The Dark Vampire: Last True Vampire 3 (34 page)

“I think Lucas’s innocence will have a calming effect
on Chelle,” Mikhail continued. “It’s better not to pair her with a dhampir who shares a like personality.”

“Makes sense,” Ronan agreed. “I’ll keep an on eye on her as well. Make sure she plays nice.”

“Good,” Mikhail said. “In the meantime, I’ll contact Saeed. My own power will only stretch so far and I can’t exhaust myself turning dhampirs when Claire is so close to the end of her pregnancy.”

Most of this was bureaucratic red tape that didn’t concern Jenner. Mikhail was the king after all. These decisions were ultimately his to make.

“Now that that’s settled”—Mikhail turned his attention back to Jenner—“let’s discuss this necromancer. . . .”

“I
fold.
Fuck
.”

Christian tossed his cards down on the felt table with disgust. He was down two grand and they’d only played five hands. The private game had seemed like a decent prospect, a way to make back the money he owed to Marac and free him from his obligation to the berserker. Christian could throw the bastard’s generous down payment in his face and be on his way. So far, all he had managed to do was dig a deeper gods-damned hole.

He waited as another hand was dealt and scooped up his cards. Two, seven . . . not a single matching suit and no fucking face cards.
Great
. Another shitty hand. He set three cards down on the table and waited for three new ones. What he got in exchange wasn’t a hell of a lot better—an ace and ten of clubs and a suicide king—but maybe he could bluff his way to the pot. He tossed in three hundred dollars’ worth of chips. “Raise.”

Around the table, the other players tossed in their chips. The shifter beside him folded and pushed away from the table with an angry growl.
Thank the gods.
The sooner
he was out of the game, the better. The bastard’s strong, musky scent drove Christian’s wolf bat-shit crazy. At least he wasn’t a bear shifter, though. Those fuckers were scary. Christian threw in another three hundred and met the gaze of every player at the table, daring them each to call his bluff. One by one they tossed in their cards, and Christian flashed a satisfied grin as he scooped up the chips. A zing of adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream. In one hand he was flush.

Fuck. Yeah.

It was as hot as a hooker’s crotch in the secret back room at Onyx. Not a lick of ventilation, and the watered-down whiskey tasted like piss. The lack of windows, low lighting, and haze of smoke made Christian damn near claustrophobic. His wolf growled in the recess of his psyche. The squatter that resided under the surface of his skin didn’t enjoy being kept in a room with only one way in or out. Made a quick escape tough to accomplish if shit got dicey.

Still, he wasn’t about to leave until he’d accumulated some serious green. He couldn’t be sure that Siobhan was the dhampir Gregor was looking for but didn’t want to be the one to hand her over to the berserker either way. What Christian wanted from the female would satisfy no one’s needs but his own, and it would require her to be wearing a hell of a lot less clothes. A vision of her, thighs spread, skirt hiked up, and an expression of bliss softening her usually stern expression, flashed in his mind. Maybe her state of undress didn’t matter so much.

A firm hand came down on Christian’s shoulder with enough force to push him a couple of inches lower in his chair. His wolf rose to the surface and a snarl built in his chest. His gut clenched and his muscles bunched as he prepared to pounce. He was getting gods-damned sick of being pushed around and the sorry bastard behind him
was unfortunate enough to be the straw that broke his wolf’s back.

“Take it easy, werewolf.” A head bent close to his, the words meant for Christian’s ears alone. “My mistress would like the pleasure of your company.”

Christian angled his gaze to the left to get a look at the male whose hand was damn near large enough to palm a pumpkin. He recognized the male as the dhampir who’d pleasured Siobhan for his benefit a few weeks ago. His wolf clawed at the back of his mind, more than ready to tear the bastard’s throat out.

Take it easy? How ’bout I take your head off, fucker?

Christian calmed his wolf as best he could. It didn’t help that the moon would be full in a few days, giving the animal more sway over him. The bastard was as eager as a pup at its mother’s tit to get to the fiery female. “And what if I’m not interested in seeing your mistress?”

The dhampir leaned over him. “You act as though you have a choice in the matter.”

