Stake and Dust (Stake and Dust series, Book I) (22 page)

Bram grunted but didn't refute any of what
Sheerin had claimed as the truth. "Pray tell," Bram said, "what is
your grand plan, oh mighty matchmaker?"

"Mistletoes, stakes and Yuletide cheer,"
Sheerin said with a gleam in his eye.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Cassandra stared at the photo on her phone
that Derek had sent her. It was a photo of Mr. Green, courtesy of
his sister. Only the smiling man staring back at her wasn't the Mr.
Green she'd fallen in loved with.

"Are you there, Cassandra?" Derek's voice
repeated for the third time.

"I'm here," she finally answered.

"Tremayne or whoever he's claimed to be is
not Gerard Green who you were supposed to team up with."

A pit of anguish opened up in her stomach to
be quickly replaced with anger. Tremayne had played her as a fool.
Only she couldn’t wrap her mind around why he'd done it.

The way he looked at her, every touch…it all
seemed so real.

"Who is he really?" she asked. "Do we
know?"

"You're not going to like this," Derek
said.

"I already don't. Who is he?"

"Axel did a little digging…"

She knew her eldest brother had connections
with Otherworldly beings, but she hadn't expected him to find out
Tremayne's true identity so quickly. She wasn't sure what was real
and what wasn't, but apparently Tremayne hadn't lied about
everything. It made finding out his true identity that much easier,
and made her feel stupider than she already felt. She'd been duped
big time.

"He's a Graystone," Derek said, a vampire
from the Oiche Sith clan. He's older than dirt, Cass. If he's that
old, he's dangerous too."

"Aren't they all?" she murmured. Tremayne was
a bloodsucker, a damn vampire and she'd missed the signs. No, that
wasn't entirely true. Her first impression had been spot on. She
suspected he was a preternatural being. Other preternatural beings
had greeted him as if he were one of their own, but she ignored all
of it and for what? All because Tremayne was a good kisser. Yeah,
that would look great on her resume.

He was a lying, cheating, bloodsucker that
would sooner kill her than befriend her.
But he hadn't had he?
No, he saved me from the Lamia. He treated me with kindness as if
he truly loved me.

They worked side by side, and not once did
she fear him. She didn't fear him now. Even presented with the
truth, she still cared about him. He couldn't be a vampire. He just
couldn't be.

He has vampire friends,
her nasty
little conscience voiced in her head.
He told you he
did.

But he's never tried to bite me,
she
continued to argue with herself. The closest he'd ever gotten to
sinking his teeth into her flesh was the small nibbles on her
earlobe that made her shiver and in a good way…a very good way.

"Cassandra, you need to back away from this
guy," her brother said, interrupting her erotic thoughts. "God
knows what he's after, but it can't be good."

She cleared her throat. "I need to find out.
We don't even know what happened to Mr. Green. Maybe he killed
him."

"Right now, it doesn't matter. Pack up your
belongings and come home. Clear your head then if you want, I'll go
back with you. We'll take down the vamp together."

Derek meant well, but she couldn't go home.
"Tremayne was the vampire we were looking for all along. He's well
established, has a business… It had never been Gunthorn. Gunthorn
had only been a bonus."

"Stop jumping to conclusions," her brother
argued.

She chuckled but there was no warmth to her
laughter. "I have to know, Derek. I have to know why he pretended
to be a hunter." And why he went out of his way to seduce her, but
she kept that tidbit to herself.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Derek still
argued the point.

"I changed hotels, used my alias' credit
cards, and kept a low profile. Besides, he has never hurt me.
Never. And he's had plenty of opportunities.

Another thought plagued her and she shared it
with her brother, wanting to know what he made of it. "When we made
our plans to take down Gunthorn, Tremayne had to know he would
expose himself when he saved his employees. He had to know I'd see
he was a vampire, but he didn’t hesitate. He didn't try to glamour
me afterward either."

Derek paused. "Sounds like you're defending
him."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt
a headache starting to take root. "I'm just stating the facts.
Regardless of the good he's done, we need to know if he's
responsible for killing Mr. Green. If anything, we owe the Greens
the truth."

