The Last True Vampire (40 page)

“Keeping the human girl as a snack for your mate?” Siobhan snickered at her own joke, tossing the thick mane of raven hair over her shoulder as she turned to face him. Her emerald eyes sparked with an adversarial edge, though completely devoid of even a glint of silver. No matter how she felt, she was keeping her emotions in check. It was comforting to know she had at least a modicum of self-control. “You must be pleased with yourself, Mikhail. The city is abuzz with rumors. Some say she’s vampire royalty hidden away and protected from Sortiari assassins for centuries. Others think she’s some kind of mythical second coming.” A dark brow arched elegantly over Siobhan’s eye. “You’ve bagged the white stag of vampires, haven’t you?”

There was no use downplaying Claire’s power. Any dhampir living would be able to sense it, and even Siobhan in all of her disdain was benefiting from Claire’s power as well. “And what is your opinion on the matter?” Not that he cared, but he was curious all the same.

She hiked a disinterested shoulder. “I don’t care one way or another about your special snowflake of a mate or how she was turned. In fact, I couldn’t care less if she was the first gods-damned vampire ever created and shat straight out of Egypt’s ass. Your elitist hierarchy means nothing to me. I won’t fall at your feet and beg for the opportunity to lose my soul until some worthless male stumbles along to tether me. Just like I’m not here to make any sort of peace with you tonight. The only reason I agreed to come is because Jenner said you had something to say that I would want to hear. And even though that bastard is dead to me for aligning himself with you, I trust him. So tell me, Mikhail. What is it that you have to tell me? Perhaps you’ve finally decided to reward me for saving you not once but twice in one week?”

She claimed not to care about how Claire had been turned, but he knew that wasn’t entirely true. Siobhan might have been able to keep the silver from leaking into her emerald gaze, but her scent soured at the mention of his mate. She couldn’t hide everything from him.

“What is your clan?” Mikhail asked as he took a seat at the desk that separated them.

Her gaze narrowed. “I have no clan. Only a coven.”

She wanted him to believe that the only family she knew was the ragtag group of dhampirs she’d convinced to follow her. Mikhail didn’t buy it. “I fought a Sortiari assassin a week ago.” He leaned back in the chair and planted his arms on the rest, steepling his fingers before him as he spoke. “A berserker warlord that I suspect is Gregor the Black.”

Her scent changed in an instant, the adrenaline that seeped into her bloodstream sending a sulfuric tang into the air. Without uttering a word she’d confirmed Mikhail’s suspicion. “He told you that?”

Mikhail pursed his lips. “Not exactly.” Though Gregor hadn’t admitted to being the famed highland lord, his expression had spoken volumes.

“And here I thought you were finally going to show your gratitude.” She let out a disgusted snort. “Do not speak to me of this again, Mikhail. I’ll not entertain your fantasies. Likewise, leave me and mine be and I’ll consider a tentative peace between us despite that you’ve cheated me of Ronan’s fealty. The minute I suspect you’re trying to influence any member of my coven, I’ll come after you with a vengeance.”

Like a shot she was out of her chair and stalking toward the door. “Agreed.” Mikhail kept his voice low and even. “But don’t forget what nourishes you and yours when you think to come after me,” he added as she yanked the doors aside in a wide sweep of her arms and strode from the office, the stiletto heels of her boots clicking on the hardwood floor with her passing.

“That went well.” Jenner strode through the open door and stopped short of the desk, folding his massive arms across his chest.

Mikhail snorted. “Better than I expected, actually.”

“What do you think she’ll do now?”

“Hunt the bastard down.”

Jenner smirked. “And in the process lead you straight to him.”

Mikhail flashed a wide smile, showing both sets of fangs. “Exactly.”

“What is it that’s between Siobhan and the berserker?” Jenner asked.

“A history too long and bloody for me to relay in a week of nights,” Mikhail replied. “I should lay the blame of the berserker’s rage at Siobhan’s feet. Or at the very least her sire’s.” A low burst of anger rumbled in Mikhail’s chest. “If you think her nasty streak runs hot, it’s nothing more than a smolder in comparison to the berserker’s rage.”

Jenner let out a low whistle. “He’s held on to his need for vengeance for a while, then?”

“Centuries,” Mikhail said. “And anger like that only builds with time.”

