Blood Sin (29 page)

As if at his command, she came with a speed that shook her, pounded over the edge as he reached his own savage climax. She wanted to weep through the shock of physical pleasure, because she understood that he hadn’t meant to tell her this; Luk was his own, hidden pain that he’d intended should remain so. Moved to her core, she arched under him, kissing him now in compassion and love and gratitude. She could only be proud, profoundly glad, if the use of her body had eased some of his pain.

He broke the kiss slowly, still lying over her, still hard inside her as he gazed down into her face. “I’ve waited more than three hundred years and I’ve let it slip away from me twice now, but never doubt that when the time comes I will take it back.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he gave her no time. He thrust once more inside her, a lazy, sensual stroke that caught the fading embers of her orgasm and made her gasp. “And never doubt that I can take you too.”

Oh, Jesus, do it. Give me no choice, no thought; just do it, just let me be with you. . . .
Everything in her leapt to meet his unspoken demand, and yet her sane, thinking self knew even then that it was not a temptation she could follow.

She hugged him to her, her palms flat against his hard back. Then she dragged her hands up to touch his face with her fingertips. “Saloman,” she whispered. “Saloman.”

The fierce passion in his eyes began to fade, leaving them lighter and softer. He rolled off her, pulling her to lie facing him. Much more urbanely, he said, “However, I wouldn’t like you to think I’ll tolerate Dante as a vampire either, with or without my sword.”

“Good,” she said faintly, and his face broke into a full smile that she couldn’t help but return.

The sound of her phone ringing on the bedside table interrupted the moment with all the force of a fire alarm. Reaching over him, she picked it up to switch it off and saw that it was from Mihaela.

Oh, bugger, how far gone am I?
Catching her breath, she pressed receive. “Mihaela? I got your e-mail. . . .”

“It doesn’t matter now,” came Mihaela’s voice, low and urgent, as if she were speaking in front of others she didn’t want to overhear.

Elizabeth pushed herself up on her elbow. “Mihaela, what’s—”

“Dante’s here,” Mihaela interrupted.

Elizabeth’s heart jolted. “In Budapest?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes, but I mean
here
,” came the impatient response. “At headquarters. He’s the Grand Master of the American hunters!”

Elizabeth’s gaze flew to Saloman, lying still and silent by her side. She remembered to breathe again. “So that’s how he knows so much. . . .” She sat up, her mind racing through possibilities. “Has he mentioned the sword?”

“No.” There was a pause, a shuffling sound, as if Mihaela were moving position. Then, in an even lower voice, she continued. “But I’m sure he’s up to something. He’s asked for a team to help with a special job tonight.”

“You don’t know what?” Elizabeth said at once.

“No,” came the rueful reply. “There’s something about him. . . . I wanted no part of whatever he’s up to, and knowing your suspicions . . . Shit, every instinct is against having anything to do with him, so I talked Konrad out of volunteering. He’s not very pleased with me, and maybe he’s right, because if Dante took us at least we’d all know what he was doing.”

“No, your instincts were right,” Elizabeth reassured her. “I very much doubt his loyalties are with the hunter network.”
Are mine?

She pressed her head back into the pillow. Saloman’s hand found her shoulder, kneading the suddenly tense muscles there, and her eyes flew to his. Opaque, unreadable, watchful.
Saloman, Saloman.
They’d go to Budapest together and then . . . There was no point thinking beyond that.

“Thanks, Mihaela. I’ll come over as soon as I can get on a flight. In the meantime, will you call me if you find out what this mission of his is?”

“Sure. I’ll have a word with my colleagues if I can. It’ll be good to see you,” Mihaela added warmly.

Will it? Like this? In bed with the enemy?
Her eyes closed in shame, for hearing Mihaela’s voice brought home to her that she wasn’t just betraying some impersonal ideal that the hunters stood for. She was betraying her friends. She was betraying Mihaela.

