking it behind me, I pocketed the key. I made my way just as carefully around the house, managing not to trip or screw up the damned rocks again. Win!

Circling around to the front door, I sat on the stoop and waited. About ten minutes elapsed before Cordero Salazan’s familiar shiny black Escalade pulled into the drive. I stood and brushed off my ass as he got out. He came around the front of the SUV, his face brightening and his full lips quirked up at the corners with a glint of yearning in those deep amber-flecked eyes. He was attractive, and the cocky grin shining in his gaze could melt the resolve of many women. All it did was make my skin crawl.

His smile broadened and his dark eyes narrowed in on me like I was prey. He wanted me. Of that I was sure, but he also wanted something
from
me. I was sure of that, too.

“Hiya,” I said with a smile that I suspected never quite reached my eyes.

“Hello,” he said. The low soft rumble in his chest vibrated of sex and hunger.

If that tone had come from Dean, I would have called it a primal growl and I would have burned from the inside out. Coming from Cordero Salazan, however, that tone made my haunches rise.

Grabbing me in a fierce embrace, his hand firmly on my hips, he clutched me to him and devoured me in a deep kiss. His lips forced my mouth open as he slid his tongue past my teeth. When he finally broke the kiss, we were both panting and out of breath. He’d caught me by surprise and I counted my blessings I hadn’t had time to react with the revulsion that was turning my stomach.

I buried the nausea and said with a playful smile, “Well, hello.”

“Hello.” Reaching around me, he unlocked his front door without taking his hand from my hip. I followed him in and shut the door behind me. 

He wrapped me into his arms again, and I slid my hands beneath his jacket. Finding his gun holster resting against his silk shirt coated ribs, I let my fingers linger. He pressed his lips against mine and slid his hands over my ass.

His hand found the bulge in the back of my jeans where the gun was tucked away and his entire body went rigid with tension. Both of our lips stopped moving and I opened my eyes, staring into bright amber flecks swirling in darkness as his body heat skyrocketed. As I tried to back away, his left hand yanked me back against him as his right lifted my shirt.

The only thing I could do as he went for my gun was reach for his. Shoving him away and moving quicker than I’d had to in months, I snatched his gun from the holster and took it in my hand. I stepped back, staring down the barrel of my own gun. But then again, so was he.

My lips turned up in a quick diabolical smile. My heart surged into existence in a way it hadn’t in months. I felt alive and, surprisingly, in charge. He was right handed and most people weren’t as good with their non-dominant hand. He held my gun with a shaking left hand. I didn’t have that problem. My left hand was steady, sure. I’d practiced with both.

We stood in his foyer for a long minute or two staring at each other down the barrel of our own guns. His heart beat a hole in his chest as my mind cleared and my focus narrowed.

He seemed surprised. His eyes darted from my right eye to my left.

I smiled again, knowing that it didn’t reach my eyes. I was having fun. I hadn’t been so excited that the air around me tingled in a very long time.

This is who I am.

I’d run from this and from the people who accepted me for who and what I was, a killer. As I glared down the barrel of the gun and met his eyes, I knew I would win.

“I see you’ve discovered my secret,” he said in a gruff voice.

“I have a feeling you already knew mine,” I replied.

“Well,” he said with a satisfied smile. “When I heard The Blushing Death was in my city and then landed right in my lap, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He gave me a once-over. His eyes focused on the gun but his left hand steadied and my estimation of his ability to fire that gun was beginning to change.

“The vampires speak of your ruthlessness like the boogeyman. They never talk of how pretty you are. It just solidified my desire to have you.” Lowering the gun, he smiled at me with a lecherous gleam in his eyes. “I wish you no harm.” He slipped the Smith and Wesson into his holster and straightened his jacket over it.

“Back up. About three paces,” I ordered.

He did as I commanded, keeping his hands in plain sight, a knowing smirk turning up the corners of his very kissable mouth. Backing up into the living room, he never took his eyes from mine.

“I honestly mean you no harm. In fact, I have a proposition for you,” he said, lounging on the leather sofa, casual, his arms draped over the back.

I wondered if it was the first time he’d ever sat on it. I followed him, keeping my arm raised and the gun aimed square at his chest. The pressure of holding up two pounds in a rigid posture ached, burned the muscles through my arm but I wasn’t ready to let him move around on his own, to have that much freedom.

“When did you know?”

“That there was something off about you? Almost from the moment I met you,” I answered. “You didn’t smell quite right.” Tapping my nose, I added, “That you were Marabelle’s servant? Not until I found the picture of Juliana.”

Understanding furrowed his brow.

“You searched my home . . . and . . . and drugged me. I thought it was odd to have fallen asleep so soundly. I haven’t slept an entire night since her death.” He seemed annoyed, as if I’d stolen something from him. I found more than a little satisfaction in that. “I told Jarvis you weren’t someone to discount but he thought he could convince you to leave. I didn’t want you to go.”

My arm was killing me but I kept a firm hold on the butt of the gun, relaxing my stance. There was no way in hell I was putting the gun away. “No?” I questioned, raising my eyebrow at him.

“No.” His dark eyes turned up to meet mine, boring holes into me. The pain in his gaze was clear but relief relaxed his shoulders. It was an odd, mixed expression that made me cringe. I knew what it was to feel that dispossessed. “I think we could do wonderful things together,” he whispered.

I laughed before I could think about it, a raucous sound I was sure had never filled the empty house before. I tried to pull my hysteria in as a hurt expression crinkled the skin at the corner of his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said, attempting to get myself back under control. “I just didn’t realize I’d suddenly become Lauren Bacall, to your Bogey.”

“I don’t—”

“Doesn’t matter,” I clipped with a straight face. “What exactly did you think we could do together? Take over the world or just run off. I’m a little confused.”

“Kill werewolves.” His tone was rough, his agitation skyrocketing as the tangy scent of his anger increased with his heart rate. He was losing patience with me and I couldn’t blame him. I was doing everything I could to wipe that smug expression off his face. His words, however, stopped me cold.

“It wasn’t Marabelle,” I whispered. “Was it? It was you.”

My blood roared through me as he stood, towering above me, moving too easily from his comfortable relaxed position on the couch. He took a step toward me but I stopped him, raising the gun from where I’d let it sag in a quick fluid movement.

He stopped, his hands lifeless and dangling at his sides.

“Marabelle likes it here, and I
will
kill the last few stragglers in this city before long. She, however, refuses to move on,” he snarled, his anger boiling over. The anger in his tone and the conviction in his posture made everything sound like an old argument. One I wasn’t interested in hearing.