Vampire Assassin League Bundle 4 - Eternity (31 page)

And then some.

CHAPTER THREE

Oh, no. Lucien. No.

The beaker was definitely still warm, holding a slight bit of heat at the bottom. Right in the center. That was odd. He’d killed the flame over an hour ago. Plenty of time for cooling any liquid. But that wasn’t why he’d checked. He was stalling. And ignoring. And denying.

Lucien set the flask back on its pedestal in a studious fashion. It shook slightly, rattling glass container against metal rack. That wasn’t just odd. It was disastrous. Not to any contents. They weren’t volatile. He’d been toying with an enzyme mixture to preserve blood after death set in. The taste of feeding from a corpse was vile, but so far nothing he’d created seemed to change it. He hadn’t been passionate about it, though. It was just something he worked on when nothing else was pressing.

Just like this night. There wasn’t any warning. He’d spent the night messing with mixtures. Stirring. Checking. Discarding. It was probably close to dawn, although he didn’t check the clock. It didn’t truly matter. Night and day were interchangeable to him. Natural daylight never penetrated his environment. Everything was always the same. Nothing about this night had been remotely different.

Lucien stepped back from his table, rubbing his thumbs subconsciously along his finger pads, while working at controlling how it felt. Nothing stopped what happened. He couldn’t still the sensation, and he couldn’t calm the tremors. Because that was the second time he’d tested that beaker for temperature in as many minutes. The scientist in him had needed verification, while everything else had fought the rising panic.

Because he didn’t need an instrument to gauge warmth. He’d actually
felt
it.

Oh, no. No. No. A thousand times no.

He didn’t want a mate. Not now. Not ever. Lucien didn’t need one. Desire one. Or hunger for one. He couldn’t recall ever worrying over it. Or even thinking of it. He saved that nonsense for the others. Like Nigel. He was one of the youngest of them, and spent countless hours lamenting over the lack of a mate...as well as the love act that accompanied it. Why not Nigel? He could mate. Not Lucien. He was meant for higher things. He was immune from emotion. Removed from anything physical. Mating wasn’t in his future. It would bring complication. Time spent away from his passion. And why him? Huh? He hadn’t the first idea how to even speak to a woman. As for the other? The physiological urges of the flesh? He’d suppressed them long ago. He couldn’t have a mate. He refused.

No!

Lucien bared his teeth, allowing the fangs room to elongate, and gave sound to the cry. It vibrated through the space with the volume he’d given it, bouncing off sconces, making the torches flare. Because he had the capability of breathing again, too.

Oh.

Hell.

With his rotten luck, it was probably a truly bothersome woman.

“Hey! Lucifer! You down there? This is Nigel. You know. The terminally debonair, handsome, charming, sexy...young man upstairs. And I want to put an emphasis on young. Hey. I just had a thought. I’m not even twenty. Just think. I’m the perfect age for cougar bait. Wow. What a concept.”

A speaker sparked to life, the tinny quality giving perfect tone to Nigel’s barely matured voice as he droned on and on. Lucien snarled at it, and then worked at conquering an instant spark of anger before he replied. It would never do if Nigel suspected. None of them could.

“So. You going to answer or what? Lucifer?”

“Don’t call me that,” Lucien replied. Good. His voice was just as calm and even as always.

“About time. So, hey. How is hell, anyway? Probably quiet. And peaceful. And without interfering females who think they know everything. Yes? Please tell me yes, because right now I’m hoping there’s a man cave still somewhere in the place.”

“What...did you just say?”

“Oh. You haven’t heard? I have a new assistant, courtesy of the Macedon fiasco. Her name is Lizbeth. She used to be a student of...uh. Archeology something-or-other. Right now, she’s just a pain. She’s only half turned, but I think that’s the side that won’t shut up. Excuse me for a sec.” His voice faded. “What? No. I do not have the accounts jacked up. You are wrong. Well. Guess what? Even if you are a woman, you’re still wrong sometimes. And don’t give me another statistic, okay? Just because you can quote all kinds of facts, does not make you smart. It makes you a bore where I come from. Oh, yeah? The Seventies rule, baby. Always did. Always will. Read your history books. I can’t fix it right now. I’m talking here.” His voice came back, although it was in a fuller volume. “You still there, Lucifer?”