Saloman’s arousing hand on her shoulder stilled.
Saloman.
She opened her eyes again and smiled, because she knew that whatever happened, she couldn’t regret the last two days any more than she regretted their previous encounters. If she could choose again, she wouldn’t do it differently. “We can meet you at the airport,” Mihaela was offering.

“No, that’s all right,” she said hastily, and Saloman smiled, running his lips along her shoulder. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

As she ended the call, Saloman lifted his head and met her gaze. “He’s in Budapest,” she said unnecessarily. “What in God’s name took him there? He’s meant to be sick, so it’s not an official visit. . . .” She frowned. “What the hell is there for him in Budapest that he couldn’t find here in America?”

Her breath caught. “You?” she said doubtfully. “He doesn’t know he’s met you. He’d run from Travis’s before you arrived. Could he be looking for you?”

“I doubt that,” Saloman said slowly. “Not for me.”

In one sudden, impossibly fluid movement, he unwound himself from her and rose from the bed. Saloman was always splendid; naked, he was magnificent, and Elizabeth couldn’t drag her gaze away from his long, powerful legs, the graceful, economical movement of his hips, the undulation of muscles across his back and shoulders as he straightened and turned to her. His sheer sexual beauty overwhelmed her, and, in spite of everything, her heart began to drum once more.

“Not for me,” he repeated, his eyes blazing with sudden, frightening fury. “For my blood. He wants to be turned with the blood of an Ancient, however diluted, to give him greater power.” He grabbed up his clothes from the floor. “He’s gone for Dmitriu.”

Chapter Fourteen

D
ante’s only fear as he walked into the Angel on his second night in Budapest was that Dmitriu wouldn’t turn up. He’d laid his plans well, with his volunteer hunter team in hiding, just waiting for his word. The men he’d brought from America for protection, mindless thugs even in his own estimation, were farther back but ready to be called in if necessary—duly primed, of course, that they might see some weird sights. He didn’t want them freaking out and fleeing just when their muscle was required.

The club was busier than on the previous evening. Angyalka, serving behind the bar, gave him a sultry smile of welcome as he approached. “Good evening, sir. What would you like? Bourbon?”

He’d guessed last night she was a vampire. The Hungarian hunters had confirmed that suspicion, and also told him she was the owner of the establishment, and the main reason the club was tolerated. Like Travis’s place in New York, it had been known to the hunters for several months and at one point almost closed down. But they’d decided to leave it in the end, mainly because they’d have had no idea where the next such place would open up if this one vanished. And so the Angel remained, a documented haunt of vampires who could thus be watched. And Angyalka herself tolerated no violence on the premises. The only known fight had erupted during an abortive raid by the hunters to capture the Ancient Saloman.

“Yes, please,” Dante said, and she reached for the bottle. The knowledge of her power, a power he would soon surpass, sent a delightful little frisson through his body.

“Good to see you back,” Angyalka said, but although Dante waited, she said nothing about Dmitriu, merely presented him with his glass and turned to the next customer.

Dante didn’t want to call her back, to show too much eagerness by asking again about Dmitriu. He decided to wait awhile, and turned on his stool to watch the dancers, who, this evening, had a live rock band to gyrate to. Dante hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long—the music did his head in.

“Too loud, eh?” said the man sitting next to him.

Dante smiled. If he said yes he had no excuse for hanging around, and yet his expression must have been pained to elicit the comment. “I’m getting used to it.” He glanced at his companion, unsure whether he had been there when he’d first arrived.

Dante spoke sharply to himself. He mustn’t, he really mustn’t let his guard down in this place. If he let overconfidence in his future mess up the present, then God alone knew what that future would entail.

The man beside him was youngish, maybe in his thirties or very early forties. He had spoken in English and had an intelligent look about him, and since he oozed comfortable amiability rather than threat, Dante figured there were worse ways to pass the time than in conversation.