Again, Christian was reminded that he was virtually trapped in a closet of a room with no alternate exit. The dhampir was built like a fucking redwood. He’d take Christian to the concrete floor before he managed to take two steps. Without even glancing at the cards he’d been dealt he slid them toward the dealer. “Sorry, gents, but it looks like I’ve got to call it a night.”

“Typical.” The shifter snorted and jerked his chin toward the dhampir. “Is there a night of the week that someone’s not shakin’ you down for what you owe them, Whalen?”

Lately? Nope.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back to take your money tomorrow night.” The traveling game would only be at Onyx for one more night and Christian would be damned if he missed out on an opportunity to hit the table again. He had forty large to scrounge together before
Gregor got impatient. Christian pushed out his chair and stood. Slowly. No telling what the dhampir might do to him. One quick move and he could easily snap Christian’s neck. He wasn’t quite ready to check out. Especially now that he was about to get a face-to-face with the female who’d occupied his every waking thought for months.

Close enough to touch . . .

Christian turned to face the big motherfucker and actually had to tilt his head up to get a good look at him.
Jesus.
The dhampir looked Christian over with a disdainful sneer. His light blue eyes were downright fucking creepy up close. Nearly translucent, and they lent a menacing air to his expression. Christian swore he felt the chill from the male’s gaze.

His wolf wasn’t a damned bit intimidated. A snarl rose in Christian’s throat and he swallowed it down. All he could think of was the dhampir’s hands on Siobhan. Touching all of the places that Christian longed to explore. This male had taken what Christian coveted. His wolf continued to grow more agitated as a single word echoed in his mind:
Mine.

He held out a hand, inviting the dhampir to lead the way. Gregor would shit a brick if he knew that Christian not only had a credible lead on the female he was after but also was being taken straight to her. So it was a damned good thing that the berserker had been too busy to check in with him for a few days.

“You first.”

Apparently the dhampir wasn’t the trusting sort.
Go figure.
Christian stepped out in front of him and headed for the door. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. His inner animal didn’t like having the threat at their back, and for once Christian agreed. Wherever he was about to be taken, he’d be stupid not to stay on guard. The situation was bound to be hostile. Siobhan hardly
appeared domesticated. His wolf howled at the prospect of seeing her again. Getting within touching distance.

The dhampir marched Christian through the club and out the front door. He filled his lungs with clean air—well, as clean as L.A. air could be—and cleared a bit of the angry haze from his mind. He directed Christian to a car down the block, nothing to write home about, a few years old and a little banged up.

“Get in.” He gave Christian a not-so-gentle nudge.

“Do I get to know where we’re going, or are you gonna blindfold me first?” The dhampir jerked open the passenger side door and waited. “I don’t mind a little mystery.”

“Do yourself a favor, werewolf, and keep your mouth shut until we get where we’re going. Your voice annoys the fuck out of me and I’ve been given instructions to bring you to my mistress in one piece.”

After getting up close and personal with Siobhan’s henchman, Christian was beginning to think of bear shifters as cute and fluffy. He zipped his fingers across his mouth and got in the car without saying another word. If he was going to die tonight he could be thankful that he’d get one last look at those beautiful emerald eyes.

At least, he hoped.

Thirty minutes later, they pulled up to a house in a run-down part of the Valley. Christian got out of the car and brought his nose up to scent the breeze. Disappointment settled in his gut like a stone. Either the dhampir was talking a lot of shit and had lured him into a trap or Siobhan had arranged for a meeting far from where she hung her hat. Her jasmine scent was absent from this place. She’d probably never even been there before.

Before he could take a step toward the cracked concrete walkway, the dhampir gripped Christian by the throat and slammed him back against the car with enough
force to leave a dent.
Ouch.
That was going to hurt in the morning.

“If you so much as cast a caustic eye her way, I’ll gut you,” the dhampir snarled, an inch from Christian’s face. “Do you understand me, wolf?”

The threat of a loyal follower or something more? From the way he’d touched her, Christian assumed that the male felt particularly possessive of Siobhan. Guess that made two of them. “Not even a squint,” Christian rasped through the constriction of his throat. “You have my word.”

