Let Them Speak (Vampire Assassin League #13) (3 page)

“Hello
there!   My. My. Look at you. Ah. To be just a decade younger. You in charge around here, Young Man?”

Mister Perfect ignored
the woman. He didn’t look to have moved his full attention from Sydney. She managed to return it despite the buzz that grew until she had to strain to hear over it. She thought she heard him ask something. And her voice replying. It might have been in her head, just as easily.

“Do you wish to?”
he asked.

“Do I wish to…what?”

“Know a real vampire? And where they’d…reside?”

Okay
. It was a trick question. It had to be. Anything else was nonsensical. Sydney pulled her gaze away and shook her head, and somehow gained a bit of sanity back. She looked down at the ground. Located her flashlight. Frowned. The realtor lady was still talking.

“
Gentlemen. Please. This place isn’t what you need. It requires way too much work. We’ve got a place over in the Garden District…well. It’ll knock your socks off. Just got the listing yesterday. You’re getting first peek. And at fifteen thousand, it’s a steal.”

“Fifteen thousand
? Is that all?”

One of her crew answered
. Sydney was still trying to avoid looking anywhere near them – and the man. Mister Perfect. The guy who seemed to alter the elements. Or something. Hell. She glanced at Stan and then back to the ground. He still looked and acted like a limp dishrag.

“Fifteen thousand and some change
. Per month. I can offer you an open or closed-end lease. Perfect for what you need. If you’re ready, I’ll be happy to transport you—”

“
Whoa. Lady. That’s well out of our budget. Back me up here, somebody. Sydney?”

She shook her head again
. The interaction over at the gatepost sounded and looked like it was a block away. Maybe more. Or space was changing on her. This was entirely too weird. And she hadn’t even drunk anything.

Yet.

“Oh, come along boys. What have you got to lose? And I even brought the limo. I’ve got my Class C license, too. No worries on that account. Now. Everybody in. Buckle up now. Champagne’s in the bucket in the middle. Cold beer in the ’fridge. You need anything else, you just let me know.”

Sydney
had to look, despite how the view included Mister Perfect. She narrowed her eyes and attempted to send him to the peripheral area. What the hell? Her entire crew was getting hustled into the back of the car, without the slightest regard for her. She’d heard of Southern hospitality and charm, but this was ridiculous. From the looks of things, that realtor was more than worth her fee. Good thing nobody had contracting authority on this trip.      

She
swiveled, knelt, and scooped up her light. Put her fingers around the handle. Lifted the beam…and then gasped as the light illuminated dark trousers and that spectacular span of abs. He’d moved? That quickly?

Holy shit
.

“You ready yet?”

“Uh…”

“You might wish to close your eyes.”

He stepped closer. Put his hand down toward her.

“Where are we going?”

“I am going to show you where a real vampire would reside.”

“And you would know this…how?”

Sydney ignored his hand and stood on her own power, and then wavered in place at being this close to him. Sweetness!   His voice was still sending out vibes that seemed meant just for her, while she could swear she smelled a blend of spices. Her body got the instant impression of warmth. The impression was heady. Euphoric.

She forced her gaze up
over the rim of her glasses; met his eyes, and felt her knees buckle. The fall sent her right into contact with him. She wrapped her arms about him, nestled her nose right beneath his chin, and breathed in short little gasps. The feeling of actually touching him was even more visceral. And a moment later, her entire paradigm shifted as the earth beneath her disappeared. And then he answered.

“Because I
am
a vampire.”

Oh.

Shit.   

CHAPTER THREE

Okay. She was only going with him to see where a real vampire would live. For the series.
Right, Sydney?
That was the only reason. How they got there was going to be an issue. And when situations ripped a big hole in the fabric of reality, there were three options that immediately came to mind:  Ignore it. Fight It. Embrace it.

Ignoring anything was going to be difficult
. This guy had impossible-to-look-away-from eyes, and a body worth clinging to, even as she told herself she had to hang onto him or fall into the abyss below them. That was a lie and a pretty bald one but Sydney was very good at those. Wasn’t that what she’d used to get through the “Irreconcilable Differences” petition her ex had sent her last year? Their marriage had crumbled because he was a self-serving asshole with a thing for hot blondes with hotter figures. And no integrity or honor. And Sydney was a certifiable brunette. With morals. And she wasn’t remotely frigid. Chris had just been a lousy sex-partner.

Frigid, my ass.

She was proving that. Every bit of connection with Mister Perfect here sizzled. Heat and tension and electricity went to amperage generation level, until she was about ready to embarrass herself and climax without even being touched intimately.

Right, Sydney
.

Back to
options. First - ignore this. Disregard the fact that she was clinging to a man who moved faster than physical probability? Hard to overlook that. And while neither proved he was a real vampire, they didn’t disprove it, either. She could try ignoring that they were flying, too, but that shouldn’t even be in the equation. Flight wasn’t possible unless he’d found a wormhole or changed the time-space continuum, or done something else that was theoretically possible. But to do that, he’d need to reach the speed of sound squared.

