Last Vamp Standing (12 page)

“I don’t know a thing other than what I’ve been told, and that’s bare minimum.”

Her Primus slid a cigar from his case, lit it, and took a hearty puff. “Something tells me you know more than you’re letting on.”

“You’ve already decided your fate,” Dante said. “If you’re finished with your questions, I can find my way out.”

Dante stood and Ariana followed suit, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she’d planned on leaving with him or anything . . . maybe she’d just see him to the front gate. She stood where she was, feet planted, fighting with what she wanted to do and what she should do, and watched him walk away.

“I do have one last question,” the Primus said as Dante reached for the handle. “Ariana tells me that the Watchers believe you’re the one they’ve been waiting for. What do you think that means?”

“I don’t know,” Dante said, as if he really didn’t care about the answer. “You’ve been living with them right outside your haven gate for hundreds of years. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I don’t think they know
what
you are, only that you aren’t a vampire like the rest of us.” The Primus paused, letting the accusation hang mid-air. “Maybe by letting you seek shelter here, they get to keep you close. To study you. You seem to have piqued their interest.”

Dante stopped, turned back. “And what about your interest? Is that why you wanted a meeting with me? To determine if I was worth keeping around in your precious haven?”

“No, I wanted to meet with you to look inside your soul.” The Primus snuffed out his cigar, smashing the tip to smithereens. “I wanted to dig the truth out of you, to figure out what you really are.”

Dante’s chin hitched. His shoulders pulled back. “And?”

“
You
don’t even know.”

Ariana couldn’t help but catch the gleam in Dante’s eye. It was hard and angry, but there was a glistening spark of truth. Her Primus had been right. How could Dante not know who—or what—he was?

Beneath the curiosity burning inside her to know how Dante was able to do some of the things he could, there was pity—the stomach-souring emotion that reached inside her and shook.

Dante truly was lost, wasn’t he?

T
O HELL WITH
this.

Dante didn’t need to stand here and take this shit from anyone. He was over the Primus’s holier-than-thou attitude. He didn’t know why his voices hadn’t surfaced, or what he’d fed on that kept them at bay for two long days while he was knocked out, but it wasn’t going to last much longer. Spending his last few minutes, hours, whatever, playing verbal tit-for-tat with Black Moon’s Primus wasn’t his cup of AB.

He swung the door open. “Thank you for allowing me to heal within your walls.”

“You cannot leave,” her Primus said simply.

Dante glared over his shoulder. “Hell I can’t.”

He could zap out of this chamber so fast it’d make the Primus’s head spin. But he didn’t. One glance at Ariana—the innocent purse of her lips, the softness of her eyes—and he stayed. Damn it, he stayed.

“There is a reason the Watchers let you leave their compound. There is also a reason you piggybacked on Ariana’s last astral-projection.” The Primus lumbered to Dante’s side, leaving Ariana standing in the center of his chamber. “You have fangs but do not thirst for blood. You have nails that elongate like a demon’s, yet you clearly have a soul and an aura that reveals it. If what you say is true, that you’ve never met your parents and have never sought shelter in a haven, you are closer to finding out who you are here, with us, than you are out there on your own. Tell me I’m wrong.”

You’re wrong.

The words were right there. Right there on the tip of his tongue. But they wouldn’t come out. Truth was, Dante had lived fifty years without anyone suggesting that he wasn’t a vampire. In the two days he’d been at Black Moon—had he really been knocked unconscious that long?—that fact had been thrown in his face twice.

If he stayed in Black Moon until midnight, when the ReVamp crew arrived, could he figure out the truth? No . . . that was impossible. What did the haven have to offer that he couldn’t discover on his own?

“We have records that span thousands of years.”

Could the Primus read minds?

“Think the library of Alexandria on steroids,” he continued, his tweed jacket stretching tight as he postured. “It’s nothing like the elder scrolls, or pages ripped from the Grimorium Verum—our race’s revered tome of truth. Our library holds records from each paranormal species known to be in existence. It’s an encyclopedia of sorts. We’re talking nymphs, vampires, therians, werewolves, seekers, Watchers, you name it. If a creature has been fabled, we have record of it . . . even one with traits as mysterious as yours.”

“What’s the catch?” Hairs raised on the back of Dante’s neck. He got the feeling whatever the Primus was dishing was going to come with a hefty price tag. “You’re just going to let me roam through these records of yours?”

“I’d consider it.”

“And in return?”

The Primus smiled, the corner of his thick lips pulling off-kilter. “You’ll tell us all you know about Savage. If what you say is true, that he’ll come for us next, I want to know what kind of enemy to expect at my gate.”

