Chosen by Sin (14 page)

She rose from the bed, her finger pointing at him in her own warning.
“Watch yourself, vamp. My husband is the President of the United States. He’s a
little busy running the country.”

“Too busy to fuck well? Then he’s got his priorities wrong. Now, I’ll
ask one more time. Does the Quorum have a job for me, or not?”

She jerked on a silk purple robe and belted it before answering.
“Not…yet. We’re assessing our options. Believe it or not, Zeph, you don’t have
us completely fooled. Isaac might trust you, but I’m not convinced you’re not
playing us. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt for now, but we’ll
call you when we have need of you. Until then, you’re free to stay here while I
return to Washington D.C.”

“Here” meaning the expensively furnished penthouse condo in one of the
ritziest neighborhoods in Manhattan. Everything about it screamed class and
affluence, things that were normally very important to a vamp like him. Given
its owner, he’d rather stick knives in his eyes and burn in the sun.

“Thanks, but I’ll be seeking my amusement elsewhere. Don’t wait too
long to contact me. I grow bored really fast. You might just find I’ve picked
up new allies in the meantime.”

PARIS, FRANCE

“What kind of weird-ass woo-woo shit have you gotten me into, Mahone?”
Dex mumbled to himself, shaking his head as he exited the church. He looked
around for Trosseau but saw no sign of him. Figured. The guy and his informant
were probably miles away by now. Maybe Trosseau hadn’t been surprised by the
presence of the other shape-shifters, after all. And how coincidental was it
that those very same shape-shifters had urged Dex to seek out his own “kind” when
he already had plans to do so? Granted, his plans were for a nefarious purpose,
but what the hell did “
Obserwować Demonie Krawcy
” mean? He didn’t even know what language that was.

He started down the exterior stairs but then spotted Trosseau’s red
hair about twenty feet away. “Hey, Trosseau,” Dex called out.

The shape-shifter ran toward him. Fast. When he got close, Dex noticed
his eyes gleaming with some kind of unholy light. What the hell? The guy looked
stoned out of his mind. As if he’d been possessed by something not just deadly,
but purely evil.

Just as the shape-shifter was about to grab him, Dex twirled, evading
his grasp at the same time he brought up his legs in a scissor kick that caught
the shape-shifter in the face, knocking his red glasses askew. Instead of
staggering back the way he should have, however, the shape-shifter barely
flinched. Swiftly, Dex reached for his knife just as Trosseau grabbed his arm
and head butted him in the face.

Pain blinded Dex for several precious seconds, allowing Trosseau to get
his hands around Dex’s throat. Trosseau squeezed, and the power behind his grip
was greater than any creature Dex had encountered, including superhuman vamps.
Gasping for breath, he stared into Trosseau’s eyes. “Tro—sseau,” he choked
out.

The shape-shifter’s eyes flickered and cleared, as if he had
momentarily regained sanity and awareness. His fingers loosened. “Hunt?”

Dex closed his fingers around the hilt of his blade. “Yes. I’m
Dex-fucking-Hunt. Now let me—”

Shit. The shape-shifter’s expression had morphed again. His eyes
brightened with blood lust and his fingers tightened once more. Dex managed to
pull out his knife and was about to plunge it into Trosseau’s gut when—

“Argh.” Trosseau’s body jerked.

Almost simultaneously, something pricked Dex’s sternum, as if it had
passed through Trosseau’s body and barely missed penetrating his.

Wincing, Trosseau let go of Dex and grabbed at his chest.

Dex hadn’t heard anything, couldn’t see anything resembling a weapon
having struck Trosseau, but blood sprayed out of the shape-shifter’s chest and
all over him. As Trosseau went limp, Dex cursed, shoved his knife back into its
sheath, grabbed Trosseau by his shirt, and whirled in an attempt to get them
under cover. If he could get behind one of the stone columns at the church
entrance…

Within seconds, something hit him in the shoulder, something with the
familiar feel of steel sinking into skin. Only when he lifted his hand, nothing
protruded from his flesh. Blood coated his hand, a dark, translucent stain. Dex
kept moving until he bypassed the columns. He shoved the shape-shifter through
the front doors of the church and then pulled them shut. Diving to his left, he
wrenched off his jacket, sweeping it around him like a matador’s cape. He cursed
as the fabric jumped in several places.

