Blacker than Black (8 page)

“The twins have arrived, Monsieur,” the butler intones as he steps past us and halts. “I was just about to come find you.”

“No need.” Garthelle’s reply is hushed but clearly audible.

The butler executes a very precise nod of assent, inclining his torso a fraction. I wonder if he practices that angle in front of a full-length mirror. His retreat is just as measured, heels clacking steadily on the marble. As the butler’s tread fades, it only intensifies the strain of the silence.

Odd. The vampire seems to be waiting for something. Reaching out with my aura, cautiously, only gains me the impression that he’s reluctant to venture any closer. That’s enough to make me frown. Granted, reluctance isn’t fear, but they’re close relations. I take a few seconds to get my facial expression back under control. Take a few measured breaths, hoping with each one that the next won’t be laced with incense. Damned energy-memories. One particularly deep breath causes the entire domed foyer to disappear for a heartbeat. Having the world flash black-lit black isn’t pleasant.

When I lower my gaze, his eyes draw mine immediately, holding my attention by sheer force of will. Given his ability to influence the energy throbbing through me, it’s not surprising. Such a simple form of torture it represents: Kill someone without getting one’s hands messy. Without leaving a single shred of evidence. Knowing what he can do, that newfound awareness of what his kind is capable of makes me fear him, all vampires, that much more.

He doesn’t look any different tonight, which strikes me as odd—on some level, I expected he would make an effort to impress his guests with his appearance. Yet the only alteration is his shirt, a black silk that shimmers in the chandelier’s light. And this evening he’s making full use of all but the uppermost button. A medallion rests against his chest, glowing silver nestled against the silk.

The vampire’s gaze pulls away from me, shifting to take in Jhez’s presence. “Good evening . . . shall I call you
Black
and
Red
, then?”

That has to be the most pathetic barb at our selection of attire imaginable.

“My name
is
Black.” Despite the abrupt surge of disdain crawling up my throat, I manage to keep my voice neutral.

“That would be an interesting gimmick,” Jhez deadpans. Her outfit, a dark and tainted hue resembling drying blood, was a selection she deliberated over excessively, in my opinion. Garthelle’s gaze flickers between us, considering. As if in the throes of an internal debate. His lips purse into a thin line and he appears to freeze, motionless. Beside me, Jhez clears her throat. I’m rather intrigued though, and tilt my head slightly, watching him. He blinks and studies my sister, then rolls his shoulders.

“I was prepared to offer you the use of the guest wardrobes. I can see now it’s not necessary. Come with me, please.” He pivots and walks back through the entryway from which he appeared.

I grimace, rooted to my spot on the marble floor for the space of a heartbeat. For some reason I can’t quite define, I’m disappointed Garthelle maintained such an excessive distance from me. Disappointed, and grateful. Relieved I don’t have to struggle with the warring responses of lust and fear. I’m not in the mood for a tug-of-war this evening.

It’s my sister’s turn to grab hold and drag me in her wake. “I know this is rather disconcerting for you,” she mutters over her shoulder, “considering how he gorged on you just two days ago. But please, Black . . . please try to be professional, for
all
our sakes.”

Fuck.
I hadn’t even thought of that. Two days, and the vamp’s chi is still thrumming in my veins like a sugar high. The edge is gone, but . . . In the past, with any other john, I’d be back on the boulevard, back to good. Maybe still feeling a faint tug, a tenuous awareness, but not anything of this caliber. Garthelle owns me, though. I’ve no choice in the matter.

“You’re scaring me,
Red
.” I pull on her to snare her attention.

The vampire is far enough ahead; if he can hear us, he’s playing ignorant. I don’t think he can. I watch him, looking for any shift or tensing in his unconscious body language. There’s nothing. He keeps walking down the corridor even when Jhez stops and turns to face me. Track lighting along the floor throws strange shadows over the contours of her face, makes the masonry walls resemble abstract art.