Sounded like a fair deal. Especially considering Dante didn’t know much about Savage—only what Ruan had told him or what he’d picked up from random conversations overheard at ReVamp.

If he could find one other vamp like him, one other who thirsted for sex and violence the way he did, maybe this whole trip wouldn’t be a loss.

Well, Dante thought, it wasn’t a total loss anyway. He met Ariana’s honey brown eyes and remembered how they’d closed butterfly soft when he’d kissed her. Through all the evil saturating the air around him, Dante had glimpsed true innocence for the second time in his life, hadn’t he?

“All right,” Dante said, clamping down the need rising in his gut. “Where do we start?”

“I believe you’ve already met our resident librarian.” The Primus stepped aside, sweeping his arm toward Ariana. “She’ll show you to our records, and you’ll share what you know. She’ll report back when you’re finished. I suspect a few hours in our library will be sufficient to find what you need.”

A few hours spent with Ariana the way Dante truly wanted would satiate his need for a lifetime, he was sure of it. But she wasn’t a buffet. And he wasn’t about to pillage the purity from her soul.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, sounding as enthusiastic about the arrangement as Dante felt. She closed the distance between them before he could digest what had just happened.

Had he just agreed to spend the rest of the evening with her? Damn it, he had.

As she brushed past them and led the way out of the Primus’s chamber, Dante’s veins flushed with heat. And when Dante could no longer pick up hints of her naturally drugging fragrance, he pinched his eyes shut, willing the room to quit spinning.

When it came to Ariana, he was in way over his head.

Chapter Eleven

“Death shades attacked the vamp capital in Sacramento. All governing souls lost.

Elders killed: 250 and climbing. Mawares controlled: unknown.”

W
ATCHER
A
RCHIVE, REPORT ON
S
AVAGE

H
E SHOULDN’T HAVE
agreed to this. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be looking at the way Ariana’s hips swayed as she led the way through her haven either, yet here he was.

Her attire didn’t help the buzzing in his gut. When Ariana insisted she go up to her room to change, Dante should’ve said she looked fine. Instead, he nodded like a putz and waited ten minutes for her to disappear into the depths of Black Moon and return looking . . . well, looking so stunning his stomach dropped to his boots.

She turned up wearing a tight black bodice that revealed just enough of her breasts to make Dante’s lungs seize. A matching midnight black skirt fanned to the floor. Her feet were hidden, giving the appearance she was floating rather than walking.

If angels existed, Dante was sure he was staring at one.

There was more to her, Dante realized, as his gaze lifted to the thin, honey-toned braid dangling between her shoulder blades. She acted strong, like she could tackle the world, yet Dante couldn’t ignore the softness and vulnerability that shone in her eyes.

He didn’t need to be involved in all of this, he reminded himself. He didn’t need to be reading the cues of her body and decoding the mysteries of her twisted female psyche. He needed to take a look at this library and give Ariana the lowdown on Savage. And hey, while he was looking through the
Elder’s Encyclopedia Britannica,
maybe he could dig up a few Watcher pressure points. He should be able to do what he needed and jet out of Black Moon in—he checked his watch—an hour. Two, tops.

Surely the voices would remain at bay that long . . .

Dante stripped out of his robe and tossed it over the back of a chair by the hearth as they rounded a wide corner leading into the great room. The black leather pants and matching shirt Ariana picked out for him didn’t fit with his normal wardrobe of jeans and a white cotton shirt, but they were blood and knife slash free, so he couldn’t complain.

“This place is huge,” Dante said as they veered left, deeper into the great room. “How many elders can you house?”

“We can handle hundreds of elders, though we don’t have nearly that many here now.”

The ceiling-to-floor windows were open, letting in soft sheets of light. Beyond the glass, a grassy bluff disappeared off a black-rocked cliff, and beyond that, the crystal blue sea stretched to a hazy horizon. Small groups of elders lounged on chairs near the bluff, sipping red drinks and soaking up the last of the day’s rays. From the look of the sagging sun, it was six o’clock—an hour until nightfall.

Elders were immune to the sun’s UV rays and enjoyed a life lived in the sun. Dante couldn’t help but wonder how old Ariana was and how long she lived as a vamp before she transitioned and stepped back into the light.

“This is the main building,” she said, pointing to the vaulted wood ceiling. It was at least twenty feet high. “Magnificent, right?”

Yes. She was. Dante didn’t have to look at the soft angles of her face to know they were perfect and smooth and mesmerizing. If he slept, he was sure he’d dream of her. Of the way her lips parted for him before they met his. Of the way her cheeks flushed when she got riled up.

