Dearly Beloved

Dearly Beloved

by Jackie Ivie

A Vampire Assassins League Novella

“We Kill for Profit”

3rd in series

Copyright 2011, Jackie Ivie

The first indication something had gone wrong was the loud thump through the water that shoved her against the cave wall. The next was lack of air. Then her light died.

Courtney had a nanosecond of reaction time before the panic arrived, turning her world into one huge hell of rapidly increasing heart-beats and swiftly churning legs.

She’d known not to trust Shawn! That weasel brother-in-law of hers got her into more scrapes with more denizens of righteousness and physics than anyone could imagine, and if this was another of his stupid video pranks…

A dark shape flitted through the mass of opacity outlining the cave mouth, stilling her movements, but not her heart-rate. She didn’t have time for worry over a shark attack. Not now. Courtney wasn’t a deep diver for a reason. She couldn’t hold her breath for the required three minutes. She’d barely made the one minute mark last night when Shawn talked her into this, and that was without panic factored in.
Besides
… Courtney gripped the handle of her spear gun with renewed confidence. She had a weapon equipped with a razor-honed spear. All she’d have to do is aim. And that she was an expert at.

But first, she had to have air!

She’d been in the mouth of the cave, but that still seemed to take an eternity to evacuate. From there, it was a short twenty-odd foot sprint to the surface and Shawn’s yacht. And then she’d be aiming this spear at the belly of the crewman who’d just scared the bee-jeebers out of her. Because that’s what she thought of Shawn’s lame e-videos.

She took a peek upward to where moonlight should be silhouetting a dark shaped boat above her and got nothing but debris. Not much of it looked to have dimension or size, either…nothing recognizable as a fully equipped yacht or five men. If she hadn’t needed every bit of air for survival, she’d have gasped. As it was, she barely stopped the impulse, by turning it into a mass corkscrew of movement for the surface.

Something grabbed an ankle, yanking her down into certain death. And that’s when she turned and shot it.

o0o

That woman
shot
him.

Dominick yanked the metal spike from his side with a howl that reverberated through the density of ocean around them. She’d shot him. Him! And with a spike that would’ve killed had she hit him accurately. It still hurt. It also hampered his motions and pricked at his male pride, as well as made an easy-to-follow trail back through the cave that led to his home. That spike also marked her as a Hunter, changing everything about a simple assassination into a morass of treachery and betrayal and gut-wrenching anger. Those he’d deal with in their proper time…after he got her exactly where he wanted her, and in exactly what position.

Dominick pulled at the slender figure, bringing her against him for the lunge to his grotto. He needed answers and for that he needed her alive. And the woman needed air. Fresh air, sucked down to the seabed from his villa by a shaft he’d designed and then constructed. Dom had planned, designed, and over-seen every phase of every bit of construction on his villa. He was good with his hands. Usually.

He’d have to amend that in future. He wasn’t good enough, or he’d have been able to stop the crewman from firing a bullet right through Dominick and into the tank behind him, ruining not only a supremely planned and orchestrated kill, but the resultant feast he’d planned, as well.

So now he had her. The woman who’d shot him.

He’d thought her an eel at first glance. It was easy to see why. She was covered in a full-body, tight black wet-suit and she was overly thin. Stupid. The women in this time were short-sighted and ill-used; starving themselves into caricatures of the feminine form. Not only did that alter and subdue curves, but it also changed their blood offering into little more than weak, noxious-tasting fluid.

It was stupid and plain short-sighted, as he’d already noted. Not one of them would hold their own against a wench from the century of his spawning. Women nowadays were weak and getting weaker by the day. And yet, the Hunters actually recruited, trained, and came painfully close to succeeding by using one?

It didn’t make sense, and by Lucifer, he was going to find out why.

The girl wasn’t conscious anymore and she was at full dead-weight. If he didn’t rush, she was just going to be full dead. Dominick wrapped both arms about her form and shot through the water, going air-borne above his pool within moments, before dropping to his feet. Then he was on his knees, placing the woman gingerly at the edge, pondering not only the vagaries of fate that had given him a Hunter - and a female one at that - but also the odd notion that he’d have to figure out how to bring a human back to life. He’d seen it in films but never attempted it. It had something to do with pushing at them and then pumping at their chest. With as light a motion as he could. With his strength, he’d likely meld her flesh right into the marble-covered pool deck. Maybe he’d be better served rolling her onto her belly and tapping at her back until she emptied out the ocean water she’d breathed in.

