Blood Sin (2 page)

Saloman sat very still, searching the professor’s wise old face. “Did you give it to him?”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t have it. To my knowledge, it has never been in the Spanish branch of the family.” The professor stretched his leg out as if to ease it. “And you, sir. Did you come for the sword, or for my life?”

Saloman liked him. He liked the eccentricity of sitting in the man’s courtyard, discussing his death in civilized, conversational tones. In fact, he wished he’d known him earlier.

“Both,” he replied. His ears caught a faint sound, like a soft breeze blowing across the roof; his senses prickled and he scanned around the four sides of the little yard. “Although it seems I will have to settle for your life. Who is this Dante who asked you for my sword?”

“An American—charming man. A senator, I believe.”

Shadows danced on the roof, dark with menace, too many to be opportunistic. “Thank you,” Saloman said politely. “Your masking charm works well—I’m impressed by such knowledge in a human—but I’m afraid I didn’t follow the same security. I have a different agenda.”

For the first time, the professor began to look bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“I mean sit still and pretend to be dead already.” Saloman leapt to his feet as the black shadows all dived from the rooftop in perfect time. Reaching up he grabbed the nearest, plucking him out of the air to snap his neck and hurl him at one of his companions with enough force to fell her too. It gave him the time necessary to deal with the others.

The wooden stake driving for his heart glanced harmlessly off his leather coat. The idiots had come in force but without any clear idea of how to kill an Ancient. Saloman glimpsed the shock and terror in the vampire’s face before he swung him up in one arm and snatched the stake from his powerless fingers, tearing at his throat even as he staked the next vampire in line.

They burst into dust at the same time, and Saloman whirled, kicking another across the yard before he staked the female vampire running at him once more. However, he was surrounded now, and the rest provided a harder fight. There were some strong vampires among them. Even now, theoretically, they had the strength to destroy him. With something akin to relief, Saloman let go, embraced the rush of energy and bloodlust, parrying and hitting, taking the blows in stride, staking and breaking with a speed that must have looked like frenzy to the ignored old man who sat still as a stone in the midst of carnage.

At last only the first attacker was left, lying prone on the ground in helpless agony, waiting for his broken neck to heal. Terror glared out of his face as Saloman crouched down beside him.

“What was the point?” Saloman asked him.

“Independence,” the vampire whispered. “We do as we please. No rule, not by Juana and not by you.”

“No existence,” Saloman pointed out with one casual wave around the empty courtyard. A couple of large plant pots had been broken and a tree bent almost to its roots, but the dust glistening in the starlight was the only other sign of the vampire attack. He sighed. “And no understanding.” He raised the stake in his hand and plunged downward, and the last of his Spanish enemies turned to dust.

The vampires of the Iberian Peninsula now all answered to him—through the delectable if stern Juana. What a pity that there would be no time for another night with her.

Is it? She’s a superb fuck but she’s hardly—
He shut down the bitter thought. He would not think of Elizabeth. Not here.

Rising to his feet, Saloman walked across the courtyard to the professor, whose eyes were wide in his skull-like head.

“
Madre de Dios
,” he whispered. “You really are a demon.”

“Did you doubt it?”

“I’m old; I’m dying. I’ve thought of death for so long and with so much longing that I imagined it would be easy, even at your hands. And now I wonder what my selfishness will cost the world. If you gain strength from my death—”

“I will,” Saloman interrupted.

“Has there ever been a more powerful force in the world?” the old man said despairingly. “No one can fight you.”

“Not entirely true,” Saloman observed judiciously. “But trust me: Death is better from me than from them.” He gestured across the yard in the general direction of the place he’d killed the last of his attackers, and reached for the professor. His desire to fight assuaged, he was pleased to give the professor a good death, even as the old man strained feebly away from him.

“I don’t want my blood to destroy the world!” he cried out as Saloman drew him inexorably against his chest.

Saloman bit into his throat and the old man gasped, his scrabbling fingers stretching, and then curling into fists on Saloman’s shoulders.