Lucien sighed. “What do you want?”

“Your presence is requested. Topside.”

“Negative.”

“Hey. It isn’t me asking.”

“It’s still a negative,” Lucien replied.

“Very well. We will just come down then.”

It was Akron who answered. Akron didn’t wait for a reply. The speaker squealed momentarily as it shut off.

What did Akron mean...we?

Lucien slammed both hands to his conference table, splitting it across the center. He watched it separate with an immense groan. Manuscripts of all sizes and ages went flying, some landing with a thud, some sliding across his slate floor, others rustled as they flew, while unattached papers glided to a rest in the aftermath. Lucien hadn’t stayed for the destruction. He was in his private alcove, donning a roughly woven wool robe and tying the belt with a vicious yank. He then pulled the hood over his head, shadowing what he didn’t want seen. Hiding what those bastards had done to him.

He didn’t have to wait long, but at least Akron knocked. Or something that made the area thump with sound three times. He didn’t wait for the invitation, either.

Lucien had just finished piling his mistreated papers and manuscripts into a corner when his double doors opened inward, creaking slightly. Akron walked in. He brought morning mist in with him. It shrouded his ankles. He was carrying a large duffle bag in one hand and a large, odd-shaped lump slung across his opposite shoulder. That one was covered over with his cloak. It was probably a woman. The long braid of reddish-brown hair that trailed along Akron’s hip looked feminine enough.

“I assume that’s a woman?” Lucien asked.

Akron smiled. “Most assuredly. Sharp eyes, Lucien.”

“Is she deformed?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Hump on her back.”

“Oh. I believe that is her skydiving apparatus. Parachute pack...containing chutes that didn’t open last night. And this is her clothing. From her hotel. Might as well have some real mystery to this missing person case. Yes?”

“Didn’t you change her over?”

“Of course.”

“Then what’s wrong with her?”

“It’s morning.”

“So?”

“Come, Lucien. Surely you remember your first day as an Undead. It’s draining. She’ll need a bit of rest.”

“I don’t allow women in here.”

“Call it true, Lucien. You don’t allow anyone in here. That’s why you had it dug beneath an ancient burial mound in the first place. Well. I think it’s time for a change.”

“No.”

“She needs your help.”

“No.”

“She was murdered last night.”

“So?”

“I promised her revenge. And for that she needs a laboratory.”

“You brought her here for my lab? Mine?”

“You’ve got sleeping arrangements in here still?”

“Don’t take her in there.”

Everything he said was a waste of newly acquired breath. Akron was already in Lucien’s private alcove. He watched without expression as Akron sprinkled something atop Lucien’s pallet, and then placed the woman atop it. She stirred, parting the covering enough to show a slice of clear, unblemished skin; a lengthy dusting of lash; a cherubic shaped cheek. Something deep in Lucien’s belly gave a twinge. He stifled it.
Oh, no. No.

“There. She just needs a bit of rest. You will call if you need anything?”

Akron was back in the main room. He had a blank expression on his face, but it didn’t disguise the smile behind it.

“What did you just use on my bed?”

“That’s not a bed, Lucien. It’s a length of woven hemp around a smattering of old straw. It now contains a few specks of dirt you won’t even note. Especially after you alter your attitude toward luxuries...like sheets. Pillows. Real mattresses. I’m guessing that pallet of yours will fit snugly beneath a down-filled mattress cover. Oh. And before I forget. Here’s the rest. Don’t lose it.”

He lifted a small glass vial. It looked full. Akron’s lips twisted oddly as he looked over the remnants of Lucien’s table before setting the vial on one edge, right between joists.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Lucien asked.

“Knew what?”

They spent several long moments studying each other, while torches sputtered in the unwelcome dew-kissed morning air. Lucien spoke first.

“I’ll call if I need anything.”

“You do that.”

Akron was definitely smiling as he exited, closing the doors silently behind him.

