Blood and Bondage (7 page)

The only task Oliver hadn’t had time to do yet was pore over the
narrative text that
Anaïs had been gracious enough to
complete. In fact, it surprised him that she’d even taken the time to fill it
out, especially after she’d been so tight-lipped about her personal life.

Oliver paid attention to each minute detail of
Anaïs’s account. First, he took note of the delicate spiral flow of her
penmanship. It was clear she’d taken great care in order to be thorough. Then
he noticed the subtle smear of blood in the bottom right-hand corner of the
page. At one point, she must have been crying as she wrote.

Oliver’s heart wrenched as he read about Anaïs’s
last few encounters with
Pierre
.
The man had most certainly developed an unhealthy romantic fixation with her.
He knew that the two of them had once been involved in a relationship, the
extent of which was still unclear; Anaïs had yet to divulge that information. Oliver
understood why. He himself wrestled with the idea of working side by side with
the enemy, let alone trusting one another with details from their shadowy pasts.
Like Oliver, it seemed the female vampire had a few skeletons in her closet
that she wasn’t quite ready to reveal. It was up to him to break down those barriers.
Otherwise, they’d have a very slim chance of finding the killer before he
struck again.

“How have things gotten fucked up so quickly?”
Oliver said aloud with a beleaguered sigh.

Working his way up the ranks with the BPA,
Oliver had spent the better part of the last twenty five years feeding his
hatred for bloodsuckers. Recruited in
Germany
while studying Forensic Science at the
University
of
Stuttgart
,
he’d been taught that supernatural beings were an abomination of nature. For
centuries, they had swept across the European continent and held humans hostage
with the threat of violence and death. Oliver had seen enough suffering in his
time. Members of his own family had fallen victim to the brutal cruelty of
Adolf Hitler, a madman whose senseless acts nearly obliterated an entire race
of people. Imagine if supernatural beings decided to wipe humans off the face
of the earth. Who would be able to stop them?

Without question, their kind had to be abolished
from existence. Oliver felt it was his duty to take up the staff. He was no
warrior, but nonetheless, he possessed other useful talents. Astute and
resourceful, he had a knack for enlisting agents with the skill and speed needed
to decimate their opponents. He trained his men to kill first, and ask questions
later. Of all the powerful fiends he’d encountered, vampires, more often than
not, were considered guilty until proven innocent.

Although in the last few months, Oliver’s moral
judgment had been tested over and over again, initially when Eva had been
kidnapped, her life threatened by Natasha, the Kristopolous family’s jealous
female head of security. Yet Andreas had been the one to save her. Then again, once
Eva had revealed the depth of her feelings for the man who’d rescued her, and
the impending birth of their half-breed offspring. Those events perpetuated a
war within Oliver’s conscience. He began to question his view on vampires and
life in general.

Eva was still his number one assassin. That
wouldn’t change anytime soon. Even though she’d shacked up with a vampire, she’d
stay faithful to her duties as the huntress, vanquishing monsters from the
streets. But the lines of good and evil were now blurred, and she often worked
with Andreas to bring down the bad guys. Eva’s marriage to the leader of the
New York City
coven meant
that Oliver, too, would have to cooperate with the undead. However, that didn’t
mean he had to like them.

Anaïs had certainly thrown a wrench in that
plan. He liked her. Too much, in fact. Sure, he wanted to despise her, but he
couldn’t. She was smart, beautiful, and sassy – all he’d ever wanted in a lover.
He even enjoyed feeding her his blood. It turned out to be one hell of a turn
on. Truth be told, he couldn’t wait to explore the intense sexual chemistry
they both seemed to share. Oliver had a feeling that was the only way he’d get
her to open up and tell him more about her past. While he could pick up on her
cursory thoughts, she kept the important stuff locked away inside her subconscious.
She’d been the one with the power to fuck with his mind. Oliver hoped that once
he’d slept with her, he be able to stop thinking about her day and night.

