Out for Blood hoc-4 Page 5

  Since declaring computers and communication devices no longer off-limits in the House of Tepes, Tatiana had been frustrated by how few members seemed interested in using them. She was slowly learning to use them herself and understood these things took time, but how could anyone not want to take advantage of the technology? “That’s very disappointing. Do you think… all is still well? It’s been nearly five days.” And no word from Daciana. Anything could have happened to her. Tatiana swallowed down the building emotions. This was what came of allowing herself to care about others. She reached for the locket around her neck, comforted by its weight in her hand.

  Octavian shook his head as if to dispel her thoughts. “I’m sure everything is fine. You know I’m willing to take care of this in person, if you wish. I can leave immediately. Just say the word.”

  “I can’t spare you. With the ball approaching, I need you here with me. Especially when…” She studied the kine around her, looking for listening ears. “All of you, outside until I’ve called you back.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The modiste motioned for her helpers to leave.

  As soon as the doors closed, Tatiana stepped off the platform to face Octavian. “I’d love to have you check on Daciana, but I suspect the council has eyes on me.” She threw her hands up. “I hate that those pompous fools can affect me this way. After all I’ve been through with them, the way they fought me becoming Elder, the way they made me wait after Ivan’s death, the way they doubt me and question me at every turn—”

  Octavian took her hands in his. “You’re Dominus now. One of the council yourself!” He held her gaze. “There’s nothing they can do against you.”

  “Not openly, no. Just because they must accept me publicly doesn’t mean they won’t still try to tear me down in private. With the ancient ones so firmly on my side, I have no doubt jealousy will drive at least one of them to oppose me. More than one, I’m sure.”

  “My darling.” He shook his head. “Let them try. What can they do? You think the Castus will not punish any who dare come against you? You watch. The rest of the families will be your dutiful servants at the ball.”

  She pursed her lips. “For show, yes. But what they plan behind closed doors—”

  “Again, I say let them. Let one attempt something. I’m sure the Castus will make an example of them the rest will not soon forget.”

  An idea flared in her mind. She smiled, her fears ebbing as the new thought formed. “Or we could make our own example.”

  His face lit up, his whiskey eyes going silver with joy. “You are the most brilliant woman I’ve ever known. I’ll work on that immediately. Do you have a preference?”

  “Oh, yes.” She laughed, giddy with purpose. “Svetla.”

  After he’d parked his bike inside the machine shop, Creek pulled the rolling door closed and locked it. The shop that he’d turned into his headquarters looked about as rough as any other building in downtown Paradise City, but that was the idea. No one would ever guess the place was so secure. Being back in his childhood neighborhood was no joy, but it afforded him great access to the othernatural lowlifes from whom he was duty-bound to protect humanity. Walking past the shop’s open area, he hung his leather jacket on a hook on one of the sleeping loft’s support columns.

  He leaned against the big steel work sink in his makeshift kitchen and stared at the glass block window above it, letting Chrysabelle’s words sink in. As much as he agreed with her, there was nothing he could do. The KM owned him for now. Sure, he’d rather live out in the Glades near his mother and grandmother. Someday, he would. Someday when his debt to the Kubai Mata was paid. At least, that’s what he liked to tell himself.

  He grabbed a beer from the fridge and loped up the stairs to his bedroom. From there, he climbed through the one unboarded window to sit out on the fire escape. He wished Chrysabelle had been more receptive to his message from the KM, but he understood. Completely. She’d been through a lot. He hadn’t expected her to want to go after a vampire child when it meant putting herself in Tatiana’s path again. Chrysabelle deserved to be able to do what she wanted to do. Even if that included Mal. At least she hadn’t shut Creek out entirely, although he’d given up on his feelings for her. There was a bond between her and Mal he couldn’t penetrate.

  He should probably stop thinking about her. Not that she was the only woman on his mind lately. He settled onto the grated steps of the fire escape, twisted the beer cap off, took a pull, then set the bottle beside him. From inside his shirt, he tugged loose the charm his grandmother had made. It was warm from being against his skin. His grandmother had wrapped the three black feathers in leather and silver, sealed the knots with blood, said words over it Creek didn’t understand, then passed the whole thing through the smoke from an assortment of dried herbs and other things Creek didn’t remember.

  He lifted it to his nose and inhaled. A faint hint of the soulless woman’s briny, ocean-air scent remained. He turned the charm over in his fingers. “Yahla,” he whispered. If not for the proof in his hand, he’d think she’d been a dream.

  “You called?”

  He started, nearly sending the beer clattering to the asphalt below as he twisted to look toward the voice.

  She perched on the stairs above, her head cocked to one side, eyes bright and blinking, body hugged in bits of black leather and low-slung jeans. “I am here.”

  He stood and moved against the rail to put a little distance between them. “I see that.” For a deadly aberration, she was unquestionably hot.

  “You have no need to fear me now.” She bobbed her head toward the charm. “Your grandmother is a wise woman.”

  He tucked the charm back inside his shirt. “Yes, she is.” And he was a fool for not telling this one to leave him alone.

  She rose and walked slowly down the steps. “You have thought of me.”

