CHAPTER NINETEEN
I won’t lie. It has been ages since I have made love to a woman. And though Lula’s body provided a few hours of blessed release from the overwhelming emotions, I know it meant more to her than it did to me. She thinks it means I have finally changed.
I have not. I cannot. I have my reasons.
This was a mistake.
“It’s okay, Michael,” she says as I grab my clothes the next morning. “I know you only did it to please me.”
“I do not know what you mean,” I say, sliding on my jeans and buttoning the fly, avoiding eye contact.
“I’m not stupid. I can see the regret all over your face, but there’s no need for that.”
I glance at her and slip on a white Oxford from the closet. “I regret nothing.”
She jumps up from the couch and grabs my arm. “Look at me.”
I do, but I hide everything. I cannot walk around with my emotions on my sleeve, getting the best of me.
“Thank you,” she says. “Thank you for giving me last night. I know you did it to make me happy, and I appreciate that you care enough to put me first for once.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. I knew exactly what state of mind you were in.” She smiles, but it doesn’t touch her eyes.
“So you’re saying that you took advantage of me?” I cock one brow.
“Yes.”
I chuckle bitterly. “Well, there’s one I’ve never heard before.” She is attempting to make me feel better.
“Michael, you don’t have to shield and protect me from the truth. I’m over two hundred years old, and I know exactly what last night meant.”
“What?”
“Nothing. We had sex.”
I fold my arms over my chest and look down at her. “And what about the things you said—”
“About Clive making me for you?” She shrugs. “That doesn’t mean we were meant to be anything more than we are—family, friends, master/assistant, and now, occasional hump-buddies when I need very, very mediocre sex.” She crinkles her nose. “So…mediocre.”
“That is not what you said last night.” I have the scratch marks on my back and bite marks on my neck to prove it.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Mikey. You were rubbish. But at least now I know, so I can stop fantasizing that you’re like some god in the sack.”
I am a god in the sack—a relentless lover, skilled in the art of delivering intense pleasure—but I know she simply doesn’t want to get hurt, so she pretends it meant nothing to her. And, regrettably, I’m thankful she’s not being truthful. As I said, I am not a man who wishes to have that sort of relationship in his life. I feed my physical needs when it pleases me—eat when I am hungry, drink when I am thirsty, sleep when I am tired, and screw when I am aroused. All right, that last one doesn’t come along very often.
Suddenly, I cannot help but wonder if it isn’t so much for lack of need, but because I simply loathe situations like these. They always want more. I never do. Or perhaps it is the simple fact that I do not like losing control—yesterday being a prime example. Miriam and this attachment I’ve formed has the potential to cloud my judgment. For God’s sake, I almost told her what I was. Not good.
“We okay?” Lula asks, throwing on her clothes.
I turn away to give her privacy. “Better than ever.”
“Then what’s on the agenda for today?” she asks, being overly cheerful.
“The party is tonight, so we have work to do.” I grab my keys and wallet.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we need to get you set up with some equipment,” I say. Mostly, I’m thinking about those tiny video cameras Clive always had me use. They are so small, they can be passed off as a button on a shirt or glued to a barrette in the hair. They also do not make noise or carry strange scents.
“What about showing up to a party full of vampires?” Lula asks. Her point is they will notice her right away and become suspicious. Territorial is more accurate.
“Ah, that is simple. I’m going to teach you how to pass for human.”
Lula gives me a look to indicate she thinks I am mad.
“One does not live as long as I have without acquiring a few skills,” I explain.
“I can’t wait to see this one. And what if they notice I’m an uninvited human?” she asks.
“That is where I’m heading now. Viviana is young. I will convince her to help us,” I say.
“Okay. But promise me, Michael, after the party, we go to the council with whatever we have.”
“I have every intention of doing so,” I say.
“That’s not a promise.”
I take her hand and kiss the top. “And last night was not mediocre.”
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“It means, when one knows the truth, hearing the words isn’t always necessary.” I open the door.
“Ugh. I hate when you’re all cryptic.”
I smile and close the door behind me.
Suddenly, I feel this strange void inside my chest. I know it is because of how things just went with Lula. But I cannot go where she needs me to go. I cannot be who she needs me to be.
My thoughts drift to Miriam.
No. Put her out of your mind. You are stronger than the bond. And I am one party away from solving Clive’s murder and seeing Aspen pay for his treachery.
Then I am out of here, never to look back on this festering hellhole of sunshine.
“Mr. Vanderhorst, so nice to see you.” Viviana smiles nervously with bright red lips that match her dress as she opens the door to the office. “Mr. Aspen is on his way and just asked me to call you.”
“Really?” I am surprised.
“Yes.”
I sense something is off, but there are no malicious vibes coming from Viviana.
“So he is back from Chicago,” I say, knowing that’s not where he’s been.
She nods anxiously. “Back and ready to update you on Clive’s case.”
My brain stumbles. What trickery is this?