Not likely, but it’s worth a try.

****

Anaïs needed to think. It’d been damn near a
week since she’d arrived in
New York
City
, and that scumbag Pierre still hadn’t shown his
face. Instead, the passive aggressive motherfucker had taken out his anger and
jealousy on two innocent women, both of which had been found bloody and beaten
earlier that morning. Even while she slept, Oliver had sent her text messages
throughout the day to keep her abreast of any new developments.

Her gut reaction had been to leave town. Then
the killings would cease. After all, fading away into obscurity was what she
did best. She’d run away too many times to count: first after being disgraced
in the French court and later, when Pierre had turned out to be more cruel and
savage than her own self-serving sire. The last straw had come after her best
friend’s senseless murder and she’d locked herself away from the world almost entirely.
Other than the handful of aspiring ballerinas that she chose to train in the
storefront below her Parisian flat, Anaïs had little contact with people.

But Anaïs had too much pride to let
Pierre
scare her into
seclusion again. It was bad enough she’d been holed up in a stinking hotel room
for the past five days. Being stuck in her suite had started to drive her
bonkers. Somehow, she had to sneak out.

The idea of stealing away made Anaïs feel like a
thief in the night. Luckily, she’d packed the perfect outfit for such a task.
She slipped on a slinky black leather miniskirt and a matching halter top, then
strapped on her spike-heeled boots and swept her red hair up into a messy
ponytail. She had to admit, she looked sexy as sin and ready to do damage.

Before she could go in search of
Pierre
, she had to take out
the muscle stationed by the door of her suite. No matter how much her instincts
screamed at her to kill him, she’d never be able to muster up enough nerve to
follow through with it. After all, Adam had done his best to ensure her safety
during her stay at the Four Seasons. As long as he didn’t put up too much of a
fight, she’d let him live. Anaïs stepped out into the hall and stuck out her
cleavage, eager to distract the guard with a display of her ample assets. But
instead of the babysitter she was used to, another man stood in his place.

Who’s this bozo? Where’s Adam?

Shaking off the strange sensation that crept up
her spine, Anaïs cocked her hip to the side and leaned in, moistening her lower
lip with her tongue. Her gaze zeroed in on her prey. With her pupils fully dilated,
she stared up into the man’s piercing blue gaze. She watched his hulking six
foot four frame fall victim to her irresistible powers of suggestion.

Anaïs approached him, wrapping her arms around
his broad shoulders as if to initiate a kiss. But once he was close enough, she
pivoted on her heels and turned him in her arms, gripping the back of his neck
in a tight bear hug. Then she squeezed gently until his face became bright red,
a consequence of the blood that had been drawn away from the area. She’d cut off
the oxygen to the agent’s brain and watched his limber body collapse onto the
floor. However, she hadn’t killed him, just knocked him out for a short time.

As soon as she was sure the bodyguard was down
for the count, she took off her boots and ran for the stairs in order to avoid
any more of Oliver’s goons. Anaïs knew that in addition to him, there was at
least one BPA agent posted next to the service elevator that she’d need to
elude.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t expected the guy in
the stairwell. The pair tussled for a time as each one got in a decisive blow
or two. However, the scuffle ended once Anaïs stabbed the spike of her shoe
into his neck. The man stopped short, staring down at her with an odd
expression. Then he pulled the spike out of his throat, and shoved her
forcefully against the wall.

“What the hell is your problem?” he asked,
swiping his shaggy blond locks out of his face to reveal a pair of blood-red
eyes and sharp, protruding fangs.

“Oops! Sorry.” Anaïs replied, biting down on the
inside of her cheek. “I thought you were a BPA agent. Who are you anyway?”

“The name’s Bobby DuBois. I work for Andreas.
What are you doing out here?” His long, drawn out southern twang came out a tad
annoyed.

“No time to explain. I knocked out one of
Oliver’s men and if my estimates are correct, he’ll be waking up any time now.
Can you get me out of here?”

