Vampire Assassin League Bundle Five - Loneliness (2 page)

The man dropped, rolled a bit, groaned. And then stilled.

But by then, Wystan was facing Blanket-man.

The fellow had run out of ammo, although he kept clicking the triggers. Wystan smacked both guns out of his hands, one after the other, using a lightning move that probably smarted. It must have, since the fellow cried out and yanked his hands to his chest.

“Any last words?” Wystan asked him.

“Are you a knight?”

“Interesting last words. Yes. I am a knight.” Wystan opened his mouth wide, allowing the fellow a good look at his canines. “And I am also a vampire.”

The fellow had a high-pitched scream and an affectation for dark chocolate and red wine. And a bad heart. Wystan got little more than a taste before the fellow’s heart stopped beating and the body slumped into lifelessness. It was just as well. Now that he’d slain the dragons, he had a tower to gird, and a damsel to rescue.

And look
. He even had a blanket to use.

The Carlotti grand-daughter was a lovely girl. She was dressed as a princess, ethereal-looking, in a pink dress with a full tulle skirt. She had a little tiara atop her curls. Wystan stopped momentarily, sitting astride the tower window ledge to fully appreciate her. He’d rescued many damsels. None had actually looked the part. He couldn’t prevent the smile. And then she addressed him, and changed everything.

“Who are you?”

“I am your rescuer.”

“Really?”

“Are you cold?”

Wystan stepped into the room, proffering the blankets with one hand, and using the other to adjust the grommets holding his shoulder
pauldron
in place, before moving them to the waist of his chausses to hitch them up. He hadn’t considered how immodest he might look. Maybe he should have used the blanket like a cloak. A moment later he was sure of it.

“You’re very handsome,” she informed him.

“Uh...”

“Are you a knight?”

“Sir Wystan Ryn
de
Crecy. At your service, miss.” Wystan performed a courtly bow, and then had to hitch his chausses up again. Damn things.

“Are you married?”

“Uh...” Wystan’s brows rose. He didn’t know how to answer that. She was truly lovely. Cute. Precocious.

“I think I want to marry you.”

She’d reached him. Her head was level with his waist. She had a mass of curly dark hair, and the fake jewels on her tiara twinkled in the light. Wystan caught the smile.

“I think
...you’re a mite young yet, miss.”

“I won’t always be. Will you wait for me?”

CHAPTER TWO

Uh oh.

She was looking up at him. Moonlight touched cherubic cheeks, the shadow of lashes, and an expression akin to the one most women gave him within moments of seeing him. Good thing he had cell phones back at the helicopter. And VAL Headquarters on speed-dial.

“Can we speak of such things later,
demoiselle
? We need to complete your rescue first. For that, we’re going to do a bit of a jump.”

“You can jump from here?”

She was at the window opening, looking down approximately four stories. Good thing she was young. And might not remember such things. She turned her head to look back up to him.

“Will you have to hold me?” she asked next.

“Pretty much,” Wystan answered. And then he shifted to another leg.

“Will that make us engaged?”

Wystan looked heavenward for a moment. At least they’d put her in a tower with an intact roof. He could see the wood vaulting. And remnants of a bird nest. She sounded serious. But she couldn’t be. She was so very young. And so very cute. Perhaps she was play-acting with him, using her role of princess. And he could just play along.

He looked back down and gave her another bow. And then had to hitch his chausses up again. Now was not a good time to rue the fact that he’d foregone the jupon.

“I am but a poor knight, m’lady. You should truly hold out for a prince.”

“But once you marry me, you’d be a prince.”

That was just his luck
.
She had temerity, looked pretty darling, and wasn’t lacking in wits. Wystan decided on another tack. Adventure. Excitement. He elevated his voice to show it.

“You ever ride in a helicopter, Miss Carlotti?”

“Lots of times. Why?”

Well. That killed the adventurous, exciting part of it. “Because we’ve got a Euro-copter awaiting us.”

“You don’t have a horse?”

Wystan chuckled before he could prevent it. And then he shook his head ruefully. “Sadly
...no. Apologies.”

“I’ll buy you one.”

“Ah. My thanks. But I do already have one. He’s...a bit under the weather at the moment.”

...
and six feet of earth.

“My daddy is very rich.”

This was getting problematical. Wystan didn’t deal with women or problems very well. And nobody had said a word about just how precocious Miss Carlotti could be. He had her wrapped securely in a blanket and tucked beneath his arm before she said another word. And then they swooped out the window.