He somersaulted, then took cover behind one of the building’s front
columns. He removed his knife from its sheath again, but swore again. This
wasn’t close arm-to-arm combat, but a sneak attack by someone or something that
could be hiding several yards away. But who was it? One of the three
shape-shifters from inside? Damn. He needed to get to Trosseau. Find out what
the hell had happened to make Trosseau freak out on Dex. Find out where
Trosseau’s informant was hiding and what Trosseau had meant about “bridging.”
But he wasn’t just going to run inside and leave the bastards to think he was
running from them. No chance in hell.

He scanned the perimeter, and still seeing nothing, he lifted his
jacket and felt carefully within its folds. Several small sharp objects clung
to the fabric. He pulled out what looked like small throwing stars, smaller
than any he’d ever seen. But they weren’t made of metal. Rather, they resembled
some kind of natural material. Almost like the stone façade of the church.
Smooth yet rough. Like the details on the crocodile wrapped around the
Archangel’s legs. Fossils? Scales? What the—

“Dex Hunt!”

The shout came from down the steps, a deep but timorous voice that had
Dex’s brows climbing. Was there anyone in Paris who didn’t know who the hell he
was?

“I just saved your ass from that shape-shifter. The least you can do is
come out. I won’t harm you.”

“What? You run out of your little throwing stars?” he yelled back.

“Look for yourself.”

Cautiously, Dex peeked around the column. A man stood at the bottom of
the steps. The dude was wearing nothing but a kilt.

“Unless you think I’ll shoot them out from my dick, I assure you,
you’re safe.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Okay. How about this—Jesmina sent me.”

Shock upon hearing her name made him jerk. Jesmina? Seriously? How the
hell would she even know he was here? Instantly, he wondered if she’d had
anything to do with the shape-shifters’ refusal to talk to him. Or with
whatever the hell had possessed Trosseau. The last time he’d seen her, he’d
been attacked by Rurik. Granted, that had been in a dream, but he definitely
wasn’t dreaming now. “Jesmina, huh? Does she want you to bring me to her with a
heartbeat or without one?”

“I assure you, she most definitely wants you to have a beating heart.”

At the other guy’s words, Dex came out from his cover, his blade in
hand, ready to throw it should the male make one wrong move. The dude was
obviously trained in weaponry. He was also tall, bulky, a weapon in and of
himself. He appeared human…Dex inhaled deeply but couldn’t read his scent.

“We must tend to your wound. The poison in the darts will spread and
disable you—I’m surprised it hasn’t done so already.”

“Exactly what you had in mind, I imagine.” But despite his caustic
words, he could feel himself weakening and struggled not to sway on his feet.

“They weren’t meant for you. You got in my way.”

“The shape-shifter…” He’d gone crazy. Like he’d been possessed. Yes,
there’d been that moment of sanity, but he’d been ready to kill Dex. And he’d
had the abnormal strength to do it, too. “Did you know him?”

“Never seen him before, but he certainly looked pissed. You’re welcome,
by the way.”

Dex glared at him, and the male sighed.

“Look, the shape-shifter is dead. I hit him four times. The poison has
spread throughout his system. You can confirm it for yourself, if you like.
Only quickly, if you don’t want to die.”

Moving slowly, Dex went to the doors through which he’d shoved the
shape-shifter and peeked inside. Sure enough, the shape-shifter was dead. He
hadn’t died pretty either.

The poison had turned his skin a light puce color. His eyes and every
vein on his body were bulging.

Dex really didn’t want to end up looking like that. A quick visual
search outside confirmed there was no sign of the other shape-shifters. Warily,
he turned back to the other male. At some point, the guy had donned a white
linen shirt, boots, and backpack, but he’d kept the kilt. “What, were you
cold?”

The guy shrugged. “A kilt’s easy to get in and out of when I need to
move, but I keep extra clothes with me just in case.”

Since the guy was clearly waiting for Dex to ask “in case what?” he
didn’t. Instead, he confirmed, “So you’re going to take me to Jesmina, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“How did you—how did
she
—know
I was here?”