Bobby nodded, then grabbed her wrist and flew down
the stairs, skipping steps along the way. When they finally made it to the
underground parking garage, he pushed the button on his car alarm until the
lights of a silver Porsche flashed on and off.

The moment they hopped into the car, Anaïs saw
the doors of the service elevator open. The bodyguard she’d put to sleep
stepped out, eyeing the sports car as it sped off. He looked none too happy and
she knew Oliver would be far, far angrier when he found out about her escape.

“Where’re we headed?” she asked as the car
merged into traffic.

“Andreas’s nightclub, The Crypt,” Bobby said
with a shrug of his shoulders. “With a bunch of humans babysitting you for the
last few days, I figured you’d want to mingle with your own kind.”

A man after my own heart, Anaïs chuckled under
her breath. No doubt,
Pierre
would be there.

Chapter Eight

Cozy in the Club

Oliver gripped the steering wheel of the Ranger
Rover tight. His fingers dug into the grooves of the leather, leaving imprints
in the shallow seams. Adam usually drove, but this time, Oliver insisted on
sitting behind the driver’s seat. Like a hawk, his gaze shifted left to right,
soaking in every sight that could be found along the busy
Manhattan
street. Out of the corner of his
eye, he spotted a familiar blue sedan weaving in and out of the lanes, trying
to keep up with his speed. It was the same car that’d been on their tail a few
nights before.

Come on, you bastard. Let’s see what you’re made
of.

This time Oliver pressed his foot on the gas
pedal, gunning it all the way to the floor and peeling out as he turned the
corner. He expected the car several car lengths behind would speed up, but he
hadn’t. The stalker had patience, so it seemed. He couldn’t be sure who it was,
but Oliver hoped like hell it turned out to be Pierre Gaucher. As soon as he
got his hands on the sick son of a bitch, he’d be dead.

Oliver pulled up in front of the The Crypt. He
looked through the rear view mirror, but the car following them had vanished.
Good thing, too, because the blue sedan was the last thing on his mind. Anger
and pure, unadulterated lust took control of his thoughts. He had to find
Anaïs, and the moment he did, he’d set her straight once and for all. Oliver
had every intention of dragging her back to BPA Headquarters with him. Once
there, he’d utilize whatever tactic proved necessary to get her to talk, even
if it entailed the use of his tongue and cock.

Oliver handed his keys to the valet and strutted
past the velvet ropes with Adam not far behind. Normally, they wouldn’t be
allowed within fifty feet of the establishment, but Oliver had been smart
enough to call beforehand and give Andreas a heads up. Even if he hadn’t gotten
the okay, he’d have gone in armed with a shitload of wooden stakes, regardless
of the consequences.

Once inside, the sounds of techno music and the flash
of neon lights momentarily blurred his ability to see. After a few minutes,
Oliver’s clouded vision cleared and the layout of the club became visible. The
place had an open floor plan, with no interior walls to obstruct his view. The enormous
space was separated into three separate levels. Oliver entered on the second,
or middle, of the three floors.

Above him, people danced and mingled over the
edge of finely ornate terraces accented by dim torch light. Below him,
luxurious VIP suites were filled with champagne flutes and velour lounge
chairs. On the level where Oliver stood, there was a huge bar with dozens of
patrons crowded around it, trying to order drinks. Just past the bar, there was
a deejay booth, which opened up into an immense dance floor, complete with a
spinning disco ball and raised platforms where go-go girls flashed their feminine
wiles.

Glancing up, Oliver spied the object of his
desire on the floor above him. Anaïs was dancing with a man, a vampire as
evidenced by the blood-curdling glow of his eyes. He had her luscious curves
pinned against the balcony. Her back arched into the shape of a bow and her
hair was draped over the railing’s decorative edge like a victory flag waving
in the air. The sight made Oliver’s blood boil. He could hear its thunderous
roar in his veins. His hands fisted at his side, fingernails digging into his sweaty
palms.