Forever As One (10 page)

The figure blocking his way was a martial
arts enthusiast. And he was large. Cocky. Settled into an
aggressive stance. Waste of time. Dane was going to be late to his
nuptials. Dane took a moment to lock gazes before slamming both
palms into the guy’s chest, right through the defensive motion of
his arms. Martial Arts slammed into a wall, breaking most of his
bones and liquefying the organs that resisted. Dane was right with
him, holding his shoulders in place as the guy gasped his last
breath. It was visceral. Sensory. The near-taste called him, the
aroma taunted, and need for sustenance almost overtook him. Dane
was just slicing a fang through Martial Arts throat when a blade
glanced off the rock at his cheek.

A snarl accompanied his pivot, and then his
flight, streaking into a moonlit enclave where a slight figure
stood, eyes wide and hands to his cheeks. He really didn’t need to
ask. The fellow’s heat signature already had him identified. 99.7
degrees. Serge Karakov. CEO.

Dane put his head back and howled the
satisfaction into the room. The sound echoed and re-echoed,
carrying every bit of his rage with it. Even in the dimness, it was
easy to see the man blanch. Dane took a step closer, ignoring how
the room warped, shifting slightly as if to encase and entrap him.
Little flickers of numbness rose from the floor about his feet,
wrapping about his ankles and lower legs, hampering his
movements.

“What the hell are you?”

“Your worst nightmare.”

Dane opened his mouth wide, revealing
blood-enhanced, razor-sharp fangs. The result was exactly what he
expected, as the man backed into a stone slab jutting from the
floor and then rounded it, as if it would save him. The oddity of
the room increased. Invisible flicks of pain started radiating from
the walls, carrying a touch of a whip. Dane flinched as each one
landed, slicing flesh, and bringing burn. But there was nothing
there. He concentrated on the man quivering before him, rather than
psychedelic effects that couldn’t possibly be happening.

“Vampires…really exist? I don’t believe
it.”

“You put out a hit on the wrong party,
Karakov. My mate.”

“Oh, shit. Evangeline Harper?”

Another step and he’d have the weasel’s
throat gripped in his hands, choking the life from him. But that
step didn’t come. The numbness had spread. Dane glanced to the
floor, where nothing but tile menaced him. But then the tile
changed, splitting to reveal an opening of solid black. Dane went
airborne, exerting energy on hovering atop the opening that just
kept getting larger and larger, reaching out with invisible
tentacles to suck him down into it. That’s when he knew.

He was on consecrated ground.

“Len! Help me! Len!”

His voice hadn’t the volume or heft of his
earlier yell. It sounded as weak as he felt. Pitiful. Serge Karakov
added to the experience by sliding to his buttocks atop the altar
stone, just sitting there, watching. The abyss enlarged, starting
to rotate in a circular motion, growing blacker and deeper,
creating a vortex that sucked at every limb. Dane struggled against
it. Twisted. Fought. This couldn’t be happening! Not now. He’d
sometimes thought of real death; of leaving this existence for the
next, putting an end to the loneliness…but not now. He couldn’t
perish now! Not when he’d finally found everything that made even
an afterlife worth living!

Evangeline!

His mind cried it for him. His feet might as
well be entangled with bonds of iron. There wasn’t any flex to the
power holding him, pulling him down into oblivion, without even a
chance to see her again. He’d never again speak of his love. Never
have the chance to prove it. His chest was a solid cage of hurt
that just kept getting worse. Because he was doing exactly what
everyone else did to her.

He was leaving, too.

“Dane?”

Her voice arced through the darkness,
separating the field of black closing in on him, and for a moment
there, he thought he saw her. His beautiful, perfect Evangeline,
her hands reaching out for him, grasping and then holding, her
efforts doing little to alter the morass of black whirling about
him. He’d thank the gods later. He could tell her why he wasn’t
there for her.

“I’m sorry,
Frja
. I—.”

“You’re late for our wedding.”

“Evangeline?”
Damn weight.
The name
was broken. The pressure surrounding him was reaching chest
crushing volume.

“Call me girl names later.”

“Len?”

“In the flesh. Which is more than I can say
for you. Looks like I got here right in time. You’re all smoke with
just a little teeny light in the center. So, get a move on. Double
time.”