The male pulled back and hauled Christian away from the car. He pushed Christian out in front and once again he was forced to walk with a threat at his back. The front door loomed in the darkness, a gaping maw that waited to swallow him whole. A single light illuminated the interior and Christian stepped past the foyer, his footsteps whispering over the bare hardwood floors, and he walked into an equally bare living room. His earlier suspicion was about to be confirmed. No doubt the dhampir meant to kill him and leave his body to bleed out on the floor.

Hope you’re packing silver, asshole.

He allowed his wolf to the forefront of his psyche and readied himself for the impending attack when the
click-clack
of footsteps echoed from his left. A waft of fragrant jasmine hit his nostrils and Christian’s gut knotted with anticipation.

“I’m disappointed you didn’t put up more of a fight.” Siobhan stepped from the shadows, her smoky voice a caress that Christian felt on every inch of his body. His wolf growled its approval and he swallowed the sound. She might have given him an instant hard-on, but the female was still unpredictable and dangerous. The sway of her hips as she entered the room drew Christian’s undivided attention. She took a seat in a lone armchair situated near the faux stone façade of the gas fireplace and
crossed one leg over the other. “Tell me, werewolf, why have you been following me?”

Mine. Mine, mine, mine
. His wolf practically yipped when her sultry scent hit his nostrils. She managed to work him into a lather and she’d barely spoken two sentences. Christian was more determined than ever to scrape up the money he needed to pay Marac in order to get Gregor off his back. Because he wasn’t anywhere close to being ready to reveal Siobhan’s existence and her possible link to the female he hunted for the berserker. They’d barely started this game they played.

Siobhan crossed her legs, every inch of her aware of the powerful male who stood before her. She’d hoped that by having Carrig bring the werewolf to her the spell would be broken. That her memory of him would prove to be better than the reality. His scent, spicy with a dark earthy undertone, swam in her head. His eyes were every bit as gray and brooding as she remembered. And his mouth, sinful and inviting, curved up into a sardonic smirk that made her want to master him and surrender to him all at once.

He was her only weakness. One she needed to squash before he became her undoing.

Her question went unanswered. He simply studied her with that damnable smirk. It’s not as though she expected him to spill his secrets. For the first time in centuries, Siobhan wished she had the power to compel. Rather than press him, she cocked her head to one side and asked, “What’s your name, werewolf?”

“Christian Whalen. But I doubt a female as well informed as yourself didn’t already know that.”

His voice was as decadent and rich as melted chocolate. The deep timbre enveloped her in warmth and Siobhan suppressed a pleasant shudder. He told the truth; his
words didn’t smell of a lie. Had she been more diligent, Siobhan would indeed have learned everything about him that she could. Though with Gregor still in the city and Mikhail keeping a close eye on her she’d decided to err on the side of caution. There was no use drawing undue attention to herself or her coven.

“Did you like what you saw at Onyx last week?” No need to clarify. At the vague mention of the night he’d watched Carrig pleasure her, Christian’s eyes heated with lust and his nostrils flared. Siobhan’s body answered in kind. Her blood raced through her veins and a spark of excitement flared low in her abdomen.

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, let her fingers trail from her cocked hip down one leather-clad thigh. Christian’s gaze followed her path as the moon followed the sun across the sky. “I didn’t like the sight of another male’s hands on you.” The rough, possessive edge to his words sent another thrill of excitement chasing through her.

“I think you liked watching Carrig pleasure me,” Siobhan said. She let her voice go low and husky, little more than a murmur. “And I think you’d like to watch again.”

He fixed her with a hard stare. “Do you.”

It wasn’t a question. No, there was a challenge inherent in the werewolf’s tone. One that Siobhan was sorely tempted to accept. What would he do if she called Carrig in right now and asked him to service her while she made Christian watch? Would he simply stand there and take in the sight with that infuriating smirk affixed to his face, or would he let more of that possessiveness out?

A charge of electricity spanned the space between them. If she continued her line of questioning there wouldn’t be much to keep her from fucking him right there in the armchair. Siobhan shifted, slumping down in her seat as she flung one leg over the arm of the chair. Her
relaxed posture was intended to show him that he had no effect on her whatsoever. That she couldn’t be bothered to perceive him as a threat or anything else. His eyes tracked the movement and his fists clenched at his sides as his gaze settled between her thighs. A rush of delicious heat bloomed where he stared and Siobhan suppressed a shudder. Gods, he could get to her with a look.