Oh, how he loved to see her that way . . . any way.

“The haven is six stories with guest rooms on every floor and suites for the Primus and oldest of us on top,” she said without looking back. “There are also two tiers of cottages on either side of this building that house a library, kitchen, and gym.”

Dante whistled and scoped out the place, trying to absorb every aspect of the haven Ariana called home. There was a theme to the décor: money. Everything was either marble, gold-trimmed, or draped in lace. Antique Ritz.

“Seems like you’ve got everything you need right here,” he said as they followed the long length of windows. “It’s a complete city.”

“We’ve made it our point to be self-sustaining.”

“As long as you keep up that barrier you mentioned.”

“Right.” There was heaviness to Ariana’s tone. A responsibility Dante could almost see weighing on her shoulders. “As long as we keep that up.”

They passed a living area with plasma televisions mounted on the walls and a pool table centered over a Persian rug. Two khissmates were in the middle of a round, chalking their cues. They nodded in acknowledgment as Dante and Ariana walked by.

This was more than her home, Dante realized. She had a regal air about her, as if she kept the place running tight. If she’d lived in Black Moon most of her life, she probably belonged to the haven longer than any other khissmate. No wonder everyone lowered their gazes and bowed when they came near.

“What in God’s name are they doing?” Dante asked as they came to a set of glass doors. Outside, a large, grassy field with a cobblestone path snaking around its perimeter connected to a cottage across the way. But it wasn’t the cottage that had Dante pushing through the doors before Ariana could answer.

It was the training ground.

Posts of varying heights were drilled into the grass and seemed to cover every open inch of green. Glasses of water perched on the top of each post. Ten or so elders lined up on the far side, winding their way slowly from one side to the other with their eyes closed. Dante didn’t see how it’d be possible to take a single step without kicking a post. They were everywhere.

“They’re training,” Ariana whispered as she stepped beside him on the patio. Her voice swept over him in a soft, seductive wave. She could talk about the damn paint on the building and make it sound like the most amazing thing Dante had ever heard. Her voice was gentle, serene, awakening parts of him that’d been asleep for years.

He snapped back to the scene playing out in front of him when an elder accidentally knocked into a post that stood knee high, pitching the glass onto its side. The glass wobbled, then fell . . . only it didn’t hit the ground and the water didn’t spill out.

It hung in mid-air, frozen.

With his eyes pinched shut, the elder lifted his hand from his side and did a twisting motion with his fingers. From an unnatural horizontal angle, the glass slowly moved of its own accord and uprighted itself on the post, the frozen water still spewing from the top.

It was unlike anything Dante had ever seen.

As the elder opened his eyes, the water thawed at once, splashing into the glass. He smiled and closed his eyes again, moving toward the other side of the lawn with the rest of the group.

“Incredible,” Dante breathed.

“Come on,” Ariana said, leading the way across the cobblestone. “Let’s get out of their way.”

“This is how elders train?” Dante followed Ariana, watching elder after elder use a different method to right the glasses they dropped. “Posts and glasses of water?”

“For this activity, yes. Elders have mawares unique to them. We offer a variety of methods aimed to teach them how to make the most of their maware. This training activity is teaching them to work with more than their sense of sight.”

A red-headed elder across the grass ran into a shoulder-height post and splashed water down the front of her dress. Two elders beside her laughed until a small gust of wind blew around her, drying her off.

“Guess I’m still trying to come to grips with what kind of haven this really is. Seems like more of a resort than anything else.”

“We want elders to be comfortable here. That’s our primary goal.”

“Hard to believe a place like this has been kept hidden for so long.”

“That’s our second. If you’ve never heard of Black Moon until recently, it seems I’ve done my job well.” Ariana pushed through the wrought iron doors leading into the cottage. “Since sunset is upon us, most of the elders will be outdoors exploring or training, catching the last minutes of light. We should have privacy for a while.”

Privacy.
Great. All that meant was he’d be holding his breath longer than necessary and trying to focus on something other than his insane longing to touch her again.

Dante stepped into the cottage and sucked in a short breath. There were books everywhere. Hundreds of thousands of books. The structure of the cottage was round, with books shelved from floor to grand ceiling, circling all sides of the room and three levels up. Open balconies lined the edges. Ladders stretched to the ceiling and slid on tracks around the room. Gothic angels hung from the walls, leaning precariously over the tables in the center. If he situated himself at any of the tables, the angels would look—glare—at the words over his shoulder.

“It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, isn’t it?” Pride streaked through Ariana’s voice.