Moments later he was bent over, ignoring how his chausses sagged, displaying a good section of his lower back to the night air, in order to deposit his bundle in a back seat. He strapped her in. And then he opened the top of the blanket, making sure she’d survived the journey. Dark eyes, set in spectacular lashes surveyed him for a moment before she smiled.

Buggers
.

His situation had not improved. Wystan turned toward the pilot. VAL had assigned Vaughn for this hit. The fellow was their best. Or so he claimed. He’d also had a recent run-in with some sort of finger ripping apparatus. Wystan had noticed the fake skin on most of his fingertips when they’d met. It didn’t hamper his flying skill. Vaughn gave him a salute from the pilot seat. Wystan frowned.

“Looks like everything went okay. And in less than twenty minutes. Wow. You guys never fail to amaze. I didn’t have time to finish my coffee.”

“Fire it up. You’ve got a rendezvous with some very concerned parents.”

“Take a seat and strap in first. Oh. Never mind. You’re a vampire. Do whatever you want.”

The engine started up. A tremor went through the enclosure. The blades started rotating, sending more air onto his backside. Good thing he was immune from tactile sensation. He couldn’t conquer the flush, however.

“Can you handle Miss Carlotti?” Wystan turned his head to ask.

“Solo? Oh, hell no. Get in. Your ticket is for two tonight.”

Damn.

Wystan pulled his chausses to his waist, slid into his seat, and closed the door. Then he fished a slim-phone from the seat pocket before him. He didn’t strap in. He might need to bail. He pressed the button with the “6” on it. He didn’t have to press the “call” button. These phones were coded just for him. Good thing. Wystan wasn’t a fan of technology.

“VAL Headquarters. Nigel speaking. Who’s calling please?”

“Is Akron in?”

“Oh. Hi there, Sir Galahad. Nice of you to check in.”

“Akron?”

“Geez. Not one of you assassins has a bent toward small talk. Exchanging witty repartee. I’m telling you, it’s a wasted art. Completely wasted. Hold your pants up, bud. I’m connecting you.”

Wystan pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it. It was just Nigel’s terminology, but it was too accurate by far. But loose tights were the least of his troubles. Akron’s voice came through the phone next.

“
De
Crecy? You there?”

“Sir!” Wystan fumbled with the phone.

“So. Speak up.”

“I have a small problem.”

“Checking. Nothing reportable from Cornwall this evening. Nothing from Rockcliffe Castle. Nothing about murder and mayhem. Actually...there’s nothing newsworthy coming in from anywhere on the coast. I suppose you left a mess. Is that it?”

“Well
...there were fourteen of them. And they were armed.”

“So be it. I’ll send a 4D Team. Send the Yellow one, Nigel. They have the most finesse. Ownership of Rockcliffe Castle might be in dispute, and it’s already a ruin...but I rather like it.”

“That’s not why I called.”

“Really?”

“It’s...Miss Carlotti.”

“She’s safe?”

Odd
. Akron made it sound as if the answer better be affirmative or someone was perishing. And doing it in a horrid fashion.

“Of course. She’s right beside me. Bundled in blankets. Strapped into a seat. About forty minutes from touch-down.”

“And this is a problem?”

“It’s not that kind of problem.”

“This should be good. Nigel? You listening?”

“Oh, please sir. As if I’d forego hearing this. Of course I’m listening.”

“You have eight seconds left,
de
Crecy. Want to call back?”

Wystan slapped the phone closed against his thigh. He toyed with pitching it out the window before placing it back in the seat pocket.

“Are you...in trouble?”

Miss Carlotti asked it from beside him. Wystan slid a glance toward her. She’d intersected her query with a yawn. That was even cute. She was the epitome of cute. Why
...if cuteness had a ranking of one to ten, she was a twelve.

“Not really,” he replied.

“Oh. Good.”

She just sat there, regarding him with sleepy eyes. If he was really lucky, she might go to sleep. And
when she woke she’d be in the arms of her loving family, and all of this would be a forgotten.

Maybe.

What was he thinking? He wasn’t that lucky.

He pulled out another phone, pressed “6” again, and turned slightly, putting a shoulder toward her. All the phones assigned to him tonight were set to the same number. This time it didn’t even ring before Akron was talking.

“Well, Nigel? What did they say? Excellent. Oh. Hello again,
de
Crecy. We just sent the alert to Miss Carlotti’s parents. Needless to say, they’re thrilled. They can’t wait to meet you and thank you in person.”

“Not a good plan, sir. I need to disappear. Fade from memory, if you wi
ll. Vaughn can take the credit.”