“It’s good we’re amassing an army, then. Because he won’t stop until we’re dead … or he is.”

Mikhail sat in quiet contemplation. He’d set something in motion tonight. Something he couldn’t undo. He just hoped that he hadn’t inadvertently given his enemy the upper hand by steering Siobhan on the path to Gregor. “It is good,” he replied. He’d need an army if he was going to protect any of them from not only the Sortiari’s twisted view of Fate but that of a formidable berserker warlord, hell-bent on revenge.

*   *   *

Ronan closed the wounds on the female’s throat before pulling away. A wistful smile complemented her dreamy expression. She licked her lips and sighed. “Mmmm.”

She palmed his cock through his jeans and Ronan moved her hand aside. He was hard and needed to fuck like he’d needed her blood, but he’d given his troth to Siobhan and if he so much copped a feel of the female beside him it would be his ass.

“I can pleasure you,” she said with a childlike pout that wasn’t doing anything for him. Acting like a testy teenager was sure to guarantee that any thoughts of bedding the female would soon fizzle. “I know you want me, Ronan.” She wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth and sucked it from the tip of her finger. “You’re hard.”

No shit.
But it wasn’t because she was so gods-damned irresistible. It was simply because he’d fed. And the need for sex awakened with his body after he ingested blood. Came with the territory now.

Before Mikhail had turned Ronan, he would have felt bad for the female. He would have assuaged her ego as he gently turned her down. For decades, he’d wanted nothing more than to be turned. To know the strength and power of being a true vampire and not just a pathetic shadow of his true self. The prospect of losing his soul had seemed a small price to pay in comparison for what he’d gain. Besides, a vampire was only soulless until his mate tethered him. What were a few years—or a few hundred—when he had millennia ahead of him? He had plenty of distractions in the meantime: males and females alike lined up, ready and willing to let him feed from their veins, an army to amass, and a kingdom to help build. And even though he hated her, he had Siobhan to keep him occupied when his lust mounted. Surely those things would help to distract him from the emptiness that had opened up inside of him like an endless black chasm the day Mikhail turned him.

Ronan’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he couldn’t believe that he almost hoped it was Siobhan calling to summon him to her bed. He was wired, too keyed up from feeding, to call it a night. He was already pissed that she hadn’t answered his earlier calls. The least she could do was be available, considering the oath she’d made him swear.

His skin tingled with foreboding as he noted the unidentified caller on the ID. “Hello?”

“I think I found it!”

It had been months since he’d heard his sister’s voice, and it bubbled with barely contained excitement. The roar of traffic in the background nearly drowned out her words.

“Chelle?”
No, “Hey bro! How are ya?” Or, “Hey, long time no talk. What’s new?”
“Where are you? What did you find? What in the hell is going on?”

Her excitement bordered on mania as uncontrolled laughter answered him. “I’m in Crescent City. Up by the California/Oregon border. I’ve been hiking, digging, talking to the locals all up and down the coast, and I finally have a lead on the chest!
Set’s
chest, Ronan! Do you know what this means?”

Good gods.
He was pretty sure that Chelle was actually the love child of Indiana Jones and Lara Croft. Her passion for the lost relics of vampire lore was rivaled only by her addiction to caramel macchiatos.

“Chelle, listen. A lot has changed since you left.” He’d lost his soul for starters.… “Who are you working for? These relics, they have to be turned over to Mikhail. To me, at least. I need to tell you something about—”

Chelle’s breath came in quick pants and her voice bounced as though she’d taken off at a sprint as she cut him off. “Ronan, there’s no time for small talk! I’m in deep shit. Get your ass up here and—”

She let out a grunt and the sound of a scuffle rose above the din of traffic on the other end of the line. “Chelle?” Ronan clutched the phone tighter to his ear. “Chelle?” he shouted into the receiver. “Answer me, damn it.”

Muffled voices grew silent. The sound of traffic disappeared. And the line went dead.

“Fuck!”

