Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) (29 page)

Chapter 32

Lebensblut Boardroom, Present Day

“Our sources say that Patrick, his Tiye, and the wolf have made it back from Faerie. Unscathed, it would seem,” Varick said, as if they all hadn’t had the same information.

He hated that Austrian. How he’d survived since the Crusades, Isidro had no idea. Fighting not to roll his eyes in disgust, Isidro kept his composure. Around the table, the twelve other board members nodded in unison.

“They are becoming a problem,” Raine whispered in her throaty French accent. After four hundred years in the New World, her accent showed no signs of being dispatched. Her full lips moved around her sultry words the same way they’d moved over his cock just a few hours ago. She glanced at him with her dark eyes and a delicious smile curled her plump lips. He fought his own body to keep from responding but he was already hard underneath the table.

“That, my dear, is an understatement,” Isidro said with an air of disregard, ignoring his arousal straining against his trousers. This was not the place. He’d
deal
with Raine later, when they were alone.

“We should send Logan,” Ean growled. The Scot sat in his assigned chair at the conference table like a gorilla in a highchair. His red hair and thick Viking-like beard was a deep auburn from years of being locked in the dark. The barbarian was a menace.

Konyam should have put him down centuries ago. Leaning back in his own assigned chair, Isidro watched as the board members began fighting amongst themselves . . . again.

This subject was becoming tiresome. Konyam sat silent at the head of the table, watching. He was always watching even when Isidro didn’t want him to.

The chairman of the board, Konyam, was positively prehistoric. None of them knew how old he was and they didn’t dare ask. His facial features were . . . blunt, a broad nose, deep set eyes set miles apart, and a forehead that protruded so far, Isidro wasn’t sure how he held it up. The Cro-Magnon’s hair, loose about his face, hung above his shoulders in long, stringy tendrils. It was the color of midnight, a color that wasn’t supposed to exist in human beings. But then again, none of them had been human in quite some time.

Konyam was powerful, more powerful than any of them knew. Isidro had once seen him rip the heart from one of his minions with merely the power of his mind. He hadn’t dared tell another about what he’d seen. He liked his heart right where it was, in his chest, not beating.

“Logan will be able to take care of the situation,” Varick agreed with Ean, sounding incredibly smug, his thick German accent bludgeoning every word.

“You said as much about Midnight Ash,” Raine cooed with a dismissive smirk on her lips.

“Midnight Ash’s death was unexpected,” Varick snapped back at her.

“Well, I hope so. If Arthur planned to dispose of her without board approval that would mean he was farther gone than we knew. We lost one of the board’s most useful weapons. Her loss was devastating to our reputations, Gentlemen,” Raine answered back with bite in her tone and a gracious smile turning up the corners of her pert mouth.

“Arthur acted independently,” Ean added for good measure, carefully distancing the rest of them from Arthur’s misjudgments.

“Grimaldi?” Konyam snorted, rendering the rest to silence. “You are very quiet. Have you nothing to add?”

Isidro leaned back in his chair, giving off a false sense of security. Isidro did not like Konyam’s focus on him. But he dared not show weakness by alerting the others of his dislike at being singled out by the ancient vampire.

Pursing his lips, Isidro scanned the faces staring at him from around the table. He knew he’d get no help. They all hated him as they hated each other. His only confidante would be Raine but he didn’t believe she would or could secure his safety. It was a vampire’s nature to distrust, to scheme, and to plot, and Isidro was one of the best. His strategizing had gotten him where he was; in a boiling pot of shit with possibly the oldest vampire on the planet staring him down and searching for answers.

“We have no proof of what Patrick and this woman have, but word is spreading. I believe we must accept the truth of the situation,” Isidro answered, leaning his toned, aristocratic body forward to rest his elbows on the table. Tenting his fingers before him, he touched them to his lips. “Patrick Cavanaugh’s Tiye is Fertiri.”

