Midnight Blues (4 page)

Chilled air enveloped the table as Tragedy’s mouth went slack. Her eyelids drooped over dilated pupils. A ghostly copy of her own face, much younger and decorated with small cuts and artful bruising, masked her features for a moment before it faded.

“Who?” Donatien prompted.

“Caroline,” she whimpered. “The babysitter.”

“I gather she was a redhead. How terribly apt, that you named yourself for what she made of you.” Donatien released her hand. It was near dawn, and he had so much more to accomplish before the night’s work was finished. “You will do.”

Her lids lifted a fraction. “You’ll mean, you’ll let me hurt her? You’ll watch?”

“I regret that she is probably beyond your limited abilities to inflict suffering, Tragedy. Fortunately, I am willing to serve as your tutor.” Donatien gestured to Butcher, who had been hovering within fawning range. “We will need to use the former owner’s private playroom for a time. While I am occupied, lock the doors and don’t permit anyone to leave.”

The club’s new manager looked confused. “We close at five a.m., Your Excellency.”

Donatien smiled. “Not tonight, dear boy.”

Lucan resisted the weariness that dawn had draped over him and listened to Samantha breathe. Accustomed as she was to working all night and sleeping through the day, even as she had during her human life, she still fell asleep quickly and rarely stirred.

He propped himself up on one elbow to stare down at her. His long, tall goddess had a magnificent body, and used it to give him an outrageous amount of pleasure, but her face equally fascinated him. The first time he had seen Samantha, he had been dumbfounded by the striking resemblance she bore to his long-dead love, Frances. It had taken time for him to see past the face and come to know Samantha for who she was, and by then he had forgotten the ghosts of his past.

Frances had been a lovely, feminine woman, all soft curves and gentle colors as befitted a female of her time. Samantha’s toned, disciplined body sang of the beauty and self-control of a modern-day female warrior. Lucan had yearned after Frances from afar like a lovesick boy, never acknowledging her indifference to him. He had been shattered by Samantha’s selfless love for him, and had done his best to destroy it—only to discover its strength and resilience.

That Samantha had survived their courtship was a miracle; near the end of it she had been shot by a determined stalker. Ending that vermin’s life had been one of the few joys Lucan had ever derived from his own lethal gift. Then he had done something even worse to save the woman he loved.

Alexandra Keller, the only person to survive the transition from human to Kyn in six hundred years, had been furious when Lucan had used her blood to save Samantha. It should have poisoned her, but the terrible gamble had paid off, and miraculously Samantha had become, like Alexandra, an immortal.

That such a brave and selfless woman would choose to spend that eternity with someone like him… that was the true miracle.

“Are you done inspecting me?” Samantha asked, her eyes still closed. “I’ve got to pull a double shift on this case, and I’d like to get some sleep before noon.”

A miracle that often turned and slapped at him when he least expected it. “Allow me my harmless diversions, love.” He ran a fingertip over the curve of her chin. “They keep me out of trouble.”

“You’re not the one being ogled while you sleep.” She turned her face away. “Is it really that much fun to watch me snore?”

“You don’t snore.” Lucan sifted his fingers through her dark chocolate hair, admiring the way the silky strands clung to his skin. Only with Samantha did he dare leave off his gloves. “You do, on occasion, drool a bit.”

Her head turned, and hazel-green eyes glared at him. “I never drool.”

“Shall I show you the wet patches on your pillow tonight?” He grinned as she pushed him over onto his back and straddled him. “Well, perhaps not.”

Lucan ran his hands down her arms, watching the reaction on her face as his talent played along the nerves beneath her skin. Samantha’s transition had been, like Alex’s, unusual. Kyn talent still affected her, and she was slower to heal. Although an unusual psychic ability from her human life—the power to read the past through the blood of its victims—remained intact, she had yet to show her true Kyn talent. She also had an annoying habit of routinely placing herself into harm’s way.

He could not allow her to do so with Donatien in his territory.

She nudged his ribcage with her knees. “Hello. Aren’t you tired yet?”

“Not with you.” Since they both slept naked, he only had to lift her hips to work his cock into her. She made a soft sound as she surrounded him in damp, tight heat. “Never with you.”

