Burning (Brotherhood of the Blade Trilogy #1) (6 page)

“
I don’t know how to live without Rudolph. What am I going to do?”

“
One day at a time, kiddo. For now, just belt out the torch songs, and leave the vampire hunting to me.”

“
We could both kill—”

“
No,” I said. “I’ll take down Vlad. Grief takes away the fierce edge that we need to actually kill. Sorrow is never as strong as hate and revenge.”

“
I see you understand the psychology of vampire hunting.”

“
I could teach a class on the subject. So...you be the bait. Let me take care of Vlad.”

“
If you can’t take him down, I’ll jump into the fray.” She put a hand over the silver heart pendant around her neck that was hinged to fold into a scythe-shaped weapon.

“
If I can’t take him, you’ll do no such thing. This guy does not play around. He is
evil incarnate
.”

“
I have the second-highest record of kills of our group, after Rudolph. Don’t underestimate the Sisterhood of the Scythe.”

“
Is that what you call yourselves?”

“
Yes.”

“
You work in teams? Who’s your current partner?”

“
Ambra.
She’s my temporary partner but we try to have man-woman partners.”

“
That sounds sexist, but you can explain later. Is Ambra here? What does she look like? I don’t want to hurt her by accident.”

“
She’ll be here. Don’t worry, she’s more deadly than any of the Brotherhood of the Blade. Just don’t get between her and any vampire.”

“
Good to know.”

“
She’s the female version of you: Scandinavian blonde, blue eyes, lean, athletic body. She’ll be dressed all in black.”

“
Gotcha. I’ll keep my eye out. Listen, Gabrielle. I suspect Vlad is probably the most dangerous vampire on the planet after Nero and Delilah. If I fail, you will
not
stay and fight. You will
run
.”

“
I don’t run from vampires.”

“
Even if you’re losing?”

“
We give no quarter. It’s who we are.”

A crew member unlocked the doors and people began to file in and seat themselves on bar stools at the high-top tables. Most of them carried in mixed drinks with paper umbrellas.

Gabrielle put a Gauloise in her mouth but didn’t light it. She sucked on it a couple of times and threw it back in her evening clutch purse. For some stupid reason, the red ring of lipstick around the cigarette gave me the chills.

Suddenly, I knew
he
was there. I couldn’t see him when the house lights went down, but I smelled him.
Vlad.

“
Show time,” I said.

Chapter Eight

“
Il est ici
?” she whispered.

“
Yes, he’s here,” I whispered back, picking up on her meaning. “But...I’m here, too.
Je suis aussi ici
.” Yes, indeed, my high school French was coming back.

I fiddled with the light show machine as the house grew packed and people murmured. Luckily, the light show was pre-programmed and was simple to operate.

She looked scared as her eyes searched the audience.

My adrenaline rose up like bile in my throat. So did my fear factor.

Fear is good,
I reminded myself.
Fear keeps you alive.

And it had...through all these years.

Tonight’s emcee, a crew member, came up to the stage. He grabbed a loose mic, flipped the “on” switch and tapped it a couple of times with a fingernail to test the sound. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

Everyone started clapping and whistling. When the applause died down, he said, “Tonight, we welcome a Paris-born chanteuse, who now resides in a castle in Switzerland. Yes, a castle, folks. Jealous much? Anyway, she is going to entertain you with classic French torch songs from her newest album,
Paris, Paris
. Please put your hands together for the incomparable Gabrielle Dubois!”

Amid applause, I flipped the switch on the light show and also hit the recorded soundtrack. I tried not to be mesmerized by the incredible sounds from my dead brother’s lover as her singing voice rippled across the room like a heavy curtain of raw silk.

She sang her heart out in French. Tears shimmered in her eyes and the light caught them. Seeing and hearing her pain—even after all of these years—opened up fresh wounds for me, too.

I occasionally pressed a button on the light show box to switch the special effects and colors for each song. Her repertoire was taped to the box, so it was pretty easy to deal with the mechanics of the light show and the soundtrack was just like karaoke. Simple.

Suddenly, my nose twitched. It told me that there was more than one vampire in the nightclub besides Vlad. They each had their own distinct smells and layered undernotes. I saw Vlad sitting in the back row in a threadbare, dirty tux and he was even wearing
a cape
. I knew it was him because he looked just like the creep in the historical portraits. Long nose, pointed chin, narrow face. Black eyes. I could be wrong—and I hoped like hell I was—but saliva appeared to be dripping from the corners of his mouth as he watched Gabrielle sing. Like a salivating dog waiting to be fed. Jesus. I was tempted to rush the vampire and kill him, but not yet. Too many people could be hurt or killed.

I hadn’t had time to plan for this kill, and so I spent my time planning now. Mulling through probabilities. I knew there was a strong likelihood of collateral damage. I preferred discreet kills with no witnesses. I knew that after the show, when the crowd filed out, Vlad would rush the stage to try to kill Gabrielle. In memory of
his
lover, Elizabeth Bathory.

Holy hell, what had I gotten myself into?

I would be running interference at that point, a tall, slender blonde guy with spiky hair. As far as the other vampires went, they were young ones—not in years but in experience—perhaps their first feeding hadn’t yet established them. I chalked them up as recently turned vampires without much strength. I concentrated my attention on Vlad.

His immense lust for Gabrielle’s blood made me sick, as I could smell his desire—it was a sulfurous burned smell, one which I had not previously smelled. Where the hell had he been hiding all this time?

In all of the years I had hunted vampires, this was my first true
historical
vampire.

