Christian (Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Book 10) (35 page)

The rage in his chest was so consuming that Christian thought it would destroy him. He rose to his feet. “How long ago?”

Jaclyn shifted her gaze to the clock on the mantel, a clock he’d barely known was there.

“An hour, I think. He won’t hurt her,” she said, wincing as she tried to sit up. “But I think he’s leaving Houston for good this time. I don’t know who’s supposed to take over—”

“He was giving the territory to Hubert,” Christian said tightly. “But Hubert’s dead.”

Jaclyn’s eyes widened. “You?”

Christian nodded. “I have to get to the estate.”

“The chopper,” Cibor suggested.

“It’s long gone. We’ll have to drive.”

Cibor looked up, indecision tightening his expression, torn between his need to stay with Jaclyn and keep her safe, and his hatred for Anthony which was urging him to continue this fight.

Christian shook his head. “Stay with Jaclyn. Keep Alon safe. I’ll handle Anthony.

Marc,” he said turning to his lieutenant.

“Sire?”

“We’re taking the BMW, and fuck the speed laws.”

Marc laughed grimly. “Music to my ears.”

NATALIE LISTENED at the door for a long time, before she was convinced that they were really gone this time. Walking over to the desk, she retrieved her gun, and slung her purse over her shoulder again. It seemed weirdly light without her laptop in it, and she wondered if they’d found the computer. Or if they’d even looked. But she set that aside with everything else. She had only one purpose—to get the hell out of there.

She tapped on the door experimentally, concentrating on the area around the lock to determine how far the metal plating extended. Hydra-Shok ammo was designed to destroy flesh by creating a shock wave as it passed through the body, expanding tissue and leaving permanent muscle, vascular, and nerve damage. It left a small hole going in, and a big one going out. She wasn’t sure how it would work on a wooden door, but she was sure it had enough punch to do some major damage. Her plan was to shoot out the wood all around the lock, then employ her best judo move and kick the lock right out of the door. Five shots should do it, but they’d also draw the attention of anyone nearby—why hadn’t Leighton included a damn suppressor with the gun?

Natalie stepped back. She’d have to be fast and accurate. She hadn’t fired a gun in a while, but she could still sure as hell hit a target from a foot away.

She took a minute to listen again at the door, then raised her gun, and her courage, and fired five shots in succession without stopping, her aim moving right around the lock. Her ears were ringing when she finally stepped back, and took a quick look at her work. The doors were sagging, the lock connected by the thinnest of raw wooden shards. Not wasting any time, she gave the lock a solid side kick and the doors popped open, the lock falling heavily to the carpeted floor.

Once in the outer room, she hurried directly to the hallway door, considering for the first time that it, too, might be locked. But luck was with her, and the knob turned easily in her hand. She opened it cautiously and peered out. So far, the corridor outside was empty, but she was pretty sure that wouldn’t last.

She ran for it. She had no strategy, no secret ninja powers of concealment. Her idea was to run as fast as she could, find a stairway, and make it to Jaclyn’s office on the second floor. Theoretically, that was Raphael’s territory, and she should be safe there, even if Jaclyn wasn’t in. The too-vivid memory of Jaclyn lying in a pool of her own blood flashed across the back of her eyes, and she nearly stumbled on the first step. Damn, she hoped they’d been telling her the truth about that, and that Jaclyn would recover.

She made it to the first floor. It was quiet, weirdly so. She peeked around the corner of the stairwell and found no one. This was odd. Apart from her own rather noisy escape, simple routine business usually kept this corridor busy. Something was definitely up. Maybe it was because Anthony was leaving. Maybe all of his people were off packing or doing whatever the hell they did for him when he traveled.

But then, she really didn’t give a fuck why. It was good for her and that was all that mattered. She burst into the hallway and ran for the main staircase to the upper floors. She was halfway up the first flight, when there was a shout and the sound of heavy footsteps pounding up behind her.

Natalie stuck her hand in her purse, reaching for her gun, but a hard arm circled her, pulling her back against a thick chest and trapping her arms at her sides.

“Got you, you little bitch,” an unrecognizable voice growled in her ear.

