Chapter Five
Balor inhaled deeply on his Cuban cigar and then blew a smoke ring as he sat back in the heavily brocaded chair in his master suite. Alan Caldwell suppressed a cough; he hated smoke and the hotel had an anti-smoking policy, but what would Adam Baylor care about that?
Lucien chuckled as he handed Alan a snifter of brandy. “You’d better get used to smoke, dude. I don’t think you’ll be going to the other place when you die.”
Alan accepted the glass, avoiding swirling or sniffing it since his eyes were already stinging. It wasn’t safe to show any sort of weakness around Baylor. “I don’t believe in heaven or hell.”
Lucien arched an eyebrow. “That’s interesting. So you’re not afraid to die?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had no doubt that Lucien could be every bit as ruthless as his brother, even if he did act more affable. As a private investigator, Caldwell had been involved in enough good cop/bad cop scenarios himself to recognize the tactic. He shrugged nonchalantly. “No one wants to die.”
“Hear! Hear!” Balor said and raised his own glass in toast. “Today we celebrate! Alan is firmly ensconced in Smith’s residence again. We’ll know as soon as a clue comes in regarding the platter. And,” he added as he swigged some brandy, “there’s that woman reporter that’s sidled up to Smith and gotten all cozy. Maybe this time you can actually get some information out of her too.”
Alan winced inwardly, careful not to react. His attempt at seducing Sara Kincaid had failed when Ramsey stepped in, and he’d let a stupid fencing competition keep him from getting under the sheets with Sophie Cameron. Getting females into bed was the easiest way to get information—women loved to cuddle and talk after sex and all he had to do was ask the right questions. “She seems like an easy mark.”
Balor took another long puff. “That’s what you said about the first two. Try not to screw it up this time.”
Alan wondered if the use of the word ‘screw’ was intentional irony. He still shuddered at the sexual torture Baylor had put him through the last time.
“You talking about that hot little number with the orange hair?” Lucien asked as he poured another drink. “I wouldn’t mind getting a little information out of her myself.”
Balor gave him an irritated look. “I told you before. Not this time. You’re playing cop, remember?” Then he turned back to Alan. “Tell me more about the man that Smith hired. I know he’s Scotland Yard. What’s he like? It’s always good to know the enemy.”
Alan thought. Myles made him uneasy. His nearly black eyes were too intense and penetrating, almost more predator than human, but Alan wasn’t about to get fanciful with Baylor. “He’s aloof. Doesn’t say much. I got the idea, though, that he didn’t miss anything.”
“Ummm. Perhaps I need to get Morgan to use her rather extensive skills on him. Speaking of which,” he said as he glanced at his Rolex, “she’s late. I don’t like late.”
Lucien’s eyes glinted. “I’ll be glad to punish her properly for you.”
As if on cue, a soft knock sounded on the door. Lucien opened it to allow Morgan to come in. She gave him a sultry look and then glided over to Baylor, sliding off her coat and loosening the pins that allowed her long, silky black hair to flow down her back. She wasn’t wearing anything else except five-inch heels.
Caldwell did a quick intake of air. God, she was beautiful. He’d always thought she was hot, but he’d never seen her totally naked before. Full breasts were firmly taunt, their hard, little nipples jaunting upward. Her waist was tiny, her belly flat, her hips flared out gently and her shaven pubis was already swollen and inviting. His own groin tightened.
Balor glanced at him and back to Morgan. His lips curved in what might be a smile. “Would you like her, Caldwell?”
It was a loaded question. The bastard knew he was attracted to her. No doubt he’d be forced to watch Morgan perform on Baylor while he watched. It had happened before. “Who wouldn’t?” he asked.
Balor laughed. “Well, you’ve actually given me some important information this time, so maybe you have earned a reward.” He gestured to Morgan. “Service him while I watch.”
Caldwell started. Was she—?
Without a word, Morgan turned and gave him a seductive smile, swaying her hips provocatively as she approached him. She brushed her bare mound against his face, allowing him a delicious whiff of her woman scent before she knelt to unzip his pants. His cock nearly jumped out and she smiled, her soft hands manipulating his balls, kneading them and causing him to stiffen even more. She pumped his shaft expertly, increasing and decreasing the pressure while her tongue flicked over his head, teasing him with whisper strokes, then lapping his ring with the tip of her tongue.
Caldwell felt like an untried schoolboy, about to burst without restraint. He began to moan. Morgan glanced up at him through her lashes and leaned in closer, taking him fully. He shut his eyes and leaned back. The sensation was nearly unbearable as the hot wetness of her mouth closed over him and her velvet tongue swirled around his granite erection, alternating with the suction of her sucking him hard. He didn’t think he could hold out much longer, but he never wanted this to end.
And then there was a subtle shift. His lashes fluttered and then his eyes popped open. Lucien crouched behind Morgan, pumping into her in a frenzy. Morgan gripped Alan’s thighs as Lucien’s rough thrusts pushed her face against Caldwell, ramming his rod further down her throat. She mewled and sucked harder, urging his release.