“She is the one who sent me for you, Mr. Hunt. As to her contacts or
means of information, I would only be guessing.”

“And I should trust you why?”

The male sighed impatiently. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you. Whoever
you are, you managed to make Jesmina happy. At least for a short time, which
for her is still priceless.”

Dex gritted his teeth. “Who are you to her? Besides her retriever?”

He didn’t look insulted by the jab, merely amused. “I’m everything and
nothing.”

“A riddle. Great. And what am I?”

“You, Dex Hunt, are about to find out that we have much in common.
We’re both dualities for her.”

“What duality am I?”

“You are her life and her death.”

“You gonna explain that?”

“I rather think I’ll leave that up to her.”

PALADINE ABBEY

AUVERGNE REGION, FRANCE

Bringing Dex to Jesmina meant traveling several hours by car and then
train. Apparently, it also meant bringing him to an estate fit for royalty.
Jes’s residence put Knox’s well-appointed mansion in the Vamp Dome to complete
and utter shame, which was saying quite a lot. No wonder she’d called him
“were” with such disdain—forget his mixed-race heritage; he was a virtual
peasant compared to the kind of people she must associate with.

She lived in a freaking castle. It was dark out, but the place was
awash with light from hundreds of outdoor lamps. He could clearly make out a
sprawling green lawn. Fancily trimmed hedges. A vast garden with an enormous
iron gazebo and mounds upon mounds of blooming flowers and tall, elegant trees.

Dex and the male who’d finally introduced himself as Cy were just
approaching the front entryway when he heard faint shouts somewhere to the east
of them.

Cy cocked his head and frowned. “This way,” he snapped.

He led Dex to the side of the monstrous estate and to a tall set of
wooden double doors through which the voices and shouts were getting louder.

“What the hell’s going on?” Dex asked.

“Just a regular day in the life of Jes. I told you, she wants to see
you right away. I’m simply following orders.” He smirked, as if he found the
idea of taking orders from Jes humorous, and Dex understood why. In their short
journey to Jes’s home, Dex had learned enough about Cyrus Mead to know he
didn’t take orders from anyone, not unless he had his own reasons.

So what were his reasons for following Jes’s orders? What could Cy
possibly gain from bringing Dex to her?

As Cy reached out to open the wooden doors, Dex girded himself for his
first glimpse of her. He reminded himself that while she might be an immortal
and a loaded one at that, he’d seen her naked. He’d seen her perfect body, but
he’d also seen her imperfections. She’d been self-conscious when he’d bared her
right arm and caught sight of the thick scars that covered it, but her
vulnerability had only made her seem more accessible to him. Which in turn had
made her even more desirable.

But it didn’t matter how much Dex had prepared himself to see her
again. Because Dex’s first glimpse of Jesmina Martin shocked the hell out of
him.

When Cy swept open the big wooden doors, the brightly lit room
immediately reminded Dex of a hospital and he saw Jes covered in blood.
Thankfully, it wasn’t her own, but the five seconds it took his brain to
process that made his heart gallop in horror. Leave it to a vampire to look
classy even with her hands halfway inside someone’s chest.

What also shocked him was the fact she looked nothing like the vibrant
vampire he’d met in the United States. She’d dyed her silver hair dark, but it
wasn’t just that. She looked drained. Weak. Of course, they weren’t in the
United States anymore. Here in Europe, vampires didn’t get to live openly,
which meant she probably spent most of her time indoors, hiding who she was and
what she needed to survive. In addition, although Europe contained far more
immaculates, those humans with pure blood who hadn’t taken the anti-vamp
vaccine distributed by the United States during the War, it must still be hard
to drum up humans willing to give their blood to vampires and at the same time
keep their existence a secret. So maybe that was why she looked weaker. Still,
Dex couldn’t help wondering why she hadn’t just stayed in the United States.

She was in
some kind of operating room that had been devised out of the basement of the
ancient stone building. Like Jes’s hotel room in L.A., the room was simple,
modern, and clean, but instead of a bed it featured a large surgical table and
a host of gleaming surgical tools. Jes glanced up when Dex and Cy walked into
the room, but she didn’t acknowledge him in any way. She struggled to keep her
patient still while another female ran around gathering supplies.