Just then Aspen whirls through the front door.
Viviana and I turn toward him.
“Mr. Vanderhorst, what a pleasant surprise!” He extends his cold hand.
Why’s he so cheery? This is a bad sign.
I shake his hand firmly. “The pleasure is all mine. Viviana just informed me that you have an update on Clive Bakker.”
“I sure do,” he says chirpily. “Let’s go up to my office, and I can fill you in.”
What are you up to, you vermin? I dip my head and allow him to pass, giving a look to Viviana. I can see it in her eyes. Fear. Nerves. Something.
All right, so I came here to finagle an invitation to the party and put Viviana’s feet to the fire, telling her that I know everything and will ensure she is spared if she helps us. Now I am unsure what to do.
What any ancient vampire would: wing it.
I follow Aspen upstairs, using years of practice to mask every emotion. I keep my heart rate steady, I maintain slow, level breathing, and I do not allow my true thoughts to seep to the surface. These are the same tricks I use to pass as human around vampires from time to time, only it’s the opposite. Send heat to my skin, emotions loud and clear permeating the air, and breathing that flows with whatever emotion I attempt to convey. As for scent, there are several colognes on the market today that easily overpower our noses. My favorites are Jovan Musk or Drakkar Noir. They literally give any vampire in a one-mile radius a raging nose ache.
I take a seat in the shiny white chair in front of Aspen’s Ikea desk, fully aware that he is about to serve me a heaping pile of BS. I am prepared to swallow it all down with a glorious smile so that I may see him entombed for eternity.
“Well,” he says, “I must tell you, that was quite some investigation.”
“I can only imagine.”
“It has taken every resource we have, and our absolute best investigators, but we spared nothing to find the person responsible for Clive’s killer, including going through every inch of Clive’s home and office to ensure we missed nothing.”
So it was his men who went to Clive’s office the other night. But they were there to cover Aspen’s tracks, not gather evidence. I’m sure of it.
“And I thank you for driving this to a swift closure,” I say.
“It is my duty as my society’s leader.” He hands me a folder. “This is the report we will give to the council, and while it is breaking protocol to provide you with a copy before the guilty party has been dealt with, I feel these are extenuating circumstances given who Mr. Bakker was.”
“I very much appreciate the gesture.”
“Well,” he leans back in his chair, “you are family now. And sometimes we must make exceptions to the rules for family. Wouldn’t you agree?”
There’s a sinister tone to Aspen’s voice, and alarm bells are going off in the back of my head. He’s up to something. And it’s bad. I can feel it coming.
A thousand thoughts sift through my mind, and I fight to maintain my air of calmness. I take the folder with a steady gaze and open it.
“As you’ll see, Mr. Vanderhorst, we’ve collected a substantial amount of evidence, which shows that Clive was investigating a land developer who attempted to swindle his client—a vampire from our society—out of money. Kline was selling condos and the sort to investors, but it was all smoke and mirrors.”
I flip through the pages, my eyes scanning quickly. Bob Kline, land developer, cartel ties, money laundering…
“Go on,” I say, my anxiety building faster than I can control. I only hope that Aspen believes my emotions are in response to reliving Clive’s final moments and my desire for revenge.
He continues, “Well, the short of it is, the developer—this Kline fellow—found out that Clive Bakker was onto him, so he had his partner kill your maker. The partner owned the land of this fake massive building project, and you’ll see from the culprit’s profile that Clive never would have seen her coming. She’s quite clever—or maybe book smart is the right word. Either way, she decided to cover her tracks and sever all ties with Kline. Or shall I say, sever Mr. Kline altogether? We found his body several days ago. She is quite vicious.”
I turn to the last page, and the photograph is a face I recognize all too well. Miriam?
I stand and throw the folder at Aspen. “What sort of horseshit is this!”
Aspen holds up his hands. “Mr. Vanderhorst,” he smiles wickedly, “I know it is difficult to believe that a frail little human, a woman at that, could be so brutal and take down a two-thousand-year-old vampire like Cluentius Boethius, but I assure you, all of the facts are right there in black and white, ready for the council to validate.”
His words deliver a blow. A full knockout.
“How do you know Clive’s real name?” I mutter in disbelief. No one except myself knew. Not even Lula. Clive made me swear never to tell anyone, and the only reason I know is because I was made before the days of the societies, the council, and laws, and I fought by Clive’s side to change the way our people lived. He felt he owed me truth about why the cause was so important and told me how things were in the very beginning—the violence, the savagery against humans and our own people. “It was a time of constant power struggles between clans, and anyone foolish enough to be a leader did not live long.”
Because the oldest was and still is chosen for leader, Clive faked his death and went on the move, pretending to be a new vampire without a family in order to survive. All that ended when I came along, which, according to him, changed everything. “Our kind must evolve, Michael, and if we succeed, for the first time ever we will live peaceful existences, which is something I owe you since I made you.” After our vampire revolution ended, Clive asked me never to bring up his past again and assured me that anyone who once knew him was long gone.