His breathing shallowed and the world dimmed, showering the darkness that circled him with red sparks, only they looked like they were coming from Lucien’s eyes—with a groan, he came, a strange power jolting through him before he lost complete control of his mind.
* * * *
“This is it,” Chloe said the next afternoon when they pulled into the driveway of the vet clinic where Sophie Cameron had worked. The hem of the gauzy skirt she wore caught on the shift, hiking it up to mid-thigh. “Darn it,” she said and yanked it off, but not before she noticed Gavin had riveted his attention on the incident and then looked quickly away. Was he, just maybe, a little bit interested? Gavin was hard to read. Was he naturally aloof or was it just that very proper British breeding? He was so serious—did he have a sense of humor at all? She sighed and then squealed. “Ohmygod! Look!” She pointed to the grass. “Scorch marks!”
She followed Gavin as he moved closer to inspect them and then bumped into him, her breast pressing against a steel-like bicep when he stopped suddenly. He jerked away so suddenly she almost fell forward, but he caught her elbow.
“You need to be careful,” he said and released her.
Her arm tingled from his touch, a sure sign that pheromones hung in the air, but he seemed oblivious. Chloe sighed. She was going to have to do some heavy research on English upbringing.
Gavin knelt, his long fingers brushing the burnt grass and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, almost like an animal taking in a scent. Before she could comment, he stood. “These would be the dragon’s marks that the news talked about?”
“I guess so.” Chloe peered closer. “They don’t look like what was left on the street where poor Jake died.”
“Jake was not killed on the street,” Gavin said tersely. “He was left there.”
She felt her eyes round. “But why would someone leave Jake out in public view?”
“A person probably would not. Dragons, on the other hand, are proud of their kills, rather like a cat bringing home a dead rat.”
Chloe choked up. “Jake was not a rat!”
Gavin’s voice softened. “I am sorry. I did not mean to imply that. I meant that dragons have terribly inflated egos. They do not like to stay hidden.”
She stared at him. “How do you know that?”
“I am somewhat of an ancient history buff.”
“You sound like there are dozens of them roaming around.”
Gavin looked down at the scorch marks. “There is at least one. I suspect we have not seen the last of him either.” He turned and gestured. “Shall we go inside?”
A college-age young lady looked up from the desk as they entered and then her eyes widened and she flashed a dazzling smile at Gavin. “I’m Janie, the receptionist,” she said without even noticing Chloe. “How can I help you?”
Chloe resisted the urge to step up and wave at the girl to get her attention, but how she blame the kid when she had—more or less—the same reaction to Gavin? He was wearing a simple, white t-shirt that clung to all his hard ridges and his inky hair was wonderfully tousled from the wind. He could have stepped out of an advertisement for Abercrombie and Fitch. Chloe almost sighed along with little Janie.
Gavin smiled and introduced himself, showing his badge. The girl practically hyperventilated. “I’ll be glad to answer all your questions!”
Chloe’s attention was diverted as another woman entered the waiting area. This one could have stepped off the cover of an old bodice-ripper with a spaghetti-strap tank that dipped scandalously low. Long, burnished dark hair flowed down her back and flawless ivory skin was enhanced by exotically slanted green eyes. She even moved with feline grace as she fastened that gaze on Gavin’s face and advanced.
The effect was not lost on Gavin either for he was staring back at her, his eyes both penetrating and bold. Chloe could practically feel him alert, much like a wolf scenting prey—only she wasn’t really sure if it wasn’t the other way around. Was this the kind of woman he desired?
“Hello. I’m Morgan,” she said and extended a soft, pale hand.
With fluid grace, his eyes not leaving hers, Gavin bent over and kissed her hand. Janie looked annoyed and Chloe felt a sudden sister-like bond with the girl. Poor thing…
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” Morgan said in breathy-sounding voice. “I have been working public relations for the clinic since these…incidents…began happening. Perhaps you should direct your questions to me?”
“Of course,” Gavin responded quickly. “Would you give me your account of what happened? I understand that the veterinarian and a friend of hers disappeared—”
“Michael was more than a friend,” Janie interrupted.
Gavin turned his attention to her. “Were they lovers?”
“Yes,” Janie said.
“No,” Morgan said and gave Janie an annoyed look. “You don’t know that.”
Janie lifted her chin stubbornly. “Well, Michael was really protective of Sophie. I heard him tell her once that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. Ever,” she added for emphasis.
Chloe tuned Morgan out as she started relating what had happened in that seductive-sounding voice. What was it with these protective men? Gavin had said his friend, Lucas, would protect Sara with his life and—if Janie weren’t exaggerating too much—it sounded like Michael felt the same way about the vet. Chloe had never met anyone like that—men didn’t go around in shining armor acting like chivalrous knights these days. Not that she expected them to—this was the 21st century and women could take care of themselves. Of course, that was one reason she read romance novels. Those heroes would protect their ladies—it just didn’t happen in real life. Even with men she’d had great, super-sex with, no one had ever offered to take care of her. Not that it mattered. Her mother had done just fine.