Perhaps you will help save the world instead
, Saloman said to him telepathically. Blood spilled over his teeth and down his throat, and the old man relaxed in his arms. Bliss had drowned his pain. With fierce pleasure, Saloman sucked the strong, heady blood of Tsigana into himself, and welcomed the rush of power like an old friend.

The old man moved his lips weakly, speaking almost with his last breath. “At least you don’t have the sword.”

It was her hair that caught his attention. Glimpsed in the tiny space between the moving shoulders of his entourage, it seemed to sparkle like pale red gold in a blink of sunlight. Josh Alexander veered right to see beyond his press secretary, and discovered that the lovely hair belonged to an equally beautiful woman. Caught in the halo of sun from the window above, she looked like a glorious if slightly untidy angel.

She stood at the reception desk, arguing with the immaculately groomed receptionist whom she nevertheless managed to outshine without trying. Her long, strawberry blond hair was tied behind her head in a loose ponytail, from where much of it had fought its way free around a delicate yet oddly determined face. Her beauty lay in her fine bone structure, her appeal to Josh in the fact that she’d done nothing obvious to enhance it.

Pushing past his surprised secretary, Josh propped himself against a nearby pillar to watch her. His schedule was clear and he was ready to play.

“I’ve already told you, there’s no one of that name staying here,” the receptionist was reciting in a bored voice.

“How can you tell without looking?” came the dry response, and Josh felt a frisson pass down his spine. Her voice was Scottish—educated Scottish, he guessed from the fact that he could understand her so easily—low pitched and clear. The sort of voice he longed to act opposite, or even just
be
opposite, in any number of romantic scenes on- and offscreen.

“I assure you—” the receptionist began again.

“You can’t assure me of anything if you don’t use the tools available to you. Please let me speak to your supervisor.”

“I
am
the supervisor.”

“Then your manager will do perfectly.”

The receptionist seemed taken aback by the other woman’s quiet determination. Fooled by her casual appearance and something appealingly gentle in her expression, she’d obviously failed to notice the steel behind it. Josh had seen it right away, but then Josh studied faces obsessively. That was what made him so good at his job.

“Josh, what are you doing?” Mark, his press secretary, said urgently, standing right in front of him to block his view. “Hotel security has just warned us to go straight to the elevator. That girl at reception is probably gutter press—she’s asking for you and she’s about to cause trouble.”

“Is she really?” Josh grinned. He’d only just emerged from the press conference a happy man, because the local journalists were eating out of his hand, and because the location filming had gone well, much faster than expected, leaving him time to relax for a few days and see a bit more of Scotland before he had to return to the States. And now here was this unusual and beautiful woman with a voice that sent shivers down his spine, actually looking for him. It was a gift.

Brushing past the outraged Mark, who still hissed after him in protest, he walked toward reception. The receptionist’s eyes flickered to him in both alarm and gratification. Presumably it wasn’t every day she spoke to a Hollywood movie star. On the other hand, it was bad luck to have this rare opportunity while failing to appease an ill-tempered customer. She almost preened, though, as if glad he’d see her carrying out her instructions so well, even in such a difficult situation.

“Look,” Josh’s target said, barely sparing him a glance, much to his amusement, as he leaned one elbow on the desk beside her. “I’m well aware he’s staying here. Please just give him this note from his cousin.”

The receptionist smiled and twitched the plain white envelope from the girl’s fingers. At least she didn’t put it straight in the bin. “Madam, Edinburgh is suddenly full of Josh Alexander’s relations. Good evening.”

Frustrated and clearly well aware that the note was unlikely ever to get near its intended recipient, the strawberry blond sighed. “Your manager, please,” she repeated. “As quickly as possible.”

“I doubt that will be necessary,” Josh said smoothly. “May I read the note now? And
are
you my cousin?”

The receptionist looked aghast under her layers of carefully applied makeup. The other girl swung around in surprise and gave him a long, considering look. Unexpectedly, a breath of laughter sounded and was choked off.

“Ah. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you. I was too busy being angry. I’m Elizabeth Silk.”