Her brother fell silent again and she knew
she'd made her point. Now all she had to do is drive it home.
"Trust me, Derek, I can handle this."

"I never said you couldn't. I'm just worried
your feelings for this vampire will interfere with what you might
have to do."

"Don't you worry. If I find out Tremayne has
killed Gerard Green, he's toast. My feelings be damned."

"Cassandra–"

"I gotta go. Stay safe." She ended the call
and of course he rang her back, but she turned the phone off on his
second attempt to reach her. She was doing this. Tears burned her
eyes, but she angrily swiped them away. She had to stay focused and
do her job. She picked up her keys and left her hotel room.

She knew Tremayne's routine. He would be
working at the pub tonight. She'd have plenty of time to do a
little recon without him being the wiser.

She could come straight out and ask him why
he played her by pretending to be interested in her, but then how
could she believe him? She'd find out the truth on her own.

Arriving at his place, she parked the car off
the road, where the trees would hide her vehicle. No sense in
taking a chance Tremayne might stop home before she was finished.
She grabbed her gear and jogged to the front of the house and
fished out her tools to pick the lock. Shakespeare would be inside,
but the dog wouldn't cause her any problems. Besides she had a few
treats with her to keep him occupied. The lock made a clicking
sound as it gave way and the door opened.

Tremayne had an alarm system, but she'd been
careful to watch what he punched in. It was habit, not because she
thought she'd ever need the combination of numbers, but thank
goodness she'd paid attention.

He really didn't need an alarm if he were a
Graystone, an ancient original... No, she wouldn't say it. It would
mean their time together had been a lie. One big fat lie.

Shakespeare padded into the foyer to greet
her. "Good boy," she said and tossed him a treat, which the big
hound dog gobbled up in a second. He really was a great dog.
Tremayne claimed he'd rescued Shakespeare from the pound. Would a
vampire really rescue a dog from a pound? And if said vampire did,
wouldn't that mean he was a decent vampire?

She rolled her eyes. No, this vamp played
with her feelings. He kissed her, made love to her, while all the
time lying to her.

Maybe animals were a great pastime for him,
too. Though she couldn't think of an angle he'd have with owning a
pet. She patted Shakespeare's head. The dog didn't seem scared of
Tremayne and dogs were usually good at picking up on a bad seed,
but she dismissed this as evidence. Shakespeare's experience with a
good home had been slab floors and gated enclosures. Of course he'd
be pleased with a seafront yard and warm down pillows for a
bed.

She headed toward the study. Seemed like a
good place to start. Shakespeare padded after her. There had to be
something in his house to tell her why he would pretend to be a
hunter. There had to be an angle.

Tremayne was a Graystone. She kissed him, but
never felt his fangs. She slept with him and he didn't feed off
her. He could walk in the sun… How did he manage that feat? Vamps
didn't take strolls while the sun sat pretty in the sky. Was he old
enough to stay out in the sun for short periods of time? She'd
heard it was possible for the older vamps. "Just how old are you
really, Tremayne, you lying sack of fangs?"

She rummaged threw the drawers in his desk,
but didn't find anything incriminating. Pencils, notepad,
paperclips…all so normal.

Her hand slid underneath the desk and felt
something. She skimmed her hand back and found a button of some
sort. She pushed it and a second later hoped it wasn't a silent
alarm. It proved much better. The steel blinds slid down over the
windows. "To keep out the sun," she murmured. So maybe he wasn't
all that immune to the sun's rays.

She closed her eyes, wishing she'd never met
Tremayne. He was a vampire. She could argue the steel blinds didn't
mean squat for proof, but come on, who installed steel blinds?
"Tremayne Graystone. You're Tremayne Graystone," she repeated out
loud as if this would convince her of the truth and make her stop
believing there was another explanation to this nightmare.

So where was the real Mr. Green? Did Tremayne
kill him for the sole purpose to take on his identity? "But why
would he do that?" The mission was long over. When they caught the
Lamia, he could of played it cool, and she would have gone home and
not looked back, but he hadn't. He encouraged her to stay.