Natalie gave an angry shout, and jabbed her elbow into his gut. His grunt was satisfying, but it did nothing to loosen his hold on her.

“That wasn’t nice. I’d teach you better, but Anthony wouldn’t like that.” He squeezed her hard enough to hurt, and she gasped. “But then, people get hurt all the time by accident.”

“Is that was this is?” she managed to ask, her voice high and tight from the pressure he was putting on her. “An accident?”

“Close enough, bitch. Close enou—” His words became a grunt of surprise, and the next thing she knew she was covered in dust.

THE GATE AT Anthony’s estate had been wide open. No guards in sight.

Tires skidded on the perfect green grass as Marc pulled right up to the front porch and slammed the car into park.

Christian was out of the car before it stopped moving, If Natalie was in there, minutes could make a difference. By the time he reached the porch, Marc was right on his heels. But even as he ran, he registered the weird silence of the estate. No guards, no one walking around. Momentous events were at play, and no one was here to observe them. Did Anthony even know what had happened in Laredo? Or did he think his plan had worked, that Christian was dead and Hubert on his way to claim the South?

He slammed open the front door and heard a woman’s angry yell. Natalie? He turned in the direction of the cry, striding down the main hallway toward the center stairs, and there she was, being manhandled by some asshole.

Christian took the stairs in a single leap, still running on the high of Hubert’s death. He rammed his hand into the asshole’s back, smashed through his ribs, and crushed his heart. Natalie froze as the vampire’s dust covered her. She turned to face him, and he waited for her to react. It was pretty disgusting.

But she didn’t seem to notice the dust. Her face split into a huge smile and she threw herself into his arms. “You’re alive.”

Christian hugged her close. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Anthony said you were dead.”

“Anthony’s a traitor and a liar. Where is he?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He locked me up in the basement, but I broke out—”

“He wouldn’t expect that,” he said.

“He thought he vamped me, but you were already there in my heart, and he couldn’t—”

“You’re mine,
chére.
No one else’s.”

“But he didn’t know—”

Their reunion was cut off by the thundering arrival of Anthony’s security force. They swarmed down from the second floor, filling the landing between two flights. Christian shoved Natalie behind him, pushing her against the wall. “Stay there,” he ordered, then turned to face the arriving vamps. There were ten or more, the best of Anthony’s guards, his inner wall of security. They belonged to Anthony, body and soul, and would fight to the death to protect him.

Christian was still burning with the power boost he’d gotten from Hubert’s death. He waded into the crowd, using his fists as much as his power, disabling one after the other, knocking them unconscious and reinforcing it with his power to keep them down. He was aware of Natalie, holding her position against the wall behind him, aware of Marc, fighting by his side. He heard the distant slam of the front doors, and then a new contingent of vampires arrived, launching an attack from below. With a mental warning to Marc, Christian spun to confront this new threat. He raced past Natalie, and leapt down to the floor before the new arrivals could set foot on the stairs. He fought without thinking, moving on instinct, his vampire senses warning him of each new danger as he whirled from side to side, crushing skulls and stopping hearts, sparing lives where he could.

He’d just dropped the last opponent when he heard Natalie’s furious scream. He turned as if in slow motion to see his worst nightmare coming true. Marc was down one knee, muscles straining as he struggled to rise. Above him stood Anthony, his face a determined grimace as he poured all of his power as a vampire lord—the power of all the Southern vampires he still ruled—into destroying Marc. He lifted his gaze to Christian, and his expression turned gleeful as he pulled a stake from behind him, and raised it over Marc’s bowed back.

Terror seized Christian as he raced up the stairs, knowing he couldn’t get there in time, knowing Marc was about to die. He threw everything he had into a blast of power, but Anthony’s shields were flush with power, and Christian had no time to craft a better weapon. He saw the stake coming down, caught the strain on Marc’s face as he fought to break free.

Christian howled as the stake flashed downward . . . and then a gun boomed, and the stake fell from nerveless fingers. Anthony clutched at the bloody hole in his stomach, then looked up to stare at Natalie in disbelief, betrayal written clearly across his face. The wound wasn’t enough to kill him, but it disabled him for just long enough.