CHAPTER FOUR

The destruction wasn’t as bad as he’d envisioned or deserved. He’d gone insane. These writings were irreplaceable! Priceless! Some of them were his own notes, taken down in the late sixteenth century, when he’d barely reached his teens. Some of them even contained postscripts by his master, Bruno. And he’d tossed them as if they were pig offal?

It was enough to make his heart pound. Harder. Again. As if reminding him that it could beat. And did.

Lucien slanted a glance toward the alcove where she still rested. This was all
her
fault. He would never have acted so recklessly and passionately except for her. Lucien added to it. Everything was her fault. He couldn’t seem to rest and he couldn’t work. He was having trouble concentrating. And he couldn’t keep still. Demons must be in control of his intentions while mischievous sprites played with his self-control. He’d even lost out on his refusal to check on her. Twice!

Both times were wasted. She hadn’t moved. There wasn’t anything more to see. Little more than a glimpse at her face. And nothing of her form. He wondered if she was pretty. She was probably curved. With ripe breasts. Small waist. Nice...hips and thighs. Shapely legs.

Oh. Hell.

There went the demons again. What was wrong with him? He was immune from thoughts of the flesh! He always had been. And yet right now he was dealing with cravings beyond those he’d stifled back when he’d lived. His rod was even hardening, and lengthening, and causing an itch beyond his experience. Or ability to control. He really needed to stay busy. Occupied. Intent. That was the sure cure for sexual frustration. He’d thought that lesson learned so long ago, it should be ingrained. Four hundred years shouldn’t change it. Or him. But this was unbelievable.

That’s why he’d gone to his stack of books and papers, assessed the damage, and gotten to work. He could re-do most of the blurred and torn writings. He knew them all by heart. But he’d need a fairly thick ink. If he used the medieval recipe for iron gall, it might consume some hours. And his attention.

Lucien shoved the hood to his shoulders and rolled up his sleeves, found the ingredients, and started his task. He usually kept crushed gallnut in a flask, already infused with white wine. He liked to cook it at extremely low temperatures, rather than steep the mixture in sunlight. The second ingredient was green vitriol. He also had that on hand. It was created by pouring sulfuric acid over rusted iron nails, and filtering the resultant liquid. The last ingredient was gum arabic from the acacia tree. Once the dried sap was ground into a powder, it was added to the mixture bit by bit, not only for its adhesive qualities, but it made an excellent thickener.

He got another dose of his new existence as the pungent odor of his concoction hit his nose. Odd. The smell wasn’t at all pleasant. He didn’t remember that facet of it. He looked over at his alcove, wondering instantly if she’d smell it. And if it might awaken her. And what she’d say. How she’d look. And if she was as pretty as the small glimpses of her displayed.

Blasted demons!

Lucien returned to his concoction. The ink was ready. And he needed to stay occupied. That meant repairing his table. But first, he had to find a secure place for her vial. Lucien tipped it, watching the grains slide before moving it to a shelf; one of the highest ones, where he rarely even bothered to dust.

The table presented a puzzle, but a bit of moving, adjusting, and stacking of logs, and it appeared stable enough. All he’d needed was a series of like-sized, interlocked logs for the surface to rest atop. It should hold...depending on what weight and strain he put on it. He glanced more than once at his alcove, each time conquering the urge to check on her. She certainly slept soundly. Even through his furniture repair. Maybe he should look in on her. She might need something...

No. Lucien. No
.

He prowled the room next, pausing at the alcove. Where she rested. Snuggled in Akron’s cape. Lucien moved on, stopping at his double doors. He stood considering them without really seeing anything. And then he bolted them. A moment later, he pulled the bolt back up. Was he already admitting surrender? Another circuit of the room brought him back to the alcove, where he again fought the longing to peek. He spent some time stifling it before striding to the doors again. This time when he shoved the bolt down, it emitted a solid scraping noise. A glance toward the alcove showed she hadn’t reacted.

This was insane.

Mating was a difficult thing to fight. Hard to subdue. Impossible to ignore. He didn’t have the weapons to deter, or even subdue. But he made it more difficult every time he looked toward where she rested. Alone. Accessible. Fresh. New.

His
.

“Ah!”

Lucien put his head back and howled until he ran out of breath. Then he brought his head back down to glare in her direction as his cry echoed back at him. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred.