Vampire Assassin League Bundle Five - Loneliness (4 page)

She’d never felt like this.

She’d never seen such depth.

His eyes were magnetic. Enthralling. Hypnotic. She forgot everything about her purpose. The assignment. Everything. And then he spoke, putting such an amazing depth of voice into the area, the entire world seemed to stop and listen.

“My lady. I have found you. Finally.”

Oh. Holy shit was not even close.

“You might as well give up, man. She’s a lesbian!”

Hooker Boots called it from somewhere. And before Rachel could rebut it, the clear and distinct sound of a cry split the area – a young, nine-year-old boy sound of cry.

CHAPTER FOUR

“My name’s not Jamie! Help!”

Whatever spell had been cast, the cry for help broke it. Rachel moved instantly, hiking her skirts up with one hand, and grabbing at her
hennin
with the other. She took off for the shadowy area. There was a boy standing there, wrapped in the arms of a woman – presumably his mother – Rachel wasn’t stopping. Munson could find out details, because the area was now empty of their man.

Shit
.

Rachel sprinted between the tents, emerging into the shadow-land separating one row of vendor tents from the next. Back here, it was a different world. And it wasn’t well-lit. The tents didn’t have the bright stripes on their back sides. They all looked to be dull and dark. The nearest exit was on her left. She almost went that way. A flash of orange and black patterned attire caught her eyes, sending her the other direction. He was avoiding the closest escape? That was short-sighted and stupid of him. Munson had probably already sent the signal, and every exit was already blocked by police.

Then again, they wouldn’t know they were chasing a chubby court jester.

And he was winning. The skirts were getting soggy. That made them heavier. Unwieldy. She was ready to rip the cone off her head and to hell with the hair she might lose, and the corset about her waist was crippling. And then she tripped over a tent line.

She didn’t fall far.

The gorgeous guy who’d been worshipping at her feet caught her about the waist and the next moment she was wrapped in an arm, held against his side. The other hand held that sword. And double holy shit. She hadn’t even seen him move. They were still moving as well – with a speed that meshed the wall of tents into one long blur.

“Who are we chasing?” he asked at her ear.

“Joker. Orange
...and black...outfit.”

She sounded incoherent to her own ears. It wasn’t her fault. If she had access to breath, she’d have made sense. He looked up, craning his neck, and then he nodded. Rachel was set on her feet with a jolt and leaned against a utility, wire-bearing
, light pole. Who the hell puts a light pole in the back alley of a renaissance faire? And why the hell couldn’t they have seen the lights at the top illuminated? Probably wouldn’t match the authenticity rule. She barely had time to grab it for stability before Sir Gorgeous was gone. A blink of time later she heard a distinct cry of pain coming from the murky area at least three tents beyond her.

“Wait! Don’t kill him!”

Rachel was on the move again, not even questioning why such a warning would be necessary. She just knew. And when she finally rounded the last tent, it was more than obvious, even in what light hit the scene. Sir Gorgeous was dangling Joker-Guy by one leg, his big-ass sword was aimed for the perp’s bowel-area, and that fellow was blubbering something about mercy.

“Mercy! Please! Don’t kill me! Mercy!”

Rachel parroted the words, although hers came in a breathless, ‘come-hither’ voice she didn’t know she owned. It was the corset’s fault. Damn thing. Even if they were sexier than hell, she wasn’t wearing one again. She was out of breath, and had a painful stitch in her left side. She shoved a hand there and pressed, while the other fished in a pocket for her cuffs.

“Don’t kill
...him,” she repeated.

Sir Gorgeous looked across at her and lifted the perp about a foot higher. “You want him alive?”

“Not...really.”

The sword moved, flashing a pinprick of light from some source beyond the moonlit alley. Screw the cuffs. Rachel threw herself at Sir Gorgeous’ sword arm, and held on. The stitch in her side sent an arc of fire through her, and even that didn’t cancel out how direct contact with this man felt.
Wow
. Her fingers wrapped about his upper arm as if she wanted to caress an excellent example of a sculpted bicep.

“Don’t
...kill him,” she whispered.

“You tell him, lady!”

“Shut up,” Rachel looked at the perp before returning to his captor. “Look. You need...to put him down. Okay?”

“Now?”

“Well...soon. I’ve got...to cuff...him. Get...somebody...to read his rights. Or whatever legalities...are required in this shire.”

She still sounded like she was whispering sexually charged words. No wonder he acted like he didn’t understand. He simply stood there, holding up approximately two hundred pounds of struggling human, while gazing at her with those bottomless dark eyes. Rachel was snagged. And from somewhere in her auditory range, buzzing started up again. She barely managed to escape the weird sense of enthrallment by turning her head, averting her gaze to a tent beside her. She removed her hands next, one after the other. Her fingers were even tingling. She’d never felt such an overwhelming sense of alertness.