She offers a dim smile at my use of the impromptu nickname. Her gaze flicks over my face and tense shoulders, and she reaches up to cup my cheeks. Her forehead rests against mine as she stares into my eyes. “They can sense fear, remember?” I swallow, my mouth parched, and nod. “Center yourself. Garthelle gains nothing from endangering you, or me, under his own roof. And he’s definitely looking to get something out of this.” A grimace twists at one corner of her mouth, gone just as quickly. Jhez isn’t so certain of her attempt to reassure me. “Suck it up, bucko.”

Just as she releases me, Garthelle clears his throat nearby. As focused as I am, the sound nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “It is easy to become lost in this place.”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, turning my attention inward. Pooling energy into my center. Jhez takes me by the elbow and guides me down the hall after Garthelle. Even with my eyes closed, I know precisely where he is. It takes effort to force the awareness away and focus on gathering myself.

“Is he well?” Garthelle’s neutral tone makes my senses perk up. I imagine she’s taking the opportunity to glare at him.

“He’ll be fine.” Her grip tightens a fraction, fingertips digging into my biceps. The desire to laugh surges, and I shove it back down into my stomach along with the rest of the energy I’m siphoning from my extremities.

Silence reigns, thankfully, only disturbed by the tattoo of our footsteps until Jhez stops me with a slight tug. I open my eyes, exhale slowly. Dark mahogany doors loom before us.

“Here we are.” Garthelle’s shoulders tense, and a tingle of discomfort slides over my aura from his general direction. “Stay close to me and don’t wander off for any reason.” He looks back over his shoulder, gaze jagging over each of us. “Follow my directions to the letter and you’ll be fine.”

He pushes one of the doors inward, walking through and standing aside to hold it open. Jhez’s reassuring touch falls away as she follows.

Garthelle studies me, rather intently, as I walk through the door and step aside. He moves closer, pushing the door closed, but his gaze doesn’t waver. The piercing quality I’ve grown accustomed to isn’t present. With him so close, his aura tangles with mine along the fringes. It feels colored with the same concern I’m reading in his expression.

His lips part slightly, as though to say something. But he doesn’t. A trill of laughter from somewhere within the room breaks his focus, and he shifts away. With his gaze no longer trapping me, I turn to take in his party. Tensing involuntarily, pulling my aura tight and close. Barely resisting the urge to fold my arms over my stomach as another defensive barrier between the congregated
lyche
and my tightly pooled energy.

I’d expected vampires waiting to pounce on us the moment we stepped inside. Instead, they’re scattered in small groups through the space and appear generally preoccupied.

Strategically placed ottomans, benches, and couches partition the large room—and the crowd of guests—into more intimate groups. Nothing gaudy or glaring here; subtle flashes of muted color snag attention amongst the dark tones of mahogany, navy, umber, and forest. Walls of polished wood paneling glow in the generous caress of firelight. Spanning halfway to the ceiling, the hearth roars with an impressively hungry blaze. The air is only pleasantly warm, not stifling as I would have expected from such a massive heat source.

And there are people everywhere. Cozily situated on furniture, loitering in groups, even lounging on the deep shag rug in front of the hearth. I’d envisioned a simple, intimate gathering of a dozen vampires. This isn’t it. More like thirty, without bothering to attempt a headcount.

Taking in the ambiance of the room, the quality of the decor, the lethargy of the vampires, I smile. “Now this is more like it.”

Jhez laughs.

Garthelle leads us to the far corner of the room along a winding path through various gaggles of conversation. A small gathering of six is scattered over a private grouping of couches. The corner tables are crowded with a collection of empty and half-full glasses, and one person lies sprawled on the floor in their midst.

A vampire in energy thrall, from the looks of it. Or a very stoned Nightwalker, which I wouldn’t immediately discount; I’m not close enough to sense the difference. Some of them like to feed from us when we’re in that semi-lucid state of influence. I guess it would make for an . . . attractive experience, under the right circumstances. Or, it could.