“Let me guess,” Dante said, turning around to meet Ariana’s gaze. “You stocked all these?”

“Yup.” She strode into the center of the room and looked up. “With a view like that, how could I not volunteer for the position?”

Dante followed her line of sight. The ceiling was domed and painted over every inch. It was a spitting image of the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel, only on a smaller scale. The blues were heavenly, the pinks rosy and soft, the edges harsh and the men commanding. It was a breathtaking work of art that had Dante shaking his head in awe.

“Who did it?”

Ariana smiled coyly. “Take a guess.”

“You don’t mean . . .”
Not
Michelangelo. “He was a vampire? An elder?”

“One of our most talented. He painted this in a matter of days as a practice run for the Sistine Chapel. He slowed down on the real thing so that his abilities would appear more mundane.”

Dante strode around the room toward the first set of bookshelves to his right. “Unbelievable.”

“What you’re looking for is over here,” she said, drawing his attention around. “We monitor our sensitive material closely.”

Across the room, between two massive bookshelves, a door had been set back into the wall. It was knotty pine, had a square peep hole covered with bars in the center and a keypad set into the wall beside it. With a flurry, Ariana punched some numbers into the keypad and the door hissed open.

She waited for Dante to squeeze through. He held his breath as he passed by, but this time his reaction didn’t save him from picking up on Ariana’s scent.

The room was swathed in it. As if she spent so much time inside, the place had taken on her natural, soft fragrance as its own. His stomach panged and his skin shrank.

This was going to be difficult.

“This is . . . quaint.” Chest constricting, Dante stopped a few feet in.

The room was more what he expected from a haven library than the goliath one he’d just left. It couldn’t have been more than twenty by twenty, with a narrow desk near the door, a mahogany bookshelf lining the back wall, and an oversized leather chair in the corner. The lights buzzed and flickered before coming to life, setting a warm amber aura over everything.

“This is where we do our research,” she said, taking the rolling chair behind the desk. She opened the drawer on the side, pulled out two pads of paper, and slid him one. Then she tossed a pen on top. “You can start digging over there.”

Even narrowed down from the monstrous library outside their little room, there were still over fifty books to choose from. And Dante didn’t plan on being here any longer than he had to.

“Any idea where to start?” he asked as he paced the shelves.

Thirteenth Century Elder Records. Medieval Attack Methods. Gnomes and Fire Elves. Wood Nymphs and Code Talkers.

“Any idea who Savage really is or what he’d want with Black Moon?” she asked.

Dante glanced over his shoulder. She was sitting up straight, pen to paper.

“It’s really going to be like that?”

“It really is.” She nodded. “You want something. We want something. I’ve shown you this room, something not many elders on this premises have ever seen and—”

“Now I’ve got to show you mine,” Dante finished with a smirk. “All right.” He pulled a book called
Birth Records: Abnormal to Nymph
and opened to the first section.

He skimmed through the pages as he spoke. “Savage is a vampire-therian hybrid. His mother was an elder . . . I think her name was Meridian. Anyhow, his father was a therian Sheik who died so his son Slade could survive childbirth. Savage never understood the sacrifice and blamed Slade for his father’s death.”

Ariana scribbled wild notes, hardly looking up from her paper.

“Savage went rogue,” Dante continued, flipping through sections on Bigfoot and Draganoids. “He let the hatred for his brother overtake him, and he turned on his own people. He set up an ambush at San Francisco’s haven. Therians attacked. It got messy. Rumor has it he wanted to take over with the therians where his father left off. The vamps made it out on the winning side and banished Savage from Crimson Bay. Therians believed he couldn’t be trusted and wouldn’t have him either. Since then, he’s made his own rules.”

“How so?” she asked.

Dante looked up from his book somewhere around Elfin and held Ariana’s gaze. She seemed to be more focused on the story than jotting down the details.

“You’ll have to ask Ruan for the specifics, he knows them much better than I do, but by drinking the blood of the oldest soul on the planet, he’s bound elders’ death shades to him.”

“Oh my God . . . he’s draining elders?” The corners of her mouth dropped.

Instinctively, Dante wanted to right them again. He shoved his nose into the book to stop gazing at the lushness of her bottom lip.

“I had no idea it’d gotten that bad,” she said. “No one alerted us . . . guess they figured we already knew.”

If Dante understood the details right, it was still worse than Ariana had figured. Elders had always been hunted for their mawares. People with evil intentions could drink elders’ blood and gain their powers . . . but that was for a very limited time, and the elders’ spirits, their death shades, would still pass to the Ever After.