She had to step back. Get some space between them. Find her wits. Get her libido back where it belonged: under her control. Rachel put her hand against her side again and leaned into it. The corset actually gapped a bit at the pressure. She couldn’t get a deep breath, but it was better than before. She bought more time by licking her lips.

“Well, you heard the lady. Release me.”

The perp moved upward with a quick motion. A moment later he was in a heap on the ground. Immobile. Rachel’s mouth went as wide as her eyes.

“You
...killed him?”

Damn everything. She didn’t sound appalled and shocked. Her statement was more in the breathless and excited range.

“No.”

He sheathed his sword into a scabbard at his back. She knew what was happening because the vague image of his shadow on the ground. She didn’t watch. She didn’t dare see all that muscle in action. She was actually afraid to look up at him again.

“Look. Thanks, Mister...uh. I don’t even know your name.”

Her words were jumbled and her hands didn’t work properly. She stuck them in her pockets, and didn’t bring out cuffs. She’d fished out her taser from her thigh holster. Rachel moved it back and forth in her hand, wondering why nothing was making sense.

Why stun.

It sounded like he’d said something. She looked down at the weapon she held. Oh. Their guy was already out. No wonder he asked.

“Because I didn’t bring my gun, okay?”

She dared a glance upward. His brows were drawn together in a semi-frown. That look caused a tremor throughout her back, down her legs, and it seemed to even make it through the tight ankle boots. Holy shit! She’d never come up against such solid sex appeal. In one package. She returned to looking at the taser in her hand.

“I do not understand your reply,” he answered.

“Look. I’m not from around here. I’m from New York. I’m here, uh
...helping with an assignment. And I don’t piss in somebody else’s pool.” And she was getting her breath back. Nice.

It took some time before he answered. She had plenty of time to look over her stun gun. Trigger. Electrical wiring.

“I do not understand that, either.”

“You asked why I stun people. I’m answering. I don’t act as judge, jury, and executioner. That’s somebody else’s department. I only arrest them and move on. As far as I know, this is an alleged sexual predator, and I’m putting the emphasis on
alleged,
got it?”

He moved closer, blocking out every bit of light. And then his index finger went beneath her chin and lifted her to face him again. And oh shit. Her knees actually wobbled.

“You misunderstood. I gave you my name. Wystan.”

Okay. She had to be hearing it wrong. She could blame the buzzing that had restarted the longer she locked eyes with him. Who named their kids such weird-ass names? Then again, what did she know? This was Britain. That name might be perfectly normal.

“Why-stun?”

“Yes. Wystan Ryn
de
Crecy.”

He let go of her chin and stepped back in order to execute a slight bow. It probably resembled the one Hooker Boots had done, but it looked a hell of a lot sexier. That was probably due to those low-slung pant-things he was wearing, and that spectacular physique. And she really had to get her mouth moving. Rachel cleared her throat.

“Okay. Wystan. Well. I’m Rachel. Rachel Berne. And...I’m going to do you a favor. Something completely against protocol.”

“What is it?”

“Disappear. Now.”

“Disappear?”

“Unless you like police procedure. Paperwork. Questioning. Lots of long hours in a cold room. That kind of thing.”

“Is that where you are going?”

Oh...sweet
. That sounded like he might be interested. Maybe not as much as her, but things could be worse. Rachel couldn’t believe she was thinking along this line. One should not hook-up over the body of an unconscious perpetrator. It just didn’t feel right. She shoved the taser into a pocket and searched about for cuffs. And got nothing. How the hell could she have dropped them?

“I
...don’t have firm plans, actually,” she finally replied.

“Ah. Good. You are free.”

“Look. Maybe you could just give me your number. I’ll call you.”

“I do not have a number.”

“You don’t have a cell?”
Or...maybe you are just saying no?

“No.”

Well. That proved it. He was saying no. Rachel’s belly actually fell at the rejection. And the guy at their feet punctuated the surreal scene by groaning and doing a slight roll.

“You need to secure him,” Sir Gorgeous pointed out.

“Yeah. I know. But...I sort of lost my cuffs.”
Geez.
If the London guys at the attendance booth found out, they’d never cease teasing her over it, too.

“Then, I will stay.”

“Berne! You in there somewhere?”

Eleanor’s floated through the alley, sounding like she was about two tents away. Wystan turned his head toward the sound.

“Ah. The other woman arrives. She will have the means to secure him?”

“No doubt.”

“Then I shall leave you, most fair lady. But not for long.”

He lifted her hand and touched a kiss to her knuckles and disappeared. There was no other word for it. One moment she was looking at six-foot-five male, and the next there was just dark empty space. And then there was Eleanor Munson’s face.

And sanity.

CHAPTER FIVE

“You’ve reached VAL Headquarters
...where death really does come at a price. Ours. Nigel speaking. How may I direct your call?”