Garthelle watches me study the individual on the floor, who’s staring at some distant point on the high ceiling with a heavy-lidded gaze. I wonder what they see. He steps closer to me, motions Jhez toward an unoccupied couch.

“Have you ever done that before?” His curiosity is too strong to resist, judging by the sensation tingling in my veins. The energy I took from him resonates through me like the hum of his car—the purr of a kitten vibrating the hand that strokes it.

“Depends.” I admire the honey blonde hair fanned out across the black shag.

“On what?”

“On the substance.”

He glances down. “Meth, most likely.”

“Ah. No.”

One of his black brows arches up his forehead. “What do you use?”

“More naturally-occurring substances.” I flash a smile at him.

“We’ve plenty to choose from. Would it help you relax?”

I roll my shoulders, not certain if the movement is a shrug or a dismissive gesture. “Yes, it would. But it won’t help me do my job.” I walk over and settle onto the couch next to Jhez, who rolls her eyes and jerks her head in the direction of the couch opposite us.

Two vampires, sharing a nibble. Each time they draw a tendril of energy from the young man between them, his body twitches involuntarily. I twist around, stretching out on the couch to rest my head in my sister’s lap. There’s something about watching them feed that unsettles me. Especially when their victim has no clue how to manage the torrential level of sensations coursing through his body. Immature. Amateur. Grotesque, after so many years.

The evening swiftly descends into a blur of vampires hailing from every conceivable corner of the country and beyond. They’re Garthelle’s equals in most cases, by my estimation. His cordial addresses lack even a hint of deference. From his chosen post behind the couch across from us, I doubt his keen gaze misses a single detail. He smiles occasionally, with all the warmth of the dead of night on winter solstice. For him, the curving of his lips is a weapon, not an expression, and he uses it to lethal effect.

Mademoiselle Ferdinand, a lithe, willowy woman with short blue hair, is dressed in a startlingly conservative gown shrouding every inch of her body from chin to toe. The billowing pleats of black lace overlaying the pale blue satin, though, are embroidered with the most obscene contortions of the human body I’ve ever witnessed.

Monsieur Kent sports a garishly loud suit in the most visually offensive combination of bright colors imaginable. It’s difficult to look at him. His idea of laughter, to which he subjects us upon observing Jhez and I perched on the couch together, is equally galling to the senses.

The two sitting on the couch across from us, to whom Garthelle doesn’t fail to introduce us, are siblings. The Durrams are far from reserved, but soft-spoken, much as their host is. I don’t much care for the way their twin dark gazes regard us, though. Bad vibes.

And so the evening goes, for the most part. Ferdinand can’t resist reaching out and hovering a spread palm over my stomach, where the core of my energy simmers like a hub. She probes me with a swift, harsh penetration resembling needles on my skin. As she withdraws her hand, she offers Garthelle a simpering smile of anticipation. Her probe isn’t so swift to recede, however; at least, not without nibbling along the edges of me and snatching a tendril of energy.

Garthelle’s gaze hardens as he watches her.

She isn’t the only one who takes liberties. And I’m not the only one subjected to it.

Finally, the female vampire withdraws. Her reluctance is blatant, but her gaze lowered to the floor as she glides past Garthelle drains the offense from it. Until she brushes her shoulder against the side of his arm. Challenging, in a passive-aggressive fashion. Garthelle doesn’t step away; no doubt that would be viewed as a retreat, a sign of weakness, to another vampire. Instead he leans into the contact, catching her off guard, unbalancing her. Ferdinand stumbles, catches herself, sketches a shallow curtsy. Not daring to turn her back on Garthelle until he looks away, focusing his attention back on us.

I watch her spin away. She throws a glare over her shoulder at Garthelle before scampering off like a rabbit given respite by a hawk too full to do more than toy with a potential meal.