  It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway, unable to keep the word from leaving his mouth. “Yes.”

  Almost toe-to-toe with him, she stopped, an odd smile curving her lips. The long feathers of her hair shifted like silk in the breeze. “Do you find me beautiful?”

  “Yes.” Again the word was spoken before he could think otherwise. It was like she pulled the truth from him.

  Her hand lifted, her fingers coming to light upon his chest. They were warm through his thin T-shirt. “I can make you forget her,” she whispered.

  He didn’t doubt that. He also didn’t doubt she could do a whole hell of a lot of other bad things to him. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Could she read his mind?

  “The gold one. She is not for you. Her blood is not your blood as mine is. We are of the same people, you and I. We are kin.”

  “She’s just a friend.” He drew away to the side of the fire escape and found his voice as soon as her touch left him. “And you’re a myth. A story my people tell.”

  Her eyes darkened until not even the light from inside his bedroom reflected in them. “You’re Kubai Mata. How many people believe in you?”

  She had a point, but it wasn’t one that made him like her any better. Irritation popped his jaw. “You should go.”

  Her head tipped to the side and she blinked a few times. “You are angry with me, but I am not the one who bound you to the Kubai Mata’s promise. You did that to yourself.”

  “I did it for my family.” Was every woman in his life going to come down on him for that?

  She came a little closer but didn’t touch him again. “Your reasons are enough. But I am sad that you deny yourself for them.” Her lip curled in disgust. “The Kubai Mata.”

  “I don’t deny myself anything.”

  “They rule you. They are your master.”

  “They got me out of prison.”

  At the word, her mouth softened again. “You did not deserve that place for what you did.”

  “I agree, but the jury thought otherwise.”

  She spat. “And none of them tribe. None of them your people.�
�

  “No.” She had a point, but all that was in the past now.

  Her hand reached out and her fingers bunched in the fabric of his T-shirt. The space between them disappeared. She pressed against his chest and her pulse vibrated through his body, so fast it was like a shudder. Tendrils of heat curled around his muscles, brushing against his nerve endings with soft insistence. “I am your people.”

  “Yes.” She was. He was half Seminole. She was born of Seminole myth.

  Her lids fluttered as her hands slipped higher up his chest. “And I can set you free of the Kubai Mata.”

  He shook his head, her mouth dangerously close to his, her eyes impossible to look away from. He wanted her. Right down to the soles of his feet. “I… I can’t be free of them until my family is safe.”

  She threw her head back and laughed, the sound a soft caw-caw-caw. “I have promised to protect you.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about. My sister, my mother, my grandmother. They’re my concern.”

  Her hand flattened down hard on his chest. “You think I would hurt them?”

  He looked into her eyes, searching for a reason to answer otherwise, but he seemed destined to always speak the truth around her. “Yes.”

  She pushed away, but he grabbed her hand, unwilling to let her go. Unwilling to dismiss the possibility that she could do what she said. “Give me your word. Your promise. Tell me you’ll protect them, too. Otherwise, I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

  Her eyes were wild, her mouth slightly open as her chest rose and fell. “What do you give me in return?”

  Reluctantly, he released her. “What do you want?”

  Instead of answering, she stepped back and dragged her hands through her hair, then held them out, her palms full of feathers. “Take these to your grandmother. Have her make charms for each of them.”

  He took the feathers and tucked them into the pocket of his jeans. What had he just agreed to? And why didn’t he care more what the answer was?

  “You are a good man, Thomas Creek.” She flattened herself against him, her breasts soft through the leather top she wore. Her hands came up to stroke the column of his neck, the shaved sides of his head, each caress dragging him toward the line between control and abandon. She leaned up and touched her mouth to his, just enough contact to pull a groan from his throat.

  Instantly, his emotions returned to the day he’d stepped free of the prison grounds. Every want and desire he’d ever had while trapped inside that steel and concrete hellhole now burned in him again. Nothing mattered but possessing Yahla. His hands tightened on the bare skin above the waist of her jeans. “I’m not as good as you think I am.”

  She laughed, the same birdlike sound as before, then pulled his head down to hers and kissed him with a fire that ignited every wicked thought coursing through his brain. When she released him, he was panting. She smiled and took his hand to lead him back through the window and into the bedroom.

  “You saved me. And now I am going to save you.”

  Chapter Seven

  The lights of Umberto’s restaurant lit up the night like a burning ember in an ashtray. The last time Lola had come to Little Havana, she’d been here to identify her daughter’s body. Pain pierced her heart as the car drove on. She hadn’t planned on coming back so soon. If ever. It wasn’t that she’d abandoned the neighborhood of her people; she’d just… risen above it. Her abuela had pushed her to get out. To better herself. To join the ranks of the successful. If you can’t beat them, join them, her abuela had always said. And join them Lola had, despite the cost to her personal life.

  Little Havana was one of the least desirable places to live in Paradise City. For her, it represented everything she’d clawed her way out of.

  And yet, this was where she was from. Where her daughter had lived. Where the father of her grandchild made his home. What kind of man was this vampire named Preacher?