“Is Akron in?”

“Oh. Look. It’s Sir Galahad again. Let me guess. You need another rescue. More women are chasing you down.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Hey. I just read a book on Arthurian legend, and quite frankly, you should be flattered. Galahad was their purest knight. The most noble. The most—”

“Galahad was celibate, Nigel,” Akron’s voice interrupted.

“Exactly! Celibate. Just like—oh, crap! It’s you, sir. Ahem. I was just about to contact you.
De
Crecy is on the line again.”

“And his business is
...?”

“I was just about to ask.
De
Crecy? Why are you calling, please?”

“I need a number.”

“Oh. Allow me, please. How about eight,” Nigel answered.

“Nigel.”

The speakers resounded with Akron’s voice. It rattled two of the statues in Wystan’s crypt. It also echoed for some moments before the sound dulled to a slight humming noise.

“What? He wanted a number. I gave him one.”

“You’re a bit testy this evening. Issues?”

“Oh. It’s nothing. Nothing really. Can we just move on?”

“You haven’t been betting with Lizbeth again, have you? Still attempting to prove male superiority?”

“She said she could get a higher score than me on VIDWAR because she can use the algorithms behind the game plays. She knows which hits gain more points and goes after them. She said it doesn’t matter how many times a player dies and re-spawns. What matters is getting the right kills in the shortest amount of time.”

“Ah. Dexterity versus strategy. I see. And you lost?”

“So now I have to watch her play
my
game on
my
monitor while I research the Knights of the Round Table. It’s not funny.”

Akron was definitely chuckling. It didn’t last.

“Forgive me, Nigel. I just find you so...refreshingly young. Perhaps we should get back to Sir Wystan’s call, before he runs out of time?”

“Oh. Sir Galahad? Grab a new phone. We’ll call you right back.”

The cell in Wystan’s hand went dead. That matched most of the surroundings. The Crecy family crypt was constructed of gray stone. It had a huge sculpted angel on the roof peak outside. Inside, the designers had carried over the same scheme. Reliefs of fallen angels were carved along every wall, their arms reaching as if to embrace a niche containing a shrouded skeleton. The four stone pedestals in the floor had the same imagery. Carved angel wings supported stone slabs for holding the same type of occupant. Shrouded. Still. Skeletal. Dead.

One was empty.

His.

Wystan wasn’t in here to rest. He’d had to leave his mate’s proximity or react. And this was where he kept his bin full of cell phones. One of them vibrated before a low tone emitted from to it. Wystan fished it out, pushed the “call” button, pressed it to his ear, and started pacing again.

“All right,
de
Crecy. I do have to agree with Nigel. It’s a woman. That being the case, I already started a search. I see you are in the middle of a weekend Winter Renaissance Faire...on your castle grounds.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, for a recluse, that behavior is rather odd. What time is it over there? Two in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“You expect this faire to go all night?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I do know. It’s in the fine print of the contract that you signed. Ah. Look here. They will shut down operations between the hours of four a.m. and eight. Just long enough to sober up, I assume. That was generous of you. What on earth made you agree to this?”

“I just need a cell number, sir.”

“That is a negative.”

Wystan stopped walking. He stared at one of his dead ancestors.

“We don’t put traceable technology in the hands of a novice. At least, not until someone offers up particulars. You have found your mate. Yes?”

“No way,” Nigel inserted. “He did
not
have that happen. We just talked to him this afternoon. Four hours ago. Max. No. I don’t believe it. No.”

“We’ll need particulars, Wystan. Where is she?” Akron asked.

“How do we know she’s not with him?” Nigel asked.

“He’s requesting a cell phone number, Nigel.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. So, tell us already, Galahad. Where is your mate? And I hope she’s old and ugly and shriveled-up and—”

“Nigel. Do you want me to intercede with Lizbeth?”

“Oh, no sir. That would be tantamount to surrender.”

“Very good. Then keep to the job at hand. Before we need another connection.”

“What was it again?”

“Sir Wystan’s mate. And her location. And you can speak at any time,
de
Crecy. It might save Nigel.”

“Oh. She’s in some cold room. Doing something about police procedure.”

“Your mate is in law enforcement? Hmm. That could get a bit...complicated. Especially when you consider our line of work. Nigel. Start searching for police activity in the
Marche
area. Nothing? Use the Abyss Link. Look for hidden activity. Covert. Special operations. Ah. Here it is. Apparently there was a sting operation at your estate tonight. It involved a nasty sexual predator. A female officer from the states is being credited with the collar, despite the perpetrator’s words of a giant fellow with a large sword. That’s rather interesting.”

“I can explain,” Wystan replied.

“Later, maybe. At the moment, I need to know the name of your mate. It could get a lot more complicated if it’s Eleanor Munson.”

“No. She said her name was Rachel. Rachel Berne.”