She sat down at the desk and went over
everything from the beginning. The first information she'd received
had said the vampire owned a business. He could blend in with the
humans. "Tremayne owned Eternal Bliss."

She knew for a fact Tremayne hadn't killed
those men and women. Those trophies they found hidden behind a
compartment were Gunthorn's demented souvenir collection. She saw
the way Gunthorn had caressed the items. There was no way Tremayne
had been involved. Of this she was certain. Still, it didn't change
the fact: Tremayne sported fangs and he had a plan for all he put
her through. She just didn't know what it was.

"I'm so stupid, Shakespeare." She glanced at
the dog, sitting on his haunches beside her.

He whined and tilted his head to the side as
if he were trying to understand her words.

"Your master is a friggin' vamp," she told
the dog.

Shakespeare wagged his tail as if he were
happy with the fact.

Her brothers expected her to take care of the
problem, which meant she should take down Tremayne Graystone. He
deserved no less, she told herself, but then the time they spent
together clouded her judgment. Walks on the beach, their talks, his
damn kisses that made her long for more…

"His lies," she reminded herself.

Shakespeare let out a bark and bolted out of
the room. In the next minute, she heard the front door open and
close. Tremayne was home?

"Crapoloa!" She pushed the button and the
steel covers over the window re-opened. She grabbed her backpack
filled with all her gear and the handheld crossbow she'd brought
with her and headed for the side door. She'd much rather meet her
enemy in the open and not in his lair. He would sense she'd been in
his house and come after her. His mistake because she'd be ready.
She had her hand on the handle of the French doors, but the light's
flipped on and she whirled around.

Tremayne frowned in confusion then his eyes
lit up as if he were glad to see her. "Cassandra?" Did she hear
hope in his voice, but then his gaze shifted to her hand, and again
his expression changed. Did she note a look of regret now? But if
so, did he regret lying to her or for being caught.

"You know who I really am," he stated the
fact and met her eyes.

"I know," she answered.

"Allow me to explain myself," he said.

She chuckled without mirth. "Where oh where
should you begin?"

He took a step toward her and she raised the
crossbow. "Take one more step and I'll shoot."

He didn't move. Shakespeare whined as he
looked to her then to his master.

"Where's the real Mr. Green?" she asked. He
wanted to explain. He could start with explaining what happened to
the real hunter.

"At the bottom of the ocean."

Okay, she hadn't expected him to come right
out and say he killed the man.

"I didn't kill him," he said as if he read
her mind. "He was dead when I found him planted on my doorstep at
the pub. I'm assuming you were supposed to find him there. His
throat was slashed, blood drained, but if I were to guess, it was
Lorelei who killed him, not Gunthorn, not a vampire," he stressed
the last.

She wanted to believe him, but how could she
trust him when all they had were lies. "Why didn't Lorelei like
you?" Gunthorn had said as much. At the time, she brushed it off as
Gunthorn trying to mess with their minds. Who knew the psychopath
vampire had been the only one telling the truth. Then there was
Lorelei. Her every word to Tremayne held a note a familiarity.

"In Lorelei's way of thinking," he said, "I
did her wrong."

This took her aback. "You were involved with
her?" Somehow that made it even worse.

"I hadn't seen Lorelei in a long time."

"Specify, long time. Weeks? Months? How
long?"

"Not since the 1920s, not at Eternal Bliss,
but another pub much like it. When she kept killing off my
clientele, I called the GOJ on her. Way back when, the organization
use to try and rehabilitate before they resorted to offing a fellow
preternatural. Obviously, their efforts failed with Lorelei, and
she never forgave me for my hand in her capture."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Had the
Lamia been setting Tremayne up to take the fall? Was this the truth
or another lie to cover his butt? Then she remembered the painting
in the pub. "The portrait hanging on the wall at Eternal Bliss,
that was her, wasn't it?"

He nodded. Had Tremayne and Lorelei been
lovers? Perhaps. Heck, most likely. He had a painting of her
hanging on his wall. Not in a human form, but in her preternatural
state. "You kept the painting," she murmured.