Christian was on him a second later, gripping his neck, taking away his breath and draining the once Lord of the South of every ounce of power remaining to him. He held on until the asshole was little more than a shriveled husk. And then he ripped his head off, and tossed it down the stairs where it dusted in mid-bounce.

Christian dropped immediately to his knees next to Marc, placing a hand on the back of his neck and gripping tightly. He held his position until finally Marc looked up and met his eyes.

“He was too strong. I couldn’t—”

“Stop,” Christian said. “You fought three battles while that fucker was packing his bags for New Orleans. And then he had the balls to suck power away from the very people he was getting ready to abandon. You’re strong,
mon ami,
but not even you can hold out against the power of an entire territory.”

Marc nodded, his exhaustion visible, even after the power infusion he’d gotten from Christian. He needed blood and sleep. Christian squeezed the back of his neck in reassurance, then leaned forward to kiss the top of his head. It wasn’t until then that he looked up to see Natalie watching.

He rose to his feet, worried about what her reaction would be to the way he’d killed Anthony, despite the soft look in her eyes for Marc. “I’m sorry you had to see—”

“What?” she interrupted. “That pervert Anthony turned into a shriveled mummy? Or the other jerk who called me a bitch turned to dust? Fuck that. They deserved it. Although, I wouldn’t mind a shower. The dust thing was a little icky.”

Christian started to laugh, but then the weight of the territory crashed into his brain, and he fell to his knees. Natalie cried his name, but it sounded distant, as if she was miles away. And the deep rumble of Marc’s voice was sound without words. All he could hear were the thousands of vampires who comprised the Southern territory, a jumble of voices arguing, begging, shouting, and none of them understanding what was happening. Anthony had been loosening his hold on the territory for weeks in anticipation of Hubert’s takeover, and it showed in the confusion of his people. Christian forced himself to concentrate through the pain, to stretch out his awareness into the cacophony of voices and emotions. He embraced the whole and the individual, wrapping them in compassion, confidence, and above all, control. He was their lord and they would, by God,
stop fucking whining!

Silence. Followed by a low murmur of agreement and relief that slowly faded away into more of a feeling than a noise. Christian sucked in a deep breath. He sat back on his heels, hands limp on his thighs, head hanging.

This had been one hell of a night. All he could think about was blood, sex, and sleep. Hopefully in that order, and all with the same person.

A soft touch to his cheek had him raising his head to find Natalie kneeling next to him, with a worried look on her face.

“Time to go home,
chére,
” he said wearily.

“What do we do about all of this?” she asked, gesturing to the piles of dust and the occasional disintegrating body part.

Christian looked around. “It’ll all be gone by morning. Let’s go.”

Natalie helped him to his feet, which wasn’t necessary, but it felt good, so he let her do it. He reached down, and gave Marc a hand up, and together the three of them walked slowly down the hall. Just before they reached the front door, Natalie asked a question she seemed afraid to have answered. “What about Jaclyn?”

Christian’s arm was around her shoulders. He squeezed briefly and said, “She’s fine. Cibor’s with her.”

Natalie blew out a relieved breath, as tears filled her eyes. “I thought maybe—”

“I know,” he said, kissing away the tears. “But Jaclyn’s tougher than she looks. By tomorrow night, she’ll be pissed as hell, and good as new.”

They walked out into the last hours of the night, and over to the BMW, which was parked right where they’d left it. Natalie looked at the car, and the two dark furrows of dirt left by Marc’s emergency route over the grass, then held out her hand for the keys. “I’m driving,” she announced.

Marc didn’t argue, and neither did Christian. All he wanted was to get home, and get Natalie in bed before sunrise. If she thought driving them home herself would get them there faster, he was all for it.

“Keys are in the car.” He walked around to the passenger door, while Marc climbed into the back and stretched out.

The estate seemed almost deserted as they sped down the long, curved driveway and out through the wide-open gate. Christian would have to come back tomorrow night to count the casualties, and comfort the survivors. But for now, he simply relaxed into the BMW’s fine leather seat and reveled in the knowledge that he was, by his own hand, Lord of the South.