“Got her. Screen image coming up...now, and...well.”

“Wow! She’s just
...
wow
.”

Nigel punctuated his words with a low whistle. Wystan’s eyes narrowed on the wall as he fought the rise of something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Could it be emotion? He was feeling anger? Jealousy?

“Well. That decides that. We can’t issue you a number. Nor, can we give you hers.”

“Why not?”

“Law enforcement personnel are not fond of things like unauthorized searching of data bases or phone tampering. Not only that, but it amounts to what humans have titled the crime of stalking. Trust me on this.”

“How can I contact her, then?”

“Let me think. Does she have any special interests that you know of?”

“Maybe. What’s a lesbian?”

Nigel choked and then was sputtering all kinds of words. “Oh, man! You gotta be kidding me! Can I tell him, sir? Can I? Please? Let me do it. Please? Oh, please?”

“Go ahead, Nigel. I’ll do research. And this, I’ve got to hear. Oh. Keep it clean. You’re speaking to a knight of the Honor Order here, not one of your Seventies peers.”

“Clean? Okay. Here goes. Sir Galahad! Buddy! You are either the most curst vampire in history...or the luckiest undead man walking. I’ll start with the cursed part of that.”

“Curst?”

“Yeah. Lesbians are like...homosexual. As in, they like the same gender. Girls like girls. Boys like boys. If she’s full lesbian...uh...you might consider not turning her at all. Just let her go. An eternity of celibacy has to be better than a forever reminder of what might be available and ready, but you can’t have it.”

“Excuse me?”

“But if she’s bi-sexual! Oh...
baby!
If she swings either way, then your luck knows no bounds! You are going to get involved in girl-on-girl action and three-ways like...whenever you want. Forever.”

“Three-ways?”

“Two women with one guy – that would be you. Picture the three of you. All naked. Limbs entwined. On a king-sized bed. Or...maybe in a large shower. Using tongues. Body parts. Uh...maybe even manual stimulation equipment. Imagine the positions! Any. All. Wow. You lucky bastard. I don’t even have a woman around, and you’ll get two of them.”

“You’re talking
...
copulation
?”

Akron was laughing. Wystan was reeling
in place. Images of what Nigel was describing were warring with building rage at Nigel even thinking about Wystan’s mate in that capacity. Especially naked. The sensation he’d felt moments earlier got hotter. Incensed. Furious. If this was emotion, it was bad. The view of his crypt got washed with blood-red hues on every eye blink, while flickers of fire ate through him. He was breathing deeply and harshly, his lips open, allowing room for the fangs that were almost at full length. Akron spoke next.

“You sound as if you know a bit about this subject, Nigel. I had no idea the Seventies were so enlightened.”

“I have a vivid imagination, sir. Good thing, since I don’t have women around me, like ever.”

“Aren’t we forgetting Lizbeth?”

“Oh. Come on. She doesn’t count. She isn’t remotely womanly. She’s more like...a walking computer with boobs.”

“We’re almost out of time again.
De
Crecy? We’ll call you back.”

Akron was laughing again. Wystan tightened his fist so that the phone fizzled, sending heat through his hand and lower arm. He pitched it against a wall, where it exploded in a shower that contained plastic bits and blackened circuitry. His eyes narrowed as he watched the last sparks die on the stone floor.

Another phone vibrated and then it started singing in a high voice. Wystan grabbed it and pressed the “call” button just to shut it up.

“
De
Crecy? Good. You’re still with us. I hope you’ll forgive Nigel.”

Akron was still chuckling. It wasn’t remotely funny. Wystan didn’t reply.

“I’ve got good news for you, however. You there?”

“Yes.” The word was short. Clipped.

“You angry?”

“Yes.”

“Apologies. I should’ve handled it. I hope this helps. Every covert action has some falsehoods about it. This sting was no exception. You follow?”

“No.”

“The woman you met tonight was acting. Some of what happened might be real, some false.”

“This is not helping,” Wystan informed him.

“I was researching while Nigel was shooting off his mouth. Miss Rachel Berne doesn’t have much on record, but she did file charges against a boyfriend last year. That does mean, even if she claims lesbianism, at one point she liked men.”

“I am getting more angered,” Wystan informed him.

“Very well. I’ll talk faster. The woman named Eleanor Munson? Well, that woman has a husband. That should be even more help. Yes?”

A cooling sensation started in the pit of his belly and spread outward. It probably showed in his one-word answer.

“Yes.”

“Good. Luckily, your mate is still on the premises. I took the liberty of having a message delivered to her. She’s invited to an incredibly late visit at your castle. You might wish to dress in something a bit more appropriate. I hope this information helps a bit.
De
Crecy? You there?”

The phone went silent from where he’d dropped it. He didn’t waste time ending the call. He could fetch it later. He had to reach his castle. And prepare.