No wait
. That was nuclear fusion. In order to fly, he’d need to be following the theory of general relativity.

No…

O
h…who the hell cares, Sydney?

She couldn’t recall off the top of her head, and now was a stupid time to try
. She’d helped her ex with his physics homework back when they’d met and connected, despite their differences. Chris started as her “man-panion”, graduated to boyfriend, and then limped into being a husband. He’d never altered. He’d been in full science mode, twenty-four-seven, while she liked living life not just examining it. He’d also claimed to like brunettes with glasses. And he called her the liar.

So
. Back to the physics stuff – from when she’d first met Chris. Flirted. Studied together. Occasionally she’d listened to him read about his field of study. Given it her attention. Learned some basic formulas. To what end? When she actually could’ve put some of that to use, she couldn’t remember. So, whatever the formula, it should mean that Mister Perfect couldn’t actually be flying…unless he was using the theory of special relativity. Ah ha!   That was it. Special Relativity was the theory about time traveling forward. General relativity was the one about time travel back. Or, was it the other way around?

Buggers
.

Whichever, Syd
. Mister Perfect could have found a way to use a theory about time travel. And was taking her along.

Mister Perfect
? Hmm. She really needed a better name for him. He already had self-confidence and arrogance in spades. Heaven knew how big his head would get if he heard the moniker she’d assigned him. Hard to think of another one at the moment, however. He really was rather perfect. At least, physically. Gorgeous face. Cut physique. The view was spectacular. The actual connection even better. The guy had a major six-pack and solid pecs and more hard muscle just about everywhere she touched. Yep. Darn near perfect...

Well
. Ignoring him wasn’t working. That moved her to option number two.

If she decided to
fight against this, she’d probably need medical, psychological, and pharmacological help. Along with a straitjacket. None of that would be cheap. Delusions of flight while in the arms of a solidly muscled guy claiming vampiric powers was probably not covered under the group health plan. Besides, she didn’t use medicinal panaceas for anything that happened to her. Regardless of how depressed she’d gotten over her divorce. She’d seen enough of the mile-long stare coming from the zombie-creatures that got created by using the new wonder drugs. She’d rather be insane.

…w
hich did bring her to the third option:  Embrace it.

Sure
. She could accept this bit of psychosis. Pretend it really was happening. Play-act through it. She was a fine actress. She’d taken a year of drama in college, pondered a Minor in theater to accompany the Major in fine arts that got her nowhere jobs. Acting was something that came naturally. She was very good at it…because acting was akin to living a lie and she excelled at those.

And
why was she now quoting her ex?

“You can open your eyes now
. We’re here.”

Okay
. That voice was enough to curl leather when it was just an auditory sensation. Feeling it reverberate from the chest she was hugging was just beyond necessary. The effect sent her heart into circus antics and her hormones into shock. Or something. Shivers rippled down both arms, her legs, and modified her spine into an icicle. And that’s when she decided that embracing this bit of insanity might actually be worth it.

And it would
make a hell of an entry in her memoir later.

“
Um. Where…is here? Exactly?” 

She managed to answer although her lips didn’t function properly
. And her voice was breathless. That’s what came from trembling that just wouldn’t cease. His arm tightened.

“My abode.”

“Look. Mister Per—”

Her voice stopped
. Not because she didn’t want him to know what she called him, but because she’d opened her eyes, and her jaw dropped and words failed her. They were standing in a foyer. Or rather, he was standing there. She was in his arms, with her legs wrapped about his hips, and she didn’t know how she’d managed that without at least noticing it. And then she factored in the space they stood in. Holy smokes. The guy had space. The area looked cavernous. It even felt large. Echo-inducing large. The entryway was in the usual antebellum style, wasting square footage with the width of it, while an elegant staircase climbed the left wall, curving at the top into the second floor some eighteen to twenty feet above them. An enormous chandelier blocked the view as it dangled down from what looked like the second floor ceiling. Or third level floor. Or attic. Sweetness. The foyer was amazing. Totally.

“Devereaux.”

“What?” she asked.

“My name is Devereaux
. Not Mister anything.”

“Um
. You should put me down.”

“As you wish.”

No. She was wrong. He shouldn’t have put her down. The moment her feet touched what looked like marble floor, things changed. Sydney stepped back a step. Another. She gained a little of her common sense back. And sense of propriety. Heck. She might be in the Big Easy, but the last thing you could call Sydney Ross was
easy
. Or cheap. Or available. Or open. Free. Uninhibited.

She repositioned her thick rimmed glasses
to the correct position atop the bridge of her nose and looked across and up at him. And felt her heart quiver. Or something that gave her voice the same affliction. “Listen…uh Mister…you have a last name?”

