Secrets in the Shadows (19 page)

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief when the two punks who were following them veered off. One hurdle down, nine hundred ninety-nine left to go.

***

Camille let the girl’s body drop heavily to the floor. Drake tried not to wince. This death would gnaw at him more than all his own kills combined. That there had been nothing he could do to prevent it didn’t ease the sting.

Her fawning mortal henchmen removed the body from the room while Camille licked the last drops of the girl’s blood from her lips. She flashed Drake an evil, self-satisfied smile, then crossed the room and picked up a small evening bag that lay on a side table. He felt a renewed urge to kill her when she plucked a lipstick and a compact from that purse and proceeded to fix her makeup.

“I’ll give you another three days,” she said, still gazing raptly at her own reflection. Her lips glistened redly, her lipstick the color of fresh blood. Drake doubted that was a coincidence. “Anyone who’s still here on the fourth day is fair game.” She flashed another of her unpleasant smiles. “Of course, under the circumstances, I cannot guarantee that Gabriel will give you the same three days. I’ll do what I can to reel him in, but …” She shrugged as if it hardly mattered.

Though he knew that a wise man would keep his mouth shut, Drake couldn’t resist his sudden desire to hurt her right back. “You’ll never reel Gabriel in, not all the way. He’s tasted rebellion, and he likes it.”

An expression he might almost have labeled as worry flickered over Camille’s face, then was gone. “My son is not a fool. He will come to his senses. The quicker you and your friends get out of Baltimore, the sooner things will return to normal.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Drake wasn’t proud of the malicious pleasure he felt at seeing her uncertainty. “Does he know that you’ll kill him if he doesn’t toe the line? Or does he think that as your son he’s immune?”

She dropped her lipstick and compact back into her evening bag, then tossed the bag aside. Before he even had a chance to blink, she was behind him. Her hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head sharply to the side, leaving his neck exposed. He tried to twist out of her grip, but glamour held him completely immobilized. Her breath was warm and moist against the skin of his neck. He smelled the poor mortal girl’s blood and hated the hint of hunger the scent evoked.

“I promised Eli not to kill you,” Camille said. Her tongue flicked out to taste the skin of his throat, and he felt the prick of her fangs. “I didn’t promise him I wouldn’t hurt you.”

A chill passed down Drake’s spine as he stood statue-still. She certainly couldn’t kill him by biting him, and there were far worse pains she could inflict. But some ancient instinct greatly disliked the sensation of her fangs against his throat.

She nipped lightly, fangs breaking the skin. He smelled his own blood in the air before he felt the trickle crawl down his neck. Camille’s tongue was an obscene warmth against his skin as she licked away that lone droplet.

“Don’t toy with me, Drake,” she warned. “I can hurt you more than you’ve ever imagined being hurt. My son thinks he’s the master of torture, but I’m far more skilled than he. I could have you begging for death in minutes, and not grant you that relief for days. Weeks, even. I’m sentimental enough to spare you for Eli’s sake, but my sentimentality has its limits. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes.” Drake forced the word out, hating his own helplessness. Maybe Jules had been right all along. Maybe the Guardians should come down to Baltimore. Only it wasn’t Ian they needed to kill. How could Eli allow this … creature … to live? How could he retain even the slightest thread of attachment to her?

Camille released him from her glamour and stepped away. He didn’t turn to look at her, didn’t want to see the look in her eyes.

“Go find your friends,” she said. “I have an opera to attend.”

Drake couldn’t have been more eager to get the hell out of her house. Even so, he reached out with his senses as he approached the door. Gabriel was still out there somewhere, and he was as great a threat as Camille. Perhaps more so, for Camille’s control over her son was slipping, whether she wanted to believe it or not. Open rebellion seemed an almost foregone conclusion.

Drake halted in the doorway. He’d been searching for a hint of Gabriel’s presence. Instead, he felt something even more disturbing. He turned to the butler who was waiting for him to leave.

“Is Camille expecting visitors?” he asked.

“Visitors, sir?”

“Yes, visitors. As in about a dozen vampires who are heading in this direction.”

