Blood Sin (27 page)

To the trendily dressed young couple who passed him, giggling, he must have looked a trifle weird, studying architecture in the dark. He didn’t care. He suspected some kind of masking spell and was determined to see through it. Whether he would have without help, he never discovered, for the young couple disappeared into a doorway in front of him.

Now, why would such a young pair, dressed up to the nines as if for a party, be visiting such a run-down building that resembled nothing more than a warehouse? Pausing in front of the grimy, firmly closed door, Dante glanced around the building above him—and saw the angel carved above the door.

Eureka.

Smiling, he pushed at the door, which gave instantly. He had time, on his journey up the long and dirty staircase, to wonder if he’d gotten it wrong. A bare lightbulb dangling from a wire near the top of the building barely illuminated the shabby walls with the paint peeling off. The steps beneath the handmade leather soles of his shoes felt gritty with dirt and fallen plaster. However, at the head of the staircase, he was greeted by a large young man dressed in black who showed no particular surprise to encounter him.

“Hi,” Dante said amiably. “Can you help me, sir? Is this the Angel Club?”

Although he spoke in English, the expressionless young man appeared to understand him, for he nodded once and even opened the door for him. Dante felt a little thrill run up his spine, a spark of danger, because the doorman could be a vampire.

Inside was massively different. Everything was clean and well lighted, although tastefully so, lending to an array of booths around the walls an illusion of cozy privacy. The walls were painted with bright, baroque murals, and a large dome in the center of the ceiling with an open window at the top provided an impression of light and space and fresh air. Under it, a few people were dancing to loud, modern music. Not Dante’s taste, but he was happy to tolerate it for the night.

The wall nearest him was taken up with a long bar counter, at which sat one or two men and a beautiful woman in a black dress. Since it would appear the most natural thing to do, Dante took up position on the stool next to the beautiful woman in black.

A smart young man behind the bar spoke to him in Hungarian. Guessing, Dante said, “Bourbon, please,” and turned to the lady beside him with his most winning smile. “Hi. I don’t suppose you speak English, do you?”

“Actually, yes, I do. A little.”

“Fantastic! I have absolutely no Hungarian, which is a little bit daunting when I don’t know the city either.”

The lady smiled. She had the sexiest dark eyes Dante had ever seen, and for the first time in many months he felt the stirrings of lust. If she was a vampire, she was by far the most attractive of his admittedly limited experience. He found himself wondering if vampires fucked.

The beautiful woman who might have been a vampiress watched him pay for the drink, saying lightly, “And yet you found your way here.”

“That was easy. I had directions. Can I buy you a drink, Miss . . . ?”

“Angyalka. Thank you, no.”

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Grayson. Pleased to meet you.”

She took his hand in a brief, cool grip and released it. “Someone recommended the Angel to you?”

Dante smiled. That had caught her attention. The rest would be easy. “Absolutely. I was hoping to meet a friend here.”

She inclined her head.

Dante let himself hesitate, then said, “I don’t suppose . . . Do you come here a lot, Angyalka? Do you know the regulars?”

“I recognize some faces,” she admitted mildly. “Who are you looking for?”

“A guy named Dmitriu. Do you know him?”

“Indeed,” said Angyalka.

“Is he here?” Dante asked. Shit, he sounded too eager. He had to hold himself back. It was just that he hadn’t expected this to be so easy.

“No,” said Angyalka.

So much for easy. “Any idea where I could find him?”

“No.” It wasn’t encouraging, and perhaps he looked as crestfallen as he suddenly felt, for she added, “If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking.”

“Could I try again tomorrow night?”

She shrugged and slid off the stool. “You could,” she said, and, lifting the flap, she walked around behind the bar. Dante understood that their interview was at an end.

Saloman stood by the hotel room window with his back to her. He knew. He’d have known as soon as Severin died.

Elizabeth’s whole body shook. She closed the door with a short, sharp click and lifted her head. “I killed him.”

He didn’t turn or make any response. After what she’d done, it was madness to have come back here to him. But her pride and defiance had insisted. And she wasn’t defenseless. She grasped the stake in her pocket and, forcing her trembling legs, she strode toward the bedroom.