This was incomprehensible. Then it was laughable, and then it was work.

o0o

“Oh my God. What is this?” Courtney choked, inhaled liquid, and then coughed until it felt like a rib fractured. Actually…it felt more like two of them. If she’d cheated death, it hurt. And if she was dead and this was her eternity, then it really hurt.

“Drink. Now.”

The voice was masculine and threatening, with a foreign tone to it and not one other bit of inflection. Her entire frame rippled with the immediate shiver. She didn’t think of disobeying, and took another gulp with the same coughing spasm, even as she decided it was just brandy. Maybe even cognac. It didn’t really matter. She wasn’t a connoisseur, and there were a lot more things to worry over. Things like where the devil was she? And with whom? And why did it feel like she was floating on pillows?

She opened her eyes and then lost the ability to do anything more. The god Apollo was sitting right next to her. In the flesh. That answered one portion of it. She’d obviously died and gone to Mount Olympus - or wherever the gods hung out nowadays. Which did mean pain was going to be part of this eternity of hers. Since Apollo here might be a part of it, pain was perfectly fine with her. Courtney blinked. Nothing about him changed. She was facing the epitome of a Grecian god, only this one was beyond handsome, with thick black hair, probing dark eyes, kiss-inducing lips, and since he was wearing a thinly-spun, white linen shirt, there wasn’t anything hiding one hell of a physique. That was just his upper body. The liquor had already stolen her breath, or she’d have lost it along with a jaw-drop. As it was, her lip sagged and brandy spilled. Then he was on his feet and leaning forward, looming over her and sending shivers again as he dabbed at her lower lip with a cloth of some kind.

“I said drink. Not dribble.”

“Who…are you?”

“I ask the questions. Not you.”

Ok. So, maybe he wasn’t Apollo, but he was damn close. Especially now that she could check out his lower frame, molded as it was by tan-colored slacks that weren’t leaving much muscle and strength to the imagination, either.

“All right then. Shoot.”

He pulled back as if she’d literally shot something, and a strange look came across such handsome features, she felt giddy and then faint. That just changed to giggles, spurting brandy-laced fumes up her nose, where it frothed and burned, making her feel worse than an idiot. She just wished that was all she felt. The response also sent spikes of ache as her chest revolted. All because a man handsome enough to stop traffic was back to leaning over her, propped on taut, sculpted arms as he studied her. Mortification was probably in these reactions somewhere, too, but for the life of her, she couldn’t dredge it up just yet.

“How did you find me?”

“Find…you?” Pain chopped the words. It also made her grimace.

“Yes. Find me.”

Courtney sent back a swallow that was more a gulp. He took it in with unblinking dark eyes shadowed by such thick dark lashes, they looked unreal. What was she thinking? The entire thing was unreal and it was getting difficult to pay attention. She hoped it was the effects from her near-drowning mixed with straight shots of brandy, and not from close proximity to Apollo, here. But that was probably wishful thinking. She wrinkled her brow in thought.

“I didn’t.”

“You did not what?”

“Find…anyone.”

“You are here.”

“I’m…really tired.” The words limped out.

“Answer the question.”

“Sleepy…”

“I need to know how you found me and by what method. You are not allowed rest until you tell me.”

This made less sense than before. Unless he really was Apollo and she’d found the portal to the god’s hideaway and they weren’t pleased. That wasn’t worth considering. He moved his hands to her upper arms, lifting her from the bed with the pressure of them. That just made more of her ache and hurt. She moaned before she could stanch it.

“There is no tracking device in your suit.”

Tracking device? Suit?

“Or anywhere else on your person. I checked.”

He checked? That was odd. Wouldn’t a god already know these things?

“Well?”

His voice was fading, but where he clenched was just painful and getting worse. She winced, and then got swallowed by the sensation of pillows again.

He had woman trouble. This was a first. Dominick studied the view of moonlight kissed waves from the master bedroom balcony. He didn’t use this portion of the house. No one did. It was for show. This wing was always vacant and empty and he didn’t care. But a villa on this chunk of coastline without a master bedroom suite - complete with a balcony - was bound to be looked at with curiosity, and that he did care about.