Without affectation, she held out one small but long-fingered hand, free of any rings. Another good omen. Josh took it, smiling, and she let go again after the briefest of shakes.

“Cousin Elizabeth,” he said, letting his eyes do the laughing. “How wonderful to meet you at last. Thank you,” he added to the receptionist, taking the envelope from her nerveless fingers, before ushering “Cousin Elizabeth” away from the desk—and into the waiting huddle of his bodyguard and press secretary.

Josh took care of their objections before they were uttered with one peremptory wave of the hand, and an extra glare for Mark, who felt orders he didn’t like shouldn’t apply to him. With reluctance as well as a look of wounded outrage, Mark fell back too.

“What can I do for you, Cousin?” Josh inquired, smiling, when they had a couple of feet of space.

For the first time, she looked slightly flummoxed. A hint of color tinged her pale cheeks. “We
are
actually cousins,” she said apologetically. “Very distant, but still related. I’ve been trying to talk to you for months—so have my friends—but your people never let us near you, even by phone.”

“Sorry,” Josh said easily. “I’m afraid I get a lot of crank calls and letters. Sometimes genuine ones get blocked with them.”

Of course, he still had no way of judging which category she belonged in, and her quick, sardonic smile acknowledged it.

“I understand,” she said. “Do you know your family tree? Our nearest common ancestor is Harry Alexander, whose son Daniel emigrated to America in the late nineteenth century. Harry’s daughter married Robert Silk and stayed in Scotland.”

“Good old Harry,” Josh said, but he felt the smile fading from his lips. Cousin Elizabeth Silk had surprised him again. Either she’d done a lot of homework—which made her rather more dangerous than an opportunistic fan—or she really was a distant cousin. “That’s a long way back.”

“Oh, it goes a lot further, which is what I want to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?”

Hell, she was beautiful, and in the sort of way he didn’t see every day. She’d worked hard to get to him. She deserved a treat, and after all the difficulties of filming on location under the Scottish weather, so did he. For her beautiful hair and her seductive voice, to say nothing of whatever delights lay hidden beneath her nondescript jeans and jacket, he was prepared to risk it.

“Sure,” he said, indicating the elevator, outside which his entourage still lurked, watching them with suspicion. “My schedule is clear. Come on up.”

Color flooded her face. She knew exactly what he meant, and the quick flash of indignation in her dark hazel eyes told him he’d made a rare misjudgment. Nevertheless, her gaze remained steady.

“That’s not necessary,” she said icily. “If we could just sit there . . .” She indicated a nearby sofa in the reception area, with a low table and newspapers. “. . . I’ll only take ten minutes of your time.”

Josh made a fast recovery. Employing the boyish, slightly rueful grin that had worked for him since childhood, he spread his hands. “I can’t be here at all for more than
two
minutes, or the place gets invaded by press. They’re probably already on their way. I understand your concern, but acquit me of dishonorable designs! I was only looking for a bit of privacy.”

Her gaze fell away, as if she was ashamed, and he knew she’d bought it. Which was a relief, because having started this, whatever it was, he rather wanted to see where it led.

“Of course,” she muttered. “I forgot. The life of a film star can’t be easy.”

“It has compensations. Tell you what, we could go out for dinner and talk. You pick the restaurant. Preferably somewhere small and discreet where we won’t attract attention.”

A faint smile returned to her eyes. “All right.”

She was delightful. There was no mad dash to change for dinner, to repair her makeup—she didn’t appear to be wearing any, so far as Josh could tell—or even to comb her hair. She simply walked with him, Mark, and Fenstein the bodyguard, out of the hotel by the discreet side exit and into a cab, which she directed.

Edinburgh was a small city, and it wasn’t far to her chosen restaurant. Downhill from the fashionable central part of the city into slightly dingier territory. The driver knew the place she named and dropped them off at the door.

Elizabeth didn’t even blink when Mark entered the restaurant with them, spoke quietly with the manager, and handed over the bribe that would facilitate a fast exit around the back if the press got wind of Josh’s presence here.

“This is nice,” Josh said genuinely, looking around him when they were seated. “Homey.”