Before she was halfway there, he caught her, holding her chin between his strong fingers. She glared into his opaque, unreadable eyes, refusing to be afraid or ashamed; and yet inexplicable tears prickled at her throat.

“I killed Severin!” she raged.

“I know you did.” He didn’t even sound angry, just curious, which made everything worse. He should at least care enough to be angry. “You went after him for the hunters and you killed him. So why are you crying?”

“Because I’m happy he’s gone!” She gave a futile jerk against his hand, and a sob rose up in her throat, choking her. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t shut out the images of Saloman or Severin. “Because I feel like an assassin. Because he wasn’t a ravening beast.”

Saloman drew her against him and the tears flowed faster, soaking his shirt as she inhaled his scent, his strength, and gripped the stake tighter. His lips touched her neck.

Her breath shuddered. She opened her fingers wide, releasing the stake, for there was no point in fighting, not against Saloman. She had nothing left to give him. He’d said he’d never kill her, but she couldn’t blame him if he changed his mind. Another betrayal by someone who loved him.

His teeth grazed her skin. His words vibrated along her vein. “I mourn Severin’s passing. But it was never Severin I needed most. It’s Travis.”

Without biting, Saloman raised his head and gazed into her stunned face.

“I’m grateful for your care and your distress,” he said softly, taking her face between his hands. “You walk a difficult path, Elizabeth Silk, and it will only get harder. Take heart from the strength that has brought you through this.”

Her lips parted and closed again. “You
aren’t
angry,” she blurted.

“I could have stopped it. I could have kept you by my side, masked you as I did last night. But you wouldn’t be who you are if you didn’t go your own way, make your own choices. As Severin made his.”

Slowly, she let her head fall forward onto his chest.

It seemed she’d managed to do the right thing, and still kept her happiness for another day. There would be time, later, once they’d parted, to come to terms with all the emotions surrounding her killing of Severin. For now, the fact that Saloman forgave her was too aweinspiring to leave room for anything else.

Josh, who’d negotiated a week’s grace to sort out his sword and vampire problems, now didn’t know what to do with himself. He called Garrick, his detective, who knew no more than he did last night, except that Dante hadn’t yet appeared in Washington. He thought of calling Elizabeth, but kept putting it off because the bizarre events of yesterday seemed increasingly like a dream, and he had no idea how to talk about them, or even if he should.

Eventually, around dusk, he drove to her hotel, the Mandarin Oriental, and asked for her at reception. While the girl rang Elizabeth’s room, he left his sunglasses on, but she kept glancing at him until, with a big smile, she said, “Hey, you’re Josh Alexander.”

Josh grinned and lifted one finger to his lips. At once the receptionist nodded enthusiastically, keeping his secret for at least as long as he was there to watch her.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said at last. “There’s no answer from Miss Silk’s room. Would you like to leave a message for her?”

Josh nearly laughed in her face.
Sure, tell her this vampire business is completely freaking me out. . . .
“No, that’s all right. Thanks.”

He turned and walked smartly out again, riding the elevator back down to ground level. He decided on a quick walk around Central Park before it got completely dark, and then he’d try the hotel again.

But the first person he saw in the park was Elizabeth.

Josh stopped dead and stared. She wore a bright, Gypsy-style skirt and top, neither new nor fashionable, and yet she looked stunning. Her magnificent hair fell loose around her shoulders, shining in the half-light like a memory of the setting sun. Relaxed and smiling, completely oblivious to his observation, she walked hand in hand with a tall man he recognized. Adam Simon.

Find Adam Simon and tell him what happened here. . . .

He’s just a man with a finger in lots of pies, useful to have on your side to get you out of a scrape.

Adam Simon, who knew her well enough to kiss her on the lips in greeting at Dante’s house party, whom she then told Josh not to trust. But with whom she now walked hand in hand looking . . . looking happier than Josh had ever seen her.