Lucan sat up, holding her in place with his arms, so that they were face-to-face and he moved deeper inside her. Her hips jerked as the soft heat of her melted around him, clasping and caressing him at the same time. He had taken countless women over the course of his long life, and not one of them had felt this good, this right. No one could make him feel this safe.

If he lost her, it would be the end of him.

“Hey.” Samantha brought his hands to her breasts, covering them with her own, her eyes darker now. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.” He flipped her onto her back, keeping himself lodged high inside her as he urged her long, strong legs up and up. When the back of her calves pressed against his shoulders, he withdrew almost to the point of disengaging their bodies, and then teased her a little with the head of his cock. When she tried to counterthrust and force him back inside her, he spread his hand over the faint curve of her lower belly and pinned her.

Samantha’s body began to shake. “Not fair.”

“Love rarely is,” Lucan agreed, and kissed her, sliding his tongue between her lips as he pushed slowly back inside her body.

Making love with Samantha was something he preferred to do with a decided amount of leisure, but he sensed the quivering of her muscles was not solely due to passion. He took her quickly to a hot, hard climax, and then drew her back down, stroking into her gently until they came together. She whispered his name as she drifted off, her body going limp with satisfaction.

When Lucan felt sure that she truly slept, he eased out of their bed, dressed and went down to his office.

Herbert Burke, Lucan’s tresora, sat at the desk sorting through the night’s sales slips. He looked up as Lucan entered. “Master, is something the matter?”

“Not for long.” Lucan closed the door. “Where is Rafael?”

“He called from Miami about thirty minutes ago,” Burke said, retrieving his note pad to read from it. “He said to tell you that he has the young lady from the convent, and will bring her to you tonight.”

“He must have had trouble with her.” Lucan paced for a moment. “Contact Cyprien and make him aware that the Marquis is alive and hunting in America.”

“The Marquis.” Burke paled under his new tan. “Surely not, Master. The historic accounts, they all say that—”

“I know what the books say, and they are wrong.” Lucan saw a crack divide one of the lenses in Burke’s spectacles, and put a tight leash on his temper. “Forgive me. My concern is for Samantha. Kyn talent still affects her. If he came here, if he touched her…”

“He would not dare.” Dark color flagged the smaller man’s cheeks.

“We must see to it that he does not.” Lucan went to his wall safe and took out a small aluminum case. He handed it to Burke. “While Samantha is sleeping, replace all of the ammunition in her weapons with these rounds.” He selected a .44 Magnum from the safe and carefully loaded it. Copper bullets wouldn’t kill the Marquis, but they might slow him down. He put the gun back in the safe. “Cancel the Halloween events, close the club until further notice, and put everyone on patrol. If they see the Marquis, they are only to call in his location. No one is to confront him or go within his sight. Make that very clear to the men.”

“I will advise them immediately.” Burke removed his cracked glasses and replaced them with a spare pair he always carried. “Master, you should not go hunting by yourself.”

“I work better alone, Herbert.” He checked the cartridges for the tranquilizer pistol Alexandra Keller had left behind for him. He had no idea if the drug she had invented to sedate the Kyn would work on Donatien, but he would take it as well. “Wake me before sunset. I will track him from the convent.”

“Master.” Worry etched Burke’s mild features. He glanced at his hands. “Can you stop him?”

Lucan had promised his sygkenis he would never again use his talent to harm anyone. He had no more stomach for the work, either. But Donatien had been a walking plague for too long, and it was past time to bury him. “I will try, Herbert. I will try.”

R
afael often found his double life a tribulation. Being both cop and seneschal, human protector and Kyn servant meant that his duties ate up nearly every moment of his waking hours. Now in addition to solving a murder and catching a madman, he had to protect a young nun who had tried to jump through a third story window to escape him.

Some days
, Lucan would say,
it does not pay to rise from one’s silk sheets
.

For months after Michael Cyprien, the seigneur over all the American jardins, had sent Lucan to serve as suzerain over south Florida, Rafael had contemplated leaving America and returning to Spain. The jardin should have been his, not Lucan’s. He had taken care of the Kyn in the southernmost part of the country for decades. It was neither just nor appropriate that an outsider be given rule over them all.