“And so,” Morgan was concluding, “I want to help in any way I can.”
Gavin nodded. “I may be calling on you then.”
Her lips curled, revealing small, even white teeth. “I’ll look forward to it.”
So—Morgan was the kind of woman Gavin was interested in? She should have known. A soft, seductive, sultry sexpot. Everything that Chloe knew she wasn’t.
“Are you ready to leave?” Gavin asked politely, “or do you have any questions for Morgan?”
Oh, she had questions all right, but none that she was going to ask. “No,” she said in as neutral a voice as she could muster. Her eyes stinging, she blinked rapidly so they wouldn’t water and turned to walk out—and bumped straight into a bench, toppling it over and sprawling across the floor.
“Are you hurt?” Janie cried as she jumped up.
Chloe felt Gavin’s hands on her waist, lifting her up and setting her on her feet like a small child. Morgan watched her with an amused look on her face.
Could she be any more mortified?
* * * *
Gavin paced in his room at Smith’s mansion later that afternoon. He had the heavy drapes closed to alleviate the sun and wondered who in the hell Morgan was.
He was pretty sure she was human, although black magic wafted off of her. However, it wasn’t until he’d bent to kiss her hand and had the merest brush of her skin that he nearly recoiled. The taint of residual evil was in her blood. Balor’s? Or someone equally as depraved? Demons still roamed this world…
Gavin sank into an overstuffed chair and, for the first time in centuries, he willed himself to remember what had happened after Camlann.
Chaos reigned on the battlefield that day. Melwas had managed to incite a contingent of Arthur’s men to turn against him, saying Arthur had become soft in the twenty years of peace after Badon Hill. Arthur sent Gavin to negotiate peace. Both armies met on the field by the River Camel, but before the two men could move forward to speak, a soldier next to Arthur raised his sword, which the ranks behind took as a signal to charge. The rest was history.
Or more specifically, inaccurate history.
Gavin had seen the adder raise its head to strike causing the soldier instinctively to wield his sword. In the aftermath of that ill-fated charge, Gavin had also seen the adder morph into a demon who hissed sulfur and belched smoke, making it impossible for soldiers to see whom they were battling.
Worse, the demon had seen him. It had laughed, a gruesome sound Gavin never wanted to hear again and sent flames from its forked tongue, searing his shoulder, before it flapped leathery wings and rose into the blackened sky to disappear.
After the bloodbath was over and Arthur and half his knights lay dead, Gavin had managed to drag himself off the battlefield, seeking refuge in the nearby forest.
And it was there that the lady found him, mortally wounded and near death himself. At first, Gavin had thought he was dead for he no longer had feeling in his arms or legs. And the young woman who crooned over him in a language he did not understand was beautiful with alabaster skin, silky ebony hair and eyes that were almost as black. He had stared into those fathomless eyes, hardly aware that she’d bitten her wrist and was offering him her blood to drink. It tasted like the sweetest ambrosia he’d ever had and oblivion swept over him. When he awoke, five hundred years later, he was in a cave deep inside the earth, alone and with a terrific thirst for human blood.
He never did know who had made him or how he’d been transported to Outreamer, for that was where he was when he finally surfaced.
Gavin snapped out of his reverie. All that had happened centuries ago. It had sickened him to kill humans, even if he did limit himself to the thieves, bandits, and highwaymen who lured others to their fates. He’d never expected to meet Lancelot in Outreamer.
They’d nearly killed each other that first night on the streets of Jerusalem. Lancelot—or Lucas as he was calling himself, had been in his wolf form hunting meat since the Templar order he had joined only allowed it once a week. Gavin had been desperate for blood—any blood—and they’d both descended on the wild boar at the same time.
Later, Lucas had introduced him to the Order and together, they’d dug for the Celtic treasure that Galahad brought to Sarras after the battle of Camlann. Gavin had many times wished he hadn’t been hibernating for those five hundred years. He only remembered Galahad as a small lad and yet, it was Galahad who had managed to save the sacred relics.
Gavin reached for the vial of synthetic blood he kept in his jacket pocket and pondered the present. He was almost sure that the spear and sword were safe, but where? He’d stopped in the last places Lucas and Michael had been seen—Maine and New Orleans—before he’d come to Dallas and there had been few clues as to the disappearances. He would keep investigating.
The third clue was bound to turn up soon. Lancelot had mentioned that Nimue had been involved with the search for the spear. He didn’t know if she’d delivered the clue for the sword, but it was highly likely. However, faeries were fickle and who knew what sparkling path she had meandered off on.
Meanwhile, he needed to find out whose tainted blood Morgan carried.
Which meant he would have to taste her.