The butler blanched, giving Drake his answer. He tried to dart out the door, wanting no part of whatever was to come next, but Camille must have sensed the approaching vampires. She appeared in the hallway, her smug, malicious smile a thing of the distant past.

“Stay here!” she ordered, her glamour yanking Drake back in the door.

It was Drake’s turn to smile, though he refrained from gloating. Even a vampire as strong as Camille would have a hard time fighting off a dozen foes. Especially if one of those foes was Gabriel himself.

“Stand with me and I will give you a full week to find your friends,” she said. She was scared. He could feel her fear in the air, though her face showed nothing and her voice was calm.

“If I stand with you, you’ll give me as much time as I need.” It didn’t matter what she offered him—he’d decide to stand with or against her when he saw who was leading this attack. If he had hopes for his own survival and for that of Jules and Hannah, he had to pick the winning side.

“As much time as you need,” Camille agreed. She turned to her butler. “You may wish to go to the back for the duration, Roger.”

Almost as pale as a vampire, Roger nodded and beat a hasty retreat. Camille stepped up to the door and opened it wide, ignoring the chill air that swept into the house. Wishing he could be anywhere but here, Drake stood behind her, his nostrils flaring, his pulse racing, and his eyes straining into the night.

Strangely, all the cab companies seemed to be “busy” tonight. Hannah glared at the phone as she hung up. They tended not to notice how strained their schedule was until she told them the address. Then, suddenly, the nearest available cab was in freakin’ Idaho.

After the third phone call, she lost any semblance of patience. “It’s a lovely night for a walk,” she grumbled. Jules snorted. They could both hear the patter of rain. And according to the map Jules had picked up, the impound lot was a hell of a long way away.

Jules stepped to the window and pushed the curtain aside. “I don’t suppose you brought an umbrella.”

Hannah laughed. “You mean you practically packed your whole house in those suitcases, but you forgot an umbrella?”

“Well, did you?”

“No.” For half a second, she tried to resist yanking his chain. But she didn’t try very hard. “What’s the matter? Afraid a little rain will ruin your coat?”

He glanced at his coat with a look of horror on his face. “I’d never dream of wearing that out in the rain.”

She thought he was joking, but it was hard to be sure. “Well, let’s hit the road before the rain gets any worse.”

Jules rummaged through his luggage until he found a heavy sweater in the perfect shade of green to complement his auburn hair. Hannah smothered a laugh. He really was serious—he wouldn’t wear his cashmere coat out in the rain.

Her own down-stuffed parka had been through far worse than a little rain, and she put it on with no hesitation. Jules frowned at her.

“What?” she asked. “Does my coat violate the sensibilities of the fashion police?”

He chuckled. “Yes, but that’s beside the point. I’m just wondering if it’s waterproof.”

In a light drizzle, she’d stay dry. In a steady rain, she’d be soaked through in five minutes. “Hey, I won’t melt if I get wet. And I bet that sweater isn’t waterproof either.”

“True, but since vampires don’t catch cold I’m not overly concerned.”

Something warm glowed in her chest, even as she waved away his concern. “I hardly ever get sick.” What was the matter with her, that his concern would make her feel good? Her usual reaction to male protective instincts was to give the chauvinist pig a piece of her mind.

Jules shrugged. He perched his hat on his head at a jaunty angle, then opened the door and motioned Hannah through.

As soon as they stepped out of the protection of the hotel and into the rain, Hannah regretted the decision to walk. The rain fell short of a torrential downpour, but only just. And the temperature was barely above freezing. Icy water trickled down the back of her neck, making her shiver, and though she kept her head down, her glasses needed windshield wipers. She took them off and stuck them in a coat pocket.

“Can you see without those?” Jules asked.

She squinted at him in the dim light of a street lamp. Her vision wasn’t that bad, as long as no one expected her to read street signs from a hundred yards away. Water dripped from her lashes like tears, stinging her eyes. Great. Acid rain.

“I can see just fine.” She made a show of groping for his arm, as if she couldn’t see it.