“We don’t know that!” Varick roared at the far end of the table, slamming his heavy fist on the thick oak. His violet eyes flashed with both fear and anger.

Konyam raised his hand and the entire room fell silent. “Go on.” His deep, baritone voice had once probably made cavemen quiver in fear of the dark. Konyam’s mere existence was possibly responsible for man’s discovery of fire and Isidro was not immune to the fear shared my thousands over the centuries of this vampire.

“You are all assuming that to defeat this enemy you can use the same tactics that were used to dispose of Diana and Cleopatra when their power grew out of control,” Isidro chastised the group.

“All Fertiri’s are the same,” Ean snorted.

Isidro glanced at Raine. Rolling her eyes at Ean’s insolence, her nostrils flared with her suppressed anger. Raine had been the only woman for centuries and sometimes they forgot how deadly a woman could be. Preferring his women with venom in their veins, Isidro never forgot.

“All women are not the same,” Raine bit out, even though she knew her breath was wasted on this group. He’d make it up to her later, up to every inch of her luscious body as soon as he possibly could.

“No, they are not,” Isidro agreed with his best seductive smile. Casting his glance toward Konyam, the caveman watched the entire exchange like each was a pawn to be played. “Diana was a warrior.”

“Yes, and when she lost, those damned fae made her a God,” Varick snarled, slamming his fist down on the table.

“Yes, yes, but Cleopatra was a strategist. She relied on others to fight for her,” Isidro continued with his point.

“She was easily defeated. We didn’t even have to lift a finger. Those stupid humans did all the dirty work for us,” Varick added, and Isidro grew tired of the vampire’s running commentary.

“She defeated herself when she took her own life,” Ean muttered.

Ean may have been a gruff, drunken brute but he was also a romantic. He still mourned his original bride, carrying a lock of her golden hair in his breast pocket wherever he went. It was . . .
sweet
.

“This one is different,” Isidro said, narrowing his eyes on the group. His mind reeled back to the security camera from the front lobby.

After murdering Arthur, that woman had stared straight at it and smiled. The expression in her eyes had given him a chill Isidro hadn’t been able to shake for days afterward.

“How so?” Raine asked.

“Diana was a warrior, but she loved nothing and no one. She knew no passion. Cleopatra was brilliant but more of a lover. This one . . .” Isidro trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts and put his own discomfort and the vengeance he’d seen in the Tiye’s eyes into words.

“Yes?” Konyam asked.

Isidro glanced at the chairman and then around the table. “This one is all of those things. She is a warrior and a strategist. She loves and is loved. No one could have come into these offices and killed as she did, risked everything if she didn’t love. Do not fool yourselves, gentleman and my lady, Dahlia Sabin is a force to be reckoned with. A frontal assault will not topple them or her.”

“What do you suggest?” Konyam asked.

Pursing his lips, Isidro allowed the situation to roll over in his mind. “They need to burn from the inside out,” he uttered with a purr.

“A mole?” Raine hissed with a thrill of excitement.

“Someone to tear them apart,” Isidro answered with a smirk. “After all, she is only human.” He already had his sources on the inside and relished every tidbit of information he received. He could never let any of them know that, not even Raine.

“Let’s put it to a vote,” Varick snarled. For such an autocratic bastard, Varick could use the parliamentary system to fuck Isidro over every time.

“Then we vote,” Konyam said in a gruff. “All those in favor of Grimaldi’s plan.”

Isidro raised his hand, along with Raine and several others, but they didn’t have enough. They needed seven.

“And those for Logan?”

Around the table, hands rose. Eight of the twelve voted against Isidro.

“Varick, dispatch Logan at once,” Konyam ordered in a sharp, biting tone before rising and leaving them alone in the boardroom.

“You’re wasting our resources and our time. Every day, she’ll get stronger.
They
will get stronger,” Isidro growled under his breath. He remembered all too well the havoc Cleopatra had caused.