“You Hungarian?” he asked in his best friendly-stranger-in-town manner.

“Romanian,” the man responded. “I’m Dmitriu, and I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

Everyone’s self-esteem should be given a slap now and then. It woke a person up, kept him on his toes. Unfortunately, in this case, it also made his stomach twist with unexpected nerves.

Fighting it, he stuck out his hand. “Hey, Dmitriu, great to meet you at last. I’m Grayson.”

Dmitriu took his hand in a cool, brief grip and waited. A five-hundred-year-old vampire must have learned a lot of patience.

“You’ve been recommended to me,” Dante said, aiming at forming some kind of trust.

Dmitriu’s dark brows twitched upward. He looked distinctly skeptical. “By whom?”

“Lots of people,” Dante said vaguely; then, as the vampire’s lip curled, he added hastily, “Look, Dmitriu, I won’t beat about the bush here. The bottom line is I have a proposition for you.”

Dmitriu continued to look at him in silence. Dante allowed himself a rueful glance at the band.

“We can’t talk here,” Dante said. “Shall we go somewhere quieter?” For a moment he thought Dmitriu wouldn’t even answer that, wondered if he’d have to bring the hunters and his own men in here.

Then Dmitriu pushed himself off his stool, clearly waiting for Dante to do the same. Dante smiled. He even remembered to call good night to Angyalka while, under pretense of checking in his pocket for wallet and phone, he pressed the “buzzer” the hunters had given him to attach to his phone. Now they’d know he and Dmitriu were on their way.

Dante’s heart thundered with excitement as they made their way down the dingy staircase to the street. Beside him, the vampire Dmitriu, in whose veins flowed the rare and powerful blood of the last Ancient, the owner of the sword himself, walked in careless silence.

Although Dmitriu wasn’t flamboyant and cocky like Travis, Dante wasn’t fooled. He knew Dmitriu was strong and something of an enigma to the hunters; and in fact, his very negligence in leaving the bar with a complete stranger on a such a flimsy pretext spoke of a belief that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—be harmed. Dante was happy to foster that belief for the next couple of minutes.

And then he’d strike. With the sword and the hunters, he couldn’t lose.

“There’s a quiet café down here,” Dante said, turning left at the door. On cue, a solitary hunter turned the far corner and walked toward them. Dante’s skin prickled as he prayed the other two were already approaching from behind. Despite his largely honorary position as Grand Master, he’d had no actual dealings with vampires apart from his two not entirely successful sorties to Travis’s in New York; but he was aware Dmitriu was likely to sense danger, and to react with faster reflexes than any human could hope for.

But so far, at least, he could detect no concern in the body language of the silent vampire beside him. The hunter was maybe ten yards away and closing. And there were only about two more yards to where his inconspicuous car was parked.

Deliberately, Dante shivered. “I’m just going to get my coat from the car, if you don’t mind. The night’s turned a bit chilly.”

Dmitriu inclined his head and halted while Dante unlocked the doors of his car. Casting a surreptitious glance in the direction they’d come from, he saw the two hunters walking smartly behind Dmitriu. Dante bent and felt yet another thrill as he touched the sword, even through Josh’s dad’s old coat, and dragged the bundle toward him.

His heart hammered. Timing was everything here. The hunters’ footsteps were drawing closer. Three, two, one.

Dante yanked the sword free and spun to face the still passive Dmitriu, just as the hunters sprang.

Dante should have known that in a vampire, stillness did not necessarily betoken unpreparedness. And Dmitriu, it turned out, was perfectly prepared. Dante barely saw him move, and yet the two who jumped him from either side were sent flying across the pavement toward Dante, and the third, who managed to dodge Dmitriu’s fist, was felled instead by a vicious kick.

The vampire walked purposefully toward him, and Dante saw that his blazing dark eyes were not amiable at all. The hunters, still stunned, scrabbled sideways out of his path, clearly trying to regather their energy for another attack.