As lofty and unfriendly as Lucan could be, no master proved a mystery to his seneschal, and over time Rafael had come to know the man behind the façade. As Richard’s former chief assassin, Lucan had been a victim of his talent, which had made him one of the most deadly Kyn alive. It had also scarred his soul in terrible ways. He had come to America to escape his past and begin a new life, and for all his posing and sarcasm, Lucan had proven to be a fair and worthy master. He slipped into the role of suzerain with indecent ease, and made an excellent, if somewhat unorthodox, leader. Lucan’s power naturally commanded respect, but he had gone to great lengths to establish a true suzerainty, one that was improving life for the Kyn of the Jardin Noir.

Rafael felt little surprise over those who had been quick to forget him and pledge their loyalties to Lucan. He had never inspired them the way Lucan did, and if that occasionally made him feel bitter, he had learned to accept that as well.

“Would you please turn off the light now?” a small voice called from his bed. “I won’t try to run again.”

Rafael drew the curtains and secured the bedroom door before allowing the light created by his talent to fade. It should have felt strange to have her here—he never brought women to the apartment—but he liked seeing her under his sheets. So much so that he kept ten feet between him and the bed. “Why did you run from me? If you had gone through that window, you might have broken your neck.”

The girl sat up and rubbed the side of her face. “I was afraid. I thought you might belong to him.”

“To whom? Donatien?”

She straightened. “You do know him.” Her gaze swept the room, pausing only on the windows and the door. Finding her boundaries, Rafael realized, and seeking avenues of escape.

“I did, once.” How had someone so young and unworldly come to know such a creature? “He killed the man and left him in front of the convent.”

“If you know what he can do, then you must help me.” She pushed the covers away and discovered she was handcuffed. “Remove these and call a taxi from me. I can go directly to the airport. There is an open ticket waiting for me there.” She held out her wrists. “Please. He will sleep for the most of the day.”

Rafael saw two, barely-healed wounds on her wrists. Was she, like Bridget and the other women, a stigmatic? “You must stay here until we can catch him. You are quite safe with me.”

She laughed, a raw, tight sound. “Then you do not know Donatien at all, Detective.”

“Rafael.” The wildness in her eyes made him forget about keeping his distance, and he went to stand at the side of the bed. Dried lavender perfumed her habit and veil, but beneath it he caught the soft, delicate scent of her skin. He had not yet fed, and felt the ache of hunger and something darker in his fangs. “Tell me your real name.”

“Dani. Daniela Nieves.”

Daniela Nieves, Daniel A. Nieves. It couldn’t be a coincidence. “Either you are named for your father, or you own The Sisters of the Annunciata.”

“I am the owner in name only.” She twisted her wrists. “I don’t like these things. They hurt.” Her expression turned puzzled. “Do you think I’m going to attack you?”

“No. Stop fighting them.” He put his hand over the short chain between her wrists. Being alone with her and having her completely at his mercy brought temptation, so unexpected and ravenous that he nearly tugged her into his arms. But he would not feed on a nun, nor would he seduce one. “I will remove the handcuffs as soon as you tell me how you have become involved with Donatien. The truth,” he added when she began to reply. “Not another pretty story you think I will believe.”

She tucked her chin in and scooted into a sitting position. “You won’t believe it.”

He borrowed one of Samantha’s favorite phrases. “Try me.”

“Before I came to America, I lived in Argentina.” Daniela pulled her knees up and hugged them with her cuffed arms. “Donatien came to our village one night, looking for young and lovely ones. Women and men; he wanted them all. He kept coming back for more.” She glanced at him. “You have seen him with people—you know how he is, how he looks, how he makes them feel?” He nodded. “They went to him like ants to wild honey.”

“He killed these people.”

“I don’t know. They never came back.” Daniela’s head drooped, and she began speaking in Spanish. “Some tried to run away, but he would find them and bring them back. There were screams and laughter in the night. The air always smelled of dead fires. He came and he came until the young and lovely ones were gone, and then he took the others. Until I was the only one left.”