With all of her brave heart, Gabby kept belting out the torch songs, singing for the vampire. Her eyes were fixed right on Vlad the Salivator. Damn, she was amazingly collected and calm, even seducing him with those songs. My silver-tipped arrows were taped to my shaved calves and I had practiced getting to them fast and throwing them like darts. My preference was the crossbow, but it was not an easy thing to replace on a cruise ship.

By the time Gabrielle was singing her encore, the crowd was sitting in a rapt horseshoe shape, with the humans blocking the vampires, each of whom were very distinctive in their scents.

Vlad smelled of old age.
Truly.
I guess if I was five hundred and something, I would stink, too. If he’d ever used soap in his existence, I couldn’t smell a shred of it. Not even a hint of a bar of Dial, nor hand soap from the men’s room. He was a filthy wretch who was oblivious to his own reek. I wondered if he had a water phobia like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Worse than that, his breath smelled of iron-rich blood. Those poor blood slaves. I wondered if I could save them after I dispatched this despicable creature to hell in the hand basket that he so richly deserved.

Gabrielle sashayed on the stage, swaying to the music she sang. Every eye in the house, female, too, was on her provocative figure and ruby-red lips.

I inhaled through my nose and held it, let it out slowly, and analyzed it. What I smelled on Vlad was far more offensive than anyone else I had ever been close to. Vlad smelled of fear and loathing, and not the Las Vegas kind that plagued fake Elvises, but the kind that came from hanging about with demons and wraiths. I shuddered at the company he kept.

As Gabrielle came closer and closer to the end of her show, I got ready—now she was singing
Sous le ciel de Paris
and the audience was wrapped around her little finger.

It was hard not to be swept away into her cover story, that she was here as a famous entertainer. I hoped she was as good at killing vampires as she was at singing like she was channeling Édith Piaf. Vampires and humans alike were riveted. Hell, even
I
was riveted.

No wonder Rudolph had been so taken with her. She was a passionate
artiste
—her voice oozed sensuality, loss and hope, all in the same breath. Gabby had perfect pitch and a tremulous quality as she held out the notes like tender offerings. She held the audience spellbound, including Vlad the Impaler, whose fangs were half extended and dripped stringy red-gold saliva—he had likely bitten his own tongue in his lust for the taste of blood.

I tried not to look too hard in his direction, though, of course, I saw his golden eyes occasionally flicker over me with mild concern, as if there was a cockroach in the room that he needed to go stomp when the music ended.

The hair rose on the back of my neck as her performance reached its peak. I smelled adrenaline from the vampires, too, all of them. It was daunting. The attack might happen at any moment, even if the room wasn’t cleared of spectators.

Ambra, the woman in black who could have passed for a cousin, sidled up to me in the dark. I felt her warm hand pass me something heavy, rectangular and solid. It was a business card made of the thinnest silver with information engraved on it. I immediately put it in my wallet.

“Ambra Von Arx. Nice to meet you. Your business card is made of silver?”

“
That’s how I convince people to keep my business cards.” She winked and moved off, working her way toward the other side of Gabby. Ambra moved like a cat, very feline and graceful, yet powerful. We stayed close together, keeping Gabby between us.

When Gabrielle ended the show, I imagined that the four vampires in the room would rush the four of us vampire hunters, as soon as the other human beings left.

The prickle of imminent danger was in the air.

Vlad was probably a hundred times stronger and smarter than any other vampire on the planet, even Samantha Moon, because this guy was complete and utter evil—he had five hundred years of experience in sucking non-consensual necks.

After the umpteenth applauded encore and the emcee thanking Gabrielle for a great show, everyone cleared out but the four vampires, Gabby, me, Lucas, and Ambra. They stood and looked at us. We got ready to rumble.

Lucas pulled a long silver dagger out of his right boot. Out of his left boot he drew a small silver hammer with silver spikes. He had a weapon in each hand. I quickly got an arrow in each hand and then, before one breath went by, the vampires rushed us.

Unfortunately, things went worse than expected.

Thinking you are ready and being ready are two different things. It didn’t take us long to figure out that the vampires were all wearing Kevlar vests under their shirts. Not one prick of silver penetrated their vests—not my arrows, not the women’s scythes, and not the big guy’s spiked silver hammer nor his silver blade drawn out of his right boot.

I never even got close to killing Vlad.

As I turned to plunge a silver-tipped arrow into the neck of the closest minion, a flash of pain exploded against the side of my head, sending me sprawling across the floor. I was just turning over, just preparing for the same vampire to hurl himself on me, when I saw my attacker now fleeing with Gabrielle.

The vampires, to my amazement, didn’t drink from us. No, they seemed intent on kidnapping Gabby. Why were we not all dead? Did vampires now kidnap their victims? It was not the
modus operandi
I’d expected.

As we scrambled up off the floor, Ambra, Lucas and I barreled down the narrow corridor after the vamps who had dragged Gabby away, kicking and screaming. They were damn fast—too fast for us. Gone in the maze of corridors. We split up to try and locate them.

I wasn’t holding my breath.

As I was clambering down the stairs, something strong and fast slammed into me. I had a suspicion what that strong and fast thing was. Even as I was rebounding off the stairwell wall, I pulled free one of my silver-tipped arrows.

It was a lowly vampire henchman. A newbie, as I think of them. Still, newbies are deadly, and it took all my skill and a little luck to avoid a clawed hand that went straight for my throat. And, as I ducked, I drove the arrow up into his gut. I’d missed his heart, so he would live. He gasped and doubled over—and hung onto me. Forced me back against the stairwell wall.