Well, he didn’t begrudge her that. Whatever attraction there had ever been between him and Elizabeth seemed to have simmered down to mere empathy on his part. On hers, there had never been anything more. He’d known that as soon as she’d lifted the cloak that had fallen out of her bedroom drawer back in St. Andrews. Adam Simon had given her the cloak. He knew that now as well as he knew anything at all. What it didn’t explain was what he had to do with Elizabeth being in New York now, with Senator Dante, with his sword, or with the vampires who’d attacked them. And shit, if Simon wasn’t the man who saved them from that little escapade, then he had a brother with a damned close family resemblance.

Could Elizabeth have been lying to him? Elizabeth, his cousin whom he barely knew and yet had trusted out of some mere instinct, simply because he thought he understood faces?

His fists curled tight at his sides. Why the hell would she lie? What did it achieve?

The answer took his breath away. She wanted his sword.

Ahead of him on the path, Adam Simon turned his head and looked straight at him. Josh’s stomach flipped in sudden, inexplicable fear. The man’s eyes seemed to flash like lightning, reminding him unbearably of that vision he’d done his damnedest to forget.
Give me my sword.

“It’s mine,” Josh whispered.

After a late room-service dinner, Elizabeth guiltily opened her computer for the first time since her arrival in New York. There was an e-mail from Mihaela, but before reading it, she got her own news off her chest. Since this was likely to be seen in some form by many people, she kept it dispassionate, and somehow that made it easier to tell—her encounter with Rudy Meyer and Cyn, and how the vampire Jacob had led her to Severin, whom she’d managed to kill that afternoon.

She hit send with a feeling of relief, and then opened Mihaela’s message. It was disappointing. Basically, apart from his discreet interest in the spiritual and the paranormal, Mihaela had been able to find no connection between the vampire world and Senator Dante. However, tomorrow in the Budapest headquarters, they were expecting to entertain the visiting Grand Master of the American hunters, so Mihaela promised to pick his brains if she could
.

“Not,” Mihaela added, with her typical disrespect for authority, “that the Grand Masters necessarily know anything more than the man in the street, but at least it’s worth a shot.
Some
of them prefer to be more than figureheads.” Which was a sideswipe at the Hungarian Grand Master.

“By the way,” she finished, “Seen anything of Josh Alexander? ☺”

Elizabeth smiled and scanned the rest of her e-mail. No word yet on her thesis. Surely it wouldn’t be long now. What if they wanted to interview her again and she was still in America?

Oh, well, she’d deal with that if she had to. Right now, it was difficult to care. Elizabeth closed the lid and glanced across at Saloman, who was busy with his own computer. For a while, she watched him in silence, feeling the ache of love grow stronger. He was going to live forever, and yet the fact that he chose to spend a day with her, to love her for one night or two, still stunned her.

His long, elegant fingers flew across the keyboard faster than she could comfortably see; his dark eyes darted across the screen, a faint crease of concentration between them. He still wore his suit trousers, but with his silk shirt pulled free of the waistband, and his feet under the desk were bare. With his hair tumbling loose about his shoulders, he looked like some improbably handsome computer-geek hero from a futuristic hacker movie. Or something. She smiled at the thought, and as if he sensed it, he glanced up, his hands stilling on the keys an instant later.

“What?”

“I was just wondering what you’re doing with such industry. Wheeling and dealing?” She rose and walked toward him.

“Undealing.”

“What does that mean?”

“Canceling arms deals with some very unsavory characters.”

Her breath caught in sudden pain. “You’re arms dealing now?”

“Undealing,” he repeated gently.

“But you’re deciding again!” In distress, she dropped to her knees, peering up into his face as if pleading with him to see this her way. “You’re deciding who’s worthy to receive your arms! I wish you had nothing to do with stuff like this!”

“But you want the world to be made better. Someone has to make a start.”

“With arms dealing?”

“Controlling it, policing it, if you like. I’ve begun in a small way, and in time, as my influence spreads, I’ll be able to make sure no one else sells where I refuse. Dante has a huge stake in this industry, and once I have control of that . . .”

“God knows where it will end,” she whispered. Was he not powerful enough without a vast array of weapons at his command? “No one person should have power like this. . . .”