“Just what is going on over there?”

“It’s Miss Carlotti. She, uh...she wants to marry me.”

Nigel started laughing first. It echoed through the speaker. Wystan was frowning before Akron’s booming laugh came through, loud enough it drowned out the sound of the rotating blades.

“It’s not amusing,” Wystan informed them when he could be heard again.

“Forgive us,
de
Crecy. I thought it was something serious.”

“It
is
serious.”

“Since this happens every time you get spotted, I would think you’d be used to it. Or, have a game plan in place.”

“Or maybe, ask for an assist,” Nigel added. “Like from me.”

“She’s six years old,” Wystan informed them.

“She’ll grow.”

“Yes. I know. She has already informed me of that fact,” Wystan replied.

Both men chuckled again. Wystan set his jaw and waited.

“You know, you might wish to consider toning down some of the valiant knight routine. It might make you a little less appealing.”

“I’d like some more immediate help, sir.”

“Very well,
de
Crecy. Bail before you land. I’ll alert Vaughn to his new role as hero. What is it now, Nigel?”

Wystan couldn’t hear what Nigel said. All he heard was Akron’s reply.

“Not good enough. Lizbeth is not trained. Yes, Wystan
de
Crecy has always had women trouble. No. I don’t think it will rub off.”

Wystan ended the call. They called it women trouble? He called it a nuisance, and a big one at that. All he wanted was—

Damn everything!

He’d forgotten his hauberk back at Rockcliffe. His shoulders sagged slightly. He supposed he could divert back and fetch it. It was out of the way. His estate was in the borderlands between England and Wales, the area called the
Marche
. Returning for his chain would cost hours and he’d just lost three of them. He’d planned on drafting the helicopter for the ride to his home. That was out. He’d have to take a car.

The helicopter started its descent. A glance showed Miss Carlotti asleep beside him. She was even cuter in that mode, he decided. A glance the other direction showed all kinds of lights. He could see a mass of people below. Journalist type people. With cameras. Wystan jerked the handle of the door open and slid out. He refastened the door, and then dropped out of sight. Vaughn hadn’t even noticed.

He didn’t need the hauberk. He had others. Historians could have a field day with it when the crime unit released it. All he needed was to be home. He could almost feel the solitude. The solid stone slab he rested atop. Sense the aura of quietude away from bothersome females and the complications that ensued from any contact. He wanted his crypt.

It seemed hours later when he finally closed in on it.

Wystan stopped for a bit at one side of his gatehouse. Had he any animation, his chest would have swelled with pride. The entire Crecy estate was on display in the silvered moonlight. It was magnificent. Orderly. Structured. Registered in any number of history books. But it was earlier than he’d projected. It didn’t appear to be much past midnight. He supposed he could draft his driver into one more trip...

And just then, the strangest rumble came through the air, lifting strands of his hair and brushing across his exposed skin.

Oh. Bother
.

He’d forgotten. He’d agreed to host a Winter Renaissance Faire. An elderly woman had cornered him in his study several months ago. It had been a dark, dreary day. She’d found him awake and restless. She’d asserted her way into his presence. Hounded him. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. And she’d shown way too much leg for his taste. He’d agreed to allow a Faire on the parade grounds of Crecy Castle mainly to get rid of her. He’d been afraid to continue the conversation.

A knee-high carpet of mist rose from the ground, enveloping his lower legs. It wet the armor of his shin guards and dampened his chausses to mid-thigh. That’s what came of a night with a full moon and higher-than-normal temperatures. Wystan skimmed the ground, skirting the outer wall, sticking to shadows, avoiding detection. He went the long way around, avoiding the parade grounds where they’d set up their tents. The graveyard was on the opposite end of the inner bailey. It would be deserted, as always. Nobody ever went there.

Another wave of air assailed him, this time knocking him off his feet. He flew several feet before slamming against the stone of his barbican wall.

What the hell?

Wystan spun, sword already pulled, and head lowered. There wasn’t anyone in sight. No Hunters. Nothing. But something was odd. Something in the air. A scent. A feeling. An awakening. And he actually felt a chill.

He
felt
it!

His eyes went wide as he looked down, watching real gooseflesh form on his chest and lower belly. He could feel temperature? Oh, sweet prophecy! If what he suspected was true, he was the luckiest dead man in existence. He grasped his sword handle tighter and actually felt the metal hilt warping against his fingers. It was true! All of it. Everything he’d been told.

He had a mate.

She was in his sphere.