“
Why don’t you just call me Dev?” he offered.

Now
. Episodes from reality weren’t supposed to include gorgeous guys with devastating smiles that included equally devastating accents. Nor were delusions to have decadent, old-world, romantic-sounding names. This sort of combination was inducing more than insanity. The next thing she knew she’d be envisioning him…naked. Against her…hmm. In the same state of undress. What a nice dream. Way too nice for psychotic episodes. Then again, what did she know? Maybe this was why folks in a mental ward were so happy. And here she’d thought it was the drugs.

Wait
. Sydney. You’re not cheap.
Or easy. And this guy was way out of her league. If she even claimed one. But…wow. His stance, with hands on hips, just gapped his jacket open, highlighting spectacular abs and mid-section, while framing slim hips and really nice, lengthy legs. Those trousers of his might as well be spandex for the way they clung to what looked like amazing thighs. Double trouble wow.

Her legs weren’t just experiencing rivulets of shivers
, they were trembling, too. Good thing she wore loose-fit denims, the jacket Stan had already noticed…a button-up blouse in graduated peach shades. And beneath that was a thong with matching push-up demi-bra; ordered from that erotica catalogue that was guaranteed to give her kissable cleavage. And this Devereaux looked like the perfect guy to test that on.

Hmm
.

Oh…buggers
. What was she doing? Thoughts like this might fit the
embrace the madness
section of her options, but that didn’t stop them from being way out of line. Way, way, way out. She licked her lips, and got down to business.

“
So. Hey. This is your place then?”

He nodded.

“What’s the square footage?”

His lips twisted
. Her innards mirrored it.

“Am I here for a tour or what?”

His eyebrows lifted at that one, highlighting little lines on his forehead. And her heart swooped this time. Fully. Taking a dive to her belly where it seemed to radiate pulse beats from there. Or something of that nature.

“I believe I’ll go with the ‘what’ portion of your query,” he finally answered.

“Well…while you do that, I’ll just take a look around. Fair?” 

Sydney turned her back on him
. That was probably stupid, but looking at him was overwhelming just about every sense she had. And some she hadn’t known she possessed. There was a large doorway on her right. She went through it. She found herself in another large bit of space. The room had another high ceiling, a marble fireplace along the inner wall that looked like it rose from the floor, the entire thing overseeing about eight hundred feet of space. Maybe. It looked about twenty feet wide by at least forty in length, but the far end was in complete shadow. The room contained long windows along the outer walls, topped with plaster designed cornice pieces. Each window had a valance across it and drapes at the sides that were so long, they made puddles of material on the floor. They did nothing to cover over clear, perfectly polished glass that showed a view of closed painted shutters, in what looked like a forest green shade. The window decor was a French design…from last century sometime. Her grandmother had redone her entire house in it. It was wasteful and stupid back then. It looked elegant and absolutely perfect here. The dark burgundy material sat atop more marble floor, and served as a divider for the pieces of perfectly crafted and old-fashioned furniture. Sydney moved her eyes. Wow. He even had a grand piano in here, atop a pedestal, so highly polished, it shone,

And
Devereaux was seated at it.

Sydney gasped and stepped back a fraction
.

Buggers
.
She’d forgotten how fast he moved.

“Hi there,” he said.

Sydney cleared her throat. It sounded raw and unladylike, but she had to find her voice somehow. “This room is perfect for gatherings of the undead. Or…perhaps for sending one to stay and wait until they’re granted an audience. Truly. I can just see it.”

“Can you now?”

“Is this a parlor, then?”

“More o
r less.”

He ran a finger along the keys, putting an eerie flourish of sound into the room
. That lifted more than goose bumps. It chilled. Sydney clasped her hands together in what she hoped didn’t look like a defensive move and turned around.

“All right, then
. I’ll just do a bit of touring myself. I’m going to guess you have a study or something on the other side of the entrance hall here?”

She was walking as she spoke and was completely wrong
. It was a dining room. Or might have been designated as one. But this one was of immense proportion. A quick glance showed a long dark wood table looking pretty tiny down the center of the room, despite having about twelve chairs on either side. She didn’t count for accuracy. There appeared to be a doorway at the far end, but that portion of the room was shadowed. Indistinct. Not here at the front of the room. This room was almost as breath-taking as the foyer had been. Or the parlor. And basically the same dimensions. The walls were hung with larger-than-life-sized paintings, most featuring men who looked exactly like Devereaux in various poses and in various period costumes. They almost covered over the wall space done in off-white wallpaper of a
fleur-de-lis
pattern. The entire room was large and light and airy. Or meant to be. The fireplace in this room was even crafted of a lighter shade of stone. The windows appeared to be the same floor-to-ceiling proportion as his parlor, and had the same shuttered view from between the drapes. Only difference was these window treatments were done in a tone-on-tone striped pattern in the same shade as the walls.