“I think not,” Varick bit back with a smug expression curving his thin lips. He rose from the table and left. Most of the board filed out behind him.

“We shall see,” Isidro snarled.

Chapter 33

Columbus Ohio, Present Day

The bass beat through the Plexiglas floor, vibrating the soles of his shoes in time with the music. Sitting behind his desk, Patrick swiveled to the side, letting her legs dangle over his knees. The petite, lush brunette perched on his lap had her head thrown back as she writhed in ecstasy over his groin.

Iris!

Her skin was bronzed, as if kissed by the summer sun, and she smelled of cocoa butter. The scent of her skin grew stronger as her adrenaline spiked. Her blood tasted as sweet as candy, pumping from her veins and down his throat. The woman’s long, soft, milk-chocolate hair brushed his cheek as he sucked at her flesh, drawing the woman’s blood with each steady thump of her heart. Coating his tongue, he drew hard on her vein, letting the scent of her arousal fill his nostrils.

A month ago, he would have been hard, thinking of Dahlia beneath him and wanting to sink into her while drawing on Iris. Now, he knew his Blushing Death was waiting for him and this woman held no sway.

“Pat?” she breathed, sinking her fingers into his hair, wanting so much more than the penetration of his fangs.

He should stop. He knew he should stop but the warm coating of her blood on his tongue was too good. This is why he’d invited her, chanced an encounter. With each soft beat of her heart, he could feel his own heart beat stronger in his chest—a sound he never thought he’d hear or feel again. Promising Dahlia that he would take control had only been a first step.

Eliminating Iris was the second.

Her heart slowed and the flow of blood became tedious, requiring more and more of his concentration to siphon it from her body. Small fists beat on his shoulders as the woman finally realized the danger with each weakening thud of her heart.

“Pat, honey, what are you doing? Stop. Pat!
Stop
!”

There was no stopping. He could feel her life slipping away in his arms as her strength left her. It was delicious to have her life in his hands. Each breath she took was a reminder to Dahlia of his indiscretions. He couldn’t allow that. They’d caused each other enough pain. As he drank down her diminishing heartbeat, Iris’ body sagged against him. Her head drooped on his shoulder and her chest heaved with the effort of each slow, shallow breath.

“Pat, I love you. Please stop,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

She’d intended her words to stop him, save her life. All it did was solidify the need to eliminate her. He knew she wouldn’t stop until Dahlia was forced to kill her and he couldn’t allow that. Drawing deeper from her vein, Patrick reared back as Iris’ body grew cold beneath his fingers. Her heart was barely audible above the sound of the bass below. Her head lolled back with eyes wide open, and a dead glare focused on nothing as her heart finally stopped.

Power surged through him, burning across his fingertips like acid. Standing, Patrick laid her lifeless body on the desk. He reveled in the sensation of her life coursing through his veins, of power rippling out from him like a blizzard, and of his heart . . . for a moment . . . thundering in his chest as if he were human again.

Glancing down through the floor to the crowd below, Patrick spied a now familiar dark head of hair and long scar.

“Konstantin!” Patrick bellowed.

After a few moments, the door opened and the former Cossack stepped in, Milagra  just behind him. Nova, eying the body on the desk, stepped inside behind them and closed the door.

Patrick met Milagra’s dark eyes and couldn’t help the smirk from his face at the fear he saw there. Konstantin’s continued survival relied entirely on him as his sire. He had use of Konstantin. For now, and until they could figure out why he resembled Dahlia’s father, he was safe. But she didn’t know that and it wasn’t in his best interests to inform her.

“Sir,” Konstantin nodded.

“I knew she’d be trouble,” Nova said, moving to the desk. He wiped a drop of Iris’ blood from the glass-top desk with his index finger and stuck it in his mouth. Tasting her blood, he met Patrick’s gaze and shrugged. “I’ve tasted better.”