Ronan squeezed his phone so tightly that the plastic cracked in his palm. How could he possibly leave the city? He was newly turned, Mikhail and Claire had barely survived their ordeal with the slayers, and someone was going to have to help oversee Jenner’s transition. Not to mention how Ronan was going to deal with Siobhan’s ire if she discovered he’d ditched her. But how could he stay when Chelle could be someone’s captive—or worse? What if the Sortiari had taken her to use as leverage against Mikhail? They could have been following her for weeks—months—for all he knew. And any relic, especially one rumored to be as powerful as Set’s chest, would be dangerous in their enemies’ hands.

How could he possibly leave? How could he not?

“Is everything okay, baby?”

Ronan looked down as though only now realizing he was still standing in the middle of a crowded nightclub with an eager dhampir waiting to get into his pants. “I’m out of here,” he replied absently as he snatched the highball glass of scotch from the table and swallowed it down. He needed a little liquid courage if he was going to go to Mikhail and tell him that he was thanking him for the gift of transformation by abandoning him while the future of his kingdom was still so uncertain.

Shit
.

He turned and stalked through the club. From behind him the female shouted in her infantile whine, “Call me!”

Yeah. Sure. Whatever.

Out front, he waited for the valet to bring his car around, his impatience mounting by the fucking nanosecond. The sun would be up in six hours and he had a hell of a lot of ground to cover between now and then. And once he got to Crescent City, what then? He had no leads, no information aside from his sister’s name and the relic she’d been hunting, both of which, spoken to the wrong person, could get them both killed.

Mere weeks as a vampire, his soul lost to the void, and Ronan might just die before he could get it back. What happened to those who died untethered? Did he really want to know?

CHAPTER

32

Becoming a vampire sure took a lot out of a girl.

Claire stretched like a contented feline on the expanse of Mikhail’s bed. Or was it
their
bed? The tether that bound his soul to hers gave a tug. Like an invisible length of rope that connected them no matter how far apart they might be. She smiled into the darkness as she remembered the intense moments of their lovemaking and the bliss of feeding from Mikhail’s vein. As though her life had truly begun the moment she’d become a vampire, there was no empty, painful past, only the present and her future stretched out before her.

Her hands wandered over her bare collarbone, fingertips trailing between her breasts. A chill raced over her flesh as she ventured lower, revisiting all of the places Mikhail’s hands had been before her palms settled on her belly.

The baby.

Her last human memory had been of lying on that damned table, eyes squeezed shut, as Gregor ripped scream after tortured scream from her with the razor-sharp edge of his blade. Mikhail had saved her. Saved their child before Gregor could hurt him. Her son floated safe and secure in her womb. And she had her mate to thank for that. But before the slayers had taken her to that shithole of a basement so much more had happened. Events that had been all but forgotten in the midst of her transition.
Jesus Christ
—“Vanessa!”

Claire flew from the bed and smashed into the opposite wall. A harsh breath of air left her lungs in a
woof!
as her ass made contact with the floor. Through the darkness, she caught sight of the wall. A large, Claire-shaped indentation marred the drywall. Holy shit, if she’d been going any faster she would have plowed right through it like some sort of deranged cartoon character.

After all of the damage she’d caused to Mikhail’s posh digs, she had a feeling he’d want to reconsider keeping her around. At this rate, she was bound to cause thousands of dollars’ worth of damage before she got a grip on her new supernatural speed and strength. Claire tried not to let the way the individual carpet fibers felt against her palms distract her as she pushed herself up from the floor. She shot straight up, her feet no longer making contact with the floor as she rocketed up toward the vaulted ceiling, missing the roughly hewn timber support beams by mere inches.

Her landing was considerably more graceful, and she lit back on the floor as easily as a cat jumping down from a tree.
Wow. Okay, Claire
.
Get a freaking grip and get your shit together
. There were too many distractions in this new state of existence. Her brain and thought patterns didn’t even work in the same way. Her mind was cranking too quickly, probably what a kid with ADHD felt like when he was hopped up on sugar. Multitasking took on a whole new meaning as her thoughts wandered in multiple directions. Vampiric strength and speed weren’t simply limited to her physical traits.

Right now she missed the calm and laser focus she’d had as a human. It was the one trait she’d been the most proud of. Well, that and her ability to pick the pockets of even the skinniest of jeans. Right now wasn’t the time to lament those losses or ponder what she’d gained, however. There were so many unanswered questions. So many details she needed filled in from the days that she’d lost. And if any harm had come to Vanessa those Sortiari bastards were going to pay for it.