He chuckled, then shocked the hell out of her by taking off his hat and sticking it on her head. It was too big for her—what a surprise! Jules had a big head—and came to rest just above her eyebrows. It was still warm from his body heat. The warmth caused a paradoxical shiver. Jules’s auburn hair was transformed almost instantly into stringy, bedraggled locks that clung to his skin.

“There,” he said, patting the hat down a little farther. “That ought to keep your glasses dry.”

“Thanks.” She fished her glasses back out of her pocket and did her best to wipe away the water droplets. Jules was staring straight ahead, the look on his face suggesting that he was embarrassed by his own gallantry. And once again, she felt that little glow of warmth in her center. She was beginning to think there was a good heart buried beneath that facade of vanity and arrogance.

Not to mention, he looked damn good when he wasn’t quite so perfect.

Hannah rolled her eyes at herself and forced her attention away from Mr. Beautiful. She had perfectly good things to think about other than what he would look like after she’d thoroughly mussed him up in bed. Like, for instance, she could think about how the cold rain had already soaked through her coat and clothes and was now trying to soak through her skin. Or how her shoes squished with every step. Or how the wind was picking up, dropping the wind chill to somewhere around absolute zero. She hunched her shoulders and lowered her head, wishing she could fast-forward about half an hour.

The blocks passed in a blur of misery, eighteen of them in all. Toward the end, pellets of ice joined the raindrops, like mini stinging bullets. Hannah’s teeth were chattering and she was about as miserable as she could ever remember being. She glanced over at Jules, who didn’t look much better. His sweater had the look of good, close-knit wool, but it was no more waterproof than her coat. His lips were tinged with blue, and he was visibly shivering.

“Who’s bright idea was this?” she grumped, drawing a reluctant smile from him.

“Yours. And if we can’t persuade them to let you have your car, I’m going to have to kill you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her hands under her armpits. “I might thank you for it.”

When the impound lot came into view, she gave a little cry of relief. She and Jules both hurried their footsteps. Maybe even if they couldn’t get her car out, they could at least stand out of the rain for a little while.

Jules’s long legs put him at a distinct advantage in the speed department, and he quickly outpaced her. When he came to an abrupt halt, she collided with him, grabbing his arm to keep herself from falling face-first onto the pavement.

“Marde!” he said.

“What does that mean?” Hannah asked, looking ahead to the impound lot and seeing nothing that should have triggered his ire.

“It means ‘shit’.”

“I thought that was ‘merde’.”

“It is. We just pronounce it differently in Quebec.”

“And the last time you were in Quebec was … ?”

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her body slightly, and she finally saw what had drawn him up short.

There was her car, parked across the street instead of in the impound lot. And there was Gabriel, clad in a heavy raincoat and an Orioles baseball cap, leaning against the hood and staring at them.

***

Drake and Camille retreated deep into the foyer. The doorway would have made a good choke point, but it wouldn’t do to wage battle in plain view of all the neighbors and passers-by.

As they waited in the back of the foyer for the enemy to appear, Drake sensed a strange … stirring … in the air. Was that the sensation of power gathering for the attack, or just his imagination? He glanced over at Camille, who stood very still beside him.

She had slipped off her high heels and peeled away her gloves. Her fangs protruded, messing up her lipstick again. She was so still she might almost not have been breathing. Her eyes seemed unfocused, and again Drake had that sense of power filling the room.

Then, her eyes suddenly came back into focus, and she threw back her head and laughed.

Drake blinked, wondering if the woman had suddenly taken leave of her senses. The vampire horde was fast approaching, would be at the doorway in a minute or less.

“Care to share the joke?” he asked.

Genuine humor warred with malice on her face. “They are new fledglings. All of them. Infants! And they think they can harm the Master of Baltimore?”

“You can tell how old they are?” When Gabriel had guessed his age, Drake had assumed Camille had told him. Perhaps that wasn’t the case after all.

She smirked at him, but before she had a chance to answer—if, indeed, she planned to—the first fledglings charged up the stairs and into the foyer.

Drake had no chance to size up his options and choose sides. The fledglings poured through the door, practically pushing each other out of the way in their eagerness to get in. Most of them rushed directly at Camille, but a handful came after Drake, fangs bared, snarling.