Obviously, someone else knew his real identity and that someone told Aspen. Regardless, Clive is dead now. So what is Aspen after?
“Cut the crap, Aspen. We both know that human didn’t kill Clive.”
“You’re right. One hundred percent. But I know who Clive really was, which means I know who you are. I also know that you helped this librarian woman live and you now have a special interest in her.” He takes a sharp pencil from the holder on his desk and pokes at his palm, twirling it between his fingers.
Hell. I’m being blackmailed, plain and simple, and I never saw it coming. I’ve been so distracted by my grief for Clive and protective feelings for Miriam that I let my guard down. Never again.
“What do you want?” I snarl.
“We won’t tell anyone about your lineage, which will keep you and your little librarian safe. In exchange, you let us keep doing what we’re doing.”
“Drug trafficking? Is that what this is all about?”
Aspen laughs. “Do you think for one moment that I would lift a finger to make a hundred dollars on a street corner, risking the attention of human law enforcement?” He chuckles. “We are selling something far more valuable.”
I frown. “Which is?”
“None of your concern. What you need to decide, son of Cluentius Boethius, is if you want to be hunted by every low-life vampire in this hemisphere, which will also put a target on your little librarian’s back. They’ll use her to get to you.”
And there it is, ladies and gentlemen, the reason I do not allow anyone to get too close. My blood—Clive’s blood—is as ancient and powerful as it gets. Clive was one of the first, which makes me a second-generation vampire. I have some of the most valuable, potent blood on the planet, and while having it makes me strong enough to fend off anyone who might seek to take it for themselves—a sort of steroid and vitamin boost that would never wear off—they would still try. It makes me a target, which is the other reason Clive chose to hide who he was.
But who did he tell? Who told Aspen?
I nod slowly, trying to puzzle out every angle I’ve thus ignored, because yeah, this is a monumental screwup on my part. I came here to Phoenix, naively thinking that Clive’s past was dead. But that was the first rule he taught me: “Our kind has survived this long by being as devious as we are patient. Always be on your guard.”
I rub the bristly stubble on my jaw, trying to appear calm while my mind races. “So the only price is I say nothing about your operation—whatever that is?” Sounds too good to be true.
“More or less,” he replies.
I stare at Aspen, debating if I should simply reach across the desk and end him now. At the bare minimum, it would give me pleasure.
“Uh-uh-uhh…” He wags his finger, reading my vindictive thoughts. “Before you begin making alternative plans, such as telling the council, you should know two things: we know you broke the law and killed the man who attacked the librarian.” He tsks. “The penalty for poaching is quite severe. And if that isn’t a sufficient deterrent, then know that your pet human is now safely at home under the watchful eye of my son, Jeremy.”
Miriam’s boyfriend is Aspen’s progeny? I think I might be sick. And it explains how Aspen found out that I killed Miriam’s attacker. She told her boyfriend.
I narrow my eyes, wondering how the hell this deceitful web came to be, because it clearly started before I arrived in Phoenix.
“I care not for the human,” I say. “Kill her. Turn her. I merely gave her my blood to keep her alive so that I might see what she knew,” I lie. After all, Aspen doesn’t know if I came into all this with information of my own.
“Her fate will be decided by Jeremy, who, for the record, seems rather fond of her, though he’s not opposed to killing her for the good of our society.”
“Your point?” I ask.
“Your librarian will remain safe, but Lula must take the fall for Clive’s death.”
“Motherfu—” I lunge for Aspen, and he tumbles backwards. I wrap my hands around his neck.
“We already have Lula,” he grunts. “So both women die if you don’t release me.”
I quickly get a hold of myself and toss him across the room into the wall. He has leverage. I do not. Yet. But he is utterly delusional if he believes he can get away with this.
Aspen rubs his neck and scrapes himself off the floor.
“Mr. Aspen?” Viviana appears in the doorway, worry written all over her face.
“Go back to your desk,” he snarls.
“Oh-okay.” She nods submissively and leaves.
Aspen straightens out his cuffs, giving each sleeve a hard tug. “I was told you were smart, Mr. Vanderhorst, but now, I’m not so sure.” He narrows his blue eyes. “You seem about as wise and powerful as an infant.”
“This won’t end well for you, Aspen.”
“Then it won’t end well for your human.” He shrugs. “Or Lula. But I suppose the choice is yours. Choose one to live. Or…let both die and tell the council what you think is going on. Either way, you have no proof, and they won’t believe you.”
“Then why do you need my compliance?” I growl.
“I prefer not to have any hassles, but I am prepared for them either way.”
I am no fool. I know very well when it is time to retreat and regroup.
“I’ll be in touch.” I dip my head and head for the stairs.
As I pass Viviana, she looks away, shame written all over her face. You’re next in line to die, I think. But first things first. I have to prepare for battle.
No one touches my family.
And no one messes with my librarian.