  John Havoc, the captain of her security team who was currently seated beside her, had told her everything he’d known about the man. Which wasn’t much, but it certainly painted a picture. Preacher was the only vampire anyone knew of who could daywalk or tolerate religious symbols. John said the man had been a marine and a medic, that he’d inadvertently turned himself through an infusion of blood during the Great War.

  “It’s just up ahead.” Luke Havoc pointed from the front seat. “Around this corner.”

  Her heart rate sped up. John turned his head toward her. “Don’t be nervous. Luke and I are here to protect you.”

  She’d forgotten about the varcolai’s heightened senses. “I suppose he’ll be able to hear my pulse, too?”

  John nodded. “Yes. But that’s okay. You’re coming in peace. Not to harm him.”

  “I suppose.” The car rolled to a stop and parked. Her driver would stay here to guard the vehicle. In this part of town, there might not be a vehicle to come back to if he didn’t.

  Luke got out and waited for them on the sidewalk. John held the door, then closed it behind her. They flanked her as they approached the abandoned Catholic church where Preacher made his home. She crossed herself as Luke knocked on the church’s arched double doors. The stucco was cracked in numerous places, the painted trim had faded in the sun, and what little remained of the once-beautiful stained glass windows told her the building’s glory days were long past. “I went to Mass here as a child,” she told no one in particular. “With my abuela.” Who would die all over again if she knew there was a demon living in the sanctuary now.

  Luke knocked a second time, but there was still no answer. He walked to where she and John stood. “It’s possible he’s out feeding.”

  Lola shuddered. “This was a bad idea.”

  One of the front doors shot open, its rusted hinges protesting. A man wearing fatigues and sporting a shaved head stood inside, a gleaming blade in one hand. He bared a set of fangs smaller than John’s and Luke’s, but no less frightening. “What do you want?”

  She cleared her throat and stepped forward. John put his hand on her arm, but she hadn’t planned on going any farther. “My name is Delores Diaz-White. I believe you knew my daughter, Julia White.”

  The vampire froze, becoming so still he seemed almost inanimate. Then the hand holding the knife lowered to his side. “Yes, I knew her.” His voice was quieter. Almost sad. The emotion surprised her.

  “I also understand you and she had a child.”

  His brows lifted slightly, only to collapse back down as he narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you want?”

  “Just to talk. May I come in?”

  His gaze went to John and Luke. “I don’t like shifters.”

  “They’ll stay out here.”

  “Madam Mayor—” John started.

  She held up her hand to silence him, then addressed the vampire. “They’ll stay out here so long as I’m in no danger.”

  Preacher nodded. “My word.”

  She studied him for a moment. “You’d better mean that. Harm me and I’ll have this building burned to the ground with you in it. Understood?”

  He grunted what she assumed was a yes and moved a few steps back into the church.

  With a last look at John, she entered the sanctuary. The white plaster walls and Stations of the Cross seemed in good repair, although the handsome wood floor was in desperate need of polishing. Dust draped most of the pews and much of the ornate interior, but a bank of vigil candles flickered at one side of the altar. The area there looked well used. The floor even had a little shine to it.

  The door shut behind her.

  She turned at the sound, very aware at being closed in with a creature who might actually kill her. Her heart began racing anew. She exhaled, the breath much less steady than she’d wished for. “I suppose you know I’m nervous, being able to hear my heartbeat as you can.”

  He kept a little distance between them, watching her like she was the dangerous one. “I can.” A few steps closer and he stopped. “So yo
u’re the mayor.”

  “Yes.” Did that help or hurt? His face revealed nothing.

  “Julia told me that.” He studied her hard.

  What else had Julia told him?

  “I suppose you think you’re brave to come here. Stupid might be a better word. How do you know I won’t hurt you?”

  She wanted to retreat but forced herself to stand firm. “You gave your word.”

  The distant candle flames reflected in his eyes like tiny stars. “And you believe the word of a vampire?”

  A bead of sweat trickled down her rib cage. “You’re the father of my grandchild. That makes us blood.” Ay Dios mios, why had she used that word?

  He snorted. It sounded almost like a laugh. “You might be as crazy as I am, lady.”

  “Lola, please.”

  “Lola.” He slipped the knife back into its sheath on his belt. “They call me Preacher.”

  “So I’ve heard. Is that what you prefer?”

  “It suits.” He walked past her, up the main aisle and toward the altar. She followed. At the first pew, he genuflected, then sat. He tipped his head toward the open space beside him.

  She bent and crossed herself as well, then took a seat on the same pew with a little distance between them.

  “You’re a religious woman?” he asked.

  “I don’t get to Mass as often as I used to, but yes.”

  He nodded slowly. Approvingly.

  Desperate to fill the silence, she blurted out, “You live here.”

  “You know that already or you wouldn’t have come looking for me here.”

  “Yes,” she answered. He slung his arm over the back of the pew. If he stretched out his fingers, he probably could have touched her shoulder. She forced herself not to slide away. “Did you love my Julia?”

  “Yes. I married her.”

  Lola’s mouth opened. “You did?”

  “Right here in this church.” He lifted his head toward the altar. “Mariela was born here, too.”