“How?”

“Grab my hand. You need an invitation?”

Len’s fingers tightened, inexorably hauling
Dane from the black hole of nothingness. The room slowly came back
into focus, the floor settling back into tile, the walls into rock.
Dane stood in the center of a mass of shadow that finished rotating
and then dissipated at his feet. He had to blink against the sudden
onslaught of brightness. Len dropped his hand.

“You in, then? Good thing I came to check on
you. Vampires. Sheesh. Just when you least expect it, they need
rescuing.”

“This is…consecrated ground,” Dane
mumbled.

“Shouldn’t be. Don’t they have to
unconsecrated sites before selling them? Or something? Must have
had some lingering effects. Drastic ones. You look all right now.
Oh shut up, Karakov, or I’ll help you fall on a knife.”

“You could be right.” Dane stretched both
arms wide, lifted off the floor, hovered a few inches above it.
Nothing happened.

“Why can’t bad guys have nice mansions with
large swimming pools and hot and cold running blondes? That would
be preferable to an ancient fortress with its very own chapel. You
probably didn’t even know it had one, did—? Oh, shit!”

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the
chamber. Dane dropped and watched Serge’s body fall off the back of
the stone slab. Len pitched a revolver after it. Then he looked
over and shrugged.

“Uh…suicide.”

“Right.”

“If you’d look close, you’ll notice the guy
has a pretty sharp wooden stake in his hand. Don’t know where he
got it. Or how. And I’m not telling where he was aiming, either.
You figure it out.”

“Suicide works for me,” Dane replied.

“So. You about ready? I’m thinking we’d
better get a move on. Wait a sec. I’ll just put in a 991 call…from
my convenient non-traceable, throw-away, cell phone. I really love
these things, don’t you?” The silence was interrupted by the sound
of buttons and then an operator’s voice. Len waited for a count of
three before hitting the mute button and pitching the phone onto
Serge Karakov’s corpse. “That’s it. We’re done here. Move your ass,
already. We got a boat to catch. Oh! Try and get your powers back
before we reach the barricades. It’ll be easier.”

The lights went out at five minutes after
twelve. Not before. Not midnight. After. Five minutes after. She’d
known it was too good to be true, but that didn’t make it easier,
and if she cried she was going to make all this eyeliner and
mascara run. Damn men! Damn really gorgeous men! And totally damn
Dane Morgan and his lying tongue!

Evangeline lifted her head from the table as
pitch black descended on the room. The wedding finery she’d picked
out itched and it was too tight. No. That wasn’t true. It itched
because she was wearing a little red lace demi-bra, matching thong,
and lace-edged thigh-high silk stockings beneath the peach shaded
gown. That’s what itched and reminded, adding to her
self-flagellation. She’d rarely been so taken in. That’s what came
of opening her heart; cracking it a little, because she’d trusted a
man who set her senses soaring, her hormones into overdrive, and
her emotions to a whole new realm.

That just made the drop harder. And she was
not going to cry!

“Miss Evangeline Harper?”

She jumped as a voice spoke from somewhere
behind her, soothing and yet frightening in a simultaneous blend of
sound. She’d never heard such a timbre, as if cavernous depths
perfectly melded with soaring heights to create a ripple effect.
The shivers on her body evidenced exactly how much ripple. One of
the candles in her candelabra flickered into a weak spot of light,
beckoning a glance.

“Yes?” Her voice was barely audible.
Whispered.

“My name is Akron.”

The candle flame flickered.

“Akron.” She repeated it with a bland tone
that didn’t resemble her at all. Vangie shook her head, cleared her
throat, and started over. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet. But you will. You worry needlessly,
you know. He’ll be here.”

“Who?”

“Dane Monroe. I mean, Morgan.”

“You know where he is?” Evangeline swiveled
on the chair and narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t see anything
beyond the scope of candle light. And the voice seemed to encompass
the entire room.

“Of course.”

“He sent you?”

“Not…exactly.”

“Then, how do you know whether he’ll be here
or not?”

“Opinionated. Strong. Brave. And smart. Tell
Dane I approve when he gets here, will you?”