“As have I.” Patrick couldn’t help the pleased grin. Drinking Dahlia’s blood was like sunshine exploding in his mouth. He loved her and with each drop of blood that coated his tongue, she rooted herself deeper into his soul. Turning his gaze to Konstantin and beyond to Milagra, he said, “Are you adjusting well?”

“Yes, as well as can be expected. Dean and Dahlia are very supportive,” Milagra said, her gaze focused on the floor and the hordes of humans beneath them.

“You owe her a debt. You owe me a debt.”

“As you say,” she muttered.

“From everything I’ve heard, you may owe him a few debts, little girl,” Nova said, leaning against the desk.

“Nova,” Patrick said in warning.

“Boss, she still isn’t right. That limp’s getting better but you can tell she hurts. Whatever happened over there, left its mark.” Nova growled at Milagra and Konstantin.

“That’s why we’re making things easier on her from now on,” Patrick said, raising his chin and meeting all their gazes.

“What would you like me to do, Sir?” Konstantin asked.

“Before she takes the pack oath, help Milagra dispose of the body. You, Konstantin, are bound to me as your sire and will not betray me. Once she merges into the pack bonds, she will be beholden to Dahlia and Dean. Dahlia must not know of this. I will consider your debt to me paid once this is done.”

Konstantin stepped over to the desk and picked up Iris’ lifeless body, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Go, I can feel her coming. Make sure you take that body out the back.”

“I’ll go stall Dahlia,” Nova offered. “Buy them some time to get out.”

He rounded the desk and lowered himself with controlled tension, still feeling Iris’ life flowing through him. Air circulated, filtering out the scents of cocoa butter and death. After a quick shower in the adjoining bathroom to wipe away Iris’ scent, Patrick reinvested his attention to the contracts before him. Requests from other Lieges for visitation rights into his territory, sat in a stack waiting for answers. There were so many. To size them up, determine which faction to back as the pieces moved around the board.

A soft knock at the door drew his attention up and the soft scent of jasmine and confidence turned his head. Before he had a chance to answer, the door opened and Dahlia stepped inside.

“Can I come in?” she asked a seductive smile turning up the corner of her full lips. She was teasing but behind the sultry tone was uncertainty. He’d done that, made her feel unwelcome. Still so much ground to make up.

“Of course, you need never ask again.” He stood, coming around the desk and closing the distance between them in three quick strides.

“You look good. Did you eat?” Her eyes were bright as she evaluated him.

“I feel incredible, as if we could take on the world,” he said, pulling her close and nuzzling his nose into her hair. Her heart sped, feeding the adrenaline through her blood and making her scent rich and intoxicating. He pressed his lips against her mouth, tasting her lusciousness and feeling the rightness of having her in his arms. He’d felt like this from the start, since the very first time he’d slipped his hands up her thighs.

She broke the kiss, panting in his arms and her storm gray eyes bright with need. The scent of her arousal inundated his senses and it took everything in him to keep from tossing her on the desk and taking her. Until he had the desk cleaned, wiped free of any lingering speck of Iris, he wouldn’t taint Dahlia with it. She strode over to the desk and he couldn’t help but watch the sway of her hips as she moved.

“I thought we could go out, see a movie or something,” she said, glancing down at the contracts.

“A date?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him with a seductive glint in her gaze. He felt as if his heart had stopped again with that look. “Maybe. What’s all this?” She flipped a few pages in his slender fingers and he imagined those red nails scratching across his back.

“Requests for visits to our territory.”

“Sizing us up, huh?”

“It would appear so,” he said wanting so much to protect her and keep her safe. He knew he couldn’t. He had to be honest with her. She and Dean had such an open honest relationship and even if theirs hadn’t been forged in honesty, it had been in fire and blood. He and Dahlia could be whatever they wanted to be, he was sure of it.

Her full, luscious lips turned up into a malicious, deadly smile that hardened his cock to the point of pain. “Let them come,” she said.