“What?”

“His union with you. I heartily approve. Even
if he didn’t follow orders.”

“Follow orders? Are you his boss?
Or…something along that line?”

“Oh, no. Not me. We’re all self-employed. But
he didn’t follow the creed. I know why. He was right to do so. Tell
him that, too, when he gets here, will you?”

“What makes you so sure he’s coming? It’s
already past midnight.”

“I’ve known him a very long time, Miss
Harper. Very long. There isn’t a man with more dedication and
integrity in him. He’s steeped in them. If he promises you
something, it’s bankable. And I’m sure he’s coming because he told
me you’re his mate. I believe him. We only get one mate, my dear.
One.”

Vangie gasped. She couldn’t hide it. She
ducked her head to hide the emotion that was probably on her face
and then lifted one of the peach grosgrain ribbons lacing the
corset portion of her gown to pick at it.

“You know much history, Miss Harper?”

“Some.”

“How about the dark side? You study that at
all?”

“Like what? War? Plague? Famine?”

“Go darker.”

Her chin lifted. “Alchemy? Uh…genocide?”

“I’m afraid you’re in for a bit of a shock,
Miss Harper.”

“Shock me. Go ahead.”

“Your Dane is not twenty-four years old. Or
twenty-five, for that matter.”

“I knew it! How old is he, then?
Nineteen?”

“One thousand and nineteen is closer.”

“What?” Her heart stuttered. It matched her
voice.

“He’s immortal. So am I.”

“All right. That’s it.” Vangie stood so
rapidly, the dressing stool fell behind her. Her breath came
rapidly with agitation, and there still wasn’t anything to see.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Of course not. I believe I’m having a really
strange dream. It started last night at the Sex and Sunburn club,
and it just keeps getting weirder and weirder. And you can tell him
that for me when he gets here.”

“You’re forgetting something, Miss
Harper.”

“What? My common sense?”

“You’re his mate. He only gets one. You. Or
didn’t he tell you?”

“He said…something along that line. But, it’s
insane. All of it. Immortality is for fiction readers. And movies.
It’s not real. The next thing you’ll tell me is he’s a Viking god
or something.”

“Actually, he’s a vampire.”

Vangie snorted.

“So am I.”

“Do I really have to respond to that?” she
asked.

“Go ahead. Say whatever you like. It doesn’t
alter facts. And it’s not going to change your future.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m head of an elite assassin group. The
Vampire Assassin League. You’ve probably never heard of it, but
trust me. We’re real. Covert. We can be bought for the right
amount. We’ll kill anyone, but we make them pay. Draining blood is
just our sideline. Draining bank accounts is a lot more
enervating.”

“I—.” Her voice just quit. Her heart wasn’t
just stuttering, anymore. It hurt with every hard thud against her
breastbone.

“My firm accepted a contract for you, Miss
Harper. Paid in full. From a Serge Karakov. He wants you dead.
Apparently, he thought there might be a bit too much speculation
attached to him if he handled it in-house. So, he hired us.”

“That bastard!”

“I take it you know the man?”

“He was my boss.”

“I see. Ah. I hear the craft approaching.
Dane’s arrival is imminent, and that means I must go. You
ready?”

“You’re leaving, then?”

“Do you love him, Miss Harper?”

Vangie’s eyes closed and her heart stopped.
It took a gasp to make it restart again.

“Dane. The man who says you’re his mate. Do
you love him?”

“I—”

“You’re dressed to marry him. I just want to
know why. See…I’m a romantic sort. I like to believe true love
conquers all. It rights my world, so to speak. So do you? Love
him?”

I don’t know. Love is so scary.

“I haven’t been lucky enough to find my mate,
Miss Harper. I may never be lucky enough. So…I have to sit on the
sidelines and watch. And dream. And envy. It’s a simple question.
Do you love him, or are you marrying him for what he has to
offer?”

“I’d never!”

“He’s got a lot to offer. Financial security,
for one. And there’s his physical attributes. I understand he’s
rather nice-looking.”

“What do you mean nice? He’s the most
handsome thing on the planet. And I was worried over the decade or
so of women he’s had sex with? Now, you’re adding in over a
thousand years of uh…practice?”