Shadow Rising (5 page)

Except that she acted like she’d been locked in a closet for the last five hundred years.

The swig of alcohol seemed to bolster her a bit. Damien picked up the glass beside his elbow and sipped, intensely interested in what she might say next.

“Are you sure it’s all right to talk about these things here?” she asked quietly. “Out in the open?”

Damien glanced around and smirked. “Relax, kitten. It’s just us and the mortals, and mortals tend to be incredibly stupid as a general rule. They’re not paying attention.”

Her eyes swept the room, which was bustling with life. He was surprised by the regret he saw reflected in them.

“I don’t know any mortals,” she said.

“You’re not missing anything, trust me,” Damien said. “They’re as wretched now as they ever were.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, it seemed. Still, the comment was impossible to ignore, and raised even more questions about this woman when Damien thought he’d answered the only
important one—whether Grigori women were anything like the men. Based on this one, he’d give that a resounding no.

“Let me guess,” Damien said, playing with his glass. “You were raised in a convent, where your innocence was stolen by a vampire masquerading as a priest or monk or something.”

She blinked and gave him a strange look. “No.”

Damien slouched a little and frowned. That had been his best guess. Disheartened, he tried again. “Noblewoman in the Dark Ages tucked away by your father as leverage for an alliance? Kept from court to maintain your innocence, not to mention your maidenhead?”

Now she looked slightly scandalized. “
No.
Why does it—”

“Temple priestess?”

“No!” She said it sharply enough to turn a few heads in their direction. He watched her realize it, blow out an exasperated breath, and then lean in closer to speak so no one else could hear.

“Stop guessing. You’re only getting more insulting and not any closer to being right. My past is none of your business.”

“Damn it.” Damien drummed his fingertips on the bar. “And you’re
sure
you weren’t a nun?”

She gave an irritated little growl that he found incredibly entertaining. Grigori or no, she was far easier to get a rise out of than any vamp he’d met. No wonder she’d taken off. Being the only interesting person in a sea of uptight and boring had to be crazy-making.

Though right now, he seemed to fall into that category for her as well.

“Why do you care? Why are you even still here?” she asked. “If you’re not going to turn me in, I’d think a Shade would have better—well, maybe not better, but
other
—things to do.”

His lips curved up into a smile. “I do, in fact. I’m looking for your missing blood brother, Sammael.”

The news didn’t go over well, if the angry flash of her fangs was any indication.

“You waste your time. We take care of our own. The Grigori don’t need outside help.”

Damien chuckled softly. “Don’t you qualify too? You’re not exactly authorized to be running around playing detective, are you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. It was as plain as day on her lovely face. It surprised him. Grigori did not defect, they didn’t disobey the leadership, and they didn’t just get something in their heads and go act on it. It was hard to imagine this nervous and slightly awkward beauty being a “fight the power” type. Still, he was well aware that looks could be deceiving.

“No need to worry, kitten. If Sammael is out there to be found, I’ll find him. The pay’s too good to fail.”

“Who’s paying you to interfere? Another dynasty?”

Damien gave a short, sharp laugh. “Sariel, by way of some hulking lackey who was sent to work the deal.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Impossible,” she hissed when she’d collected herself enough to speak. “They sent Oren. Why would they need you?”

“That’s easy. Because I’m the best,” Damien replied, enjoying her outrage while he took another sip of his martini. “This Oren must be pretty worthless, since I haven’t seen him. Oh, and before you accuse me of lying about all this”—he held up a finger when she opened her mouth
to speak—“I’ve got a dossier of information provided by your leader, as well as some Atlantean diamond being dangled as a prize. Besides, how else would I have known about you?”

She didn’t seem to have an answer for that. Her frown deepened, and her lips pursed ever so slightly. Damien was possessed of the sudden, intense urge to lean over, take her full bottom lip into his mouth, and suckle it. His body stirred in response. Damned if he wasn’t getting hard for her already.

“A hired thug,” she finally said. “I don’t even know what to say. If the ancient ones needed more help, there were plenty of our own who would have answered the call.” The disgust written so clearly across her face pricked at Damien’s pride more sharply than it had any right to. It surprised him and, like most things that caught him off guard, sparked his temper.

“Like you?” Damien asked, letting his contempt show through. “Yes, I can see you’ve got it all under control. Your situational awareness is awe-inspiring. What
could
they have been thinking, leaving you behind?”

He knew the instant the words were out of his mouth that he shouldn’t have said them. Years of working among thieves and killers had sharpened his tongue and shortened his fuse, but none of his associates ever paid much attention. They were all like that. The Grigori woman, however, reacted as though he’d slapped her in the face. She inhaled sharply, sitting up straighter. And though she still wore her innocence like some invisible mantle, Damien saw he’d misjudged a bit about her spine.

There was more to this one than looking like some delicate, ethereal flower. And he was busy royally screwing
up any chance he might have had at getting his hands on her in any meaningful way. He was charming, damn it! She was supposed to notice!

Of course, she might have if his mouth hadn’t gotten in the way.

She motioned to the bartender, who brought her a check that she glanced at quickly before slipping a few bills out of the slim black clutch resting on the bar. Damien watched, feeling an unfamiliar hunger when she managed a brilliant smile for the bartender, who all but melted in return. Damien’s lips thinned. So she’d smile for a worthless mortal, but not for him…

She appeared to be collecting herself to say something, and when she finally turned her attention back to him, Damien saw he’d been right: There was absolutely nothing delicate about the wounded fury that blazed at him. There was plenty of power beneath the pretty trappings, too, easily seen now that her control had slipped just a little. The question was whether she really knew how to use it. He’d never met a vampire who’d seemed quite so innocent at first blush, so sheltered.

It was a puzzle he couldn’t begin to figure out, and one he knew he’d be turning over in his mind long after she walked away from him… which she seemed in a hurry to do.

“You think you’ll find Sam because they’re paying you. But I know I’m going to find him, because I actually care.” Her voice quivered slightly, but there was steel in her eyes.

Another first for him: strong emotion from a Grigori. Interesting.

“Kitten, I hate to tell you this, but caring doesn’t
count for much. It tends to be more hindrance than help.” Damien heard the sound of regret in his own voice and immediately tried to pull it back, lock that part of himself back down. Sympathy, empathy… they had no place in his life. In
any
vampire’s life. He was telling her the truth, even if she didn’t want to hear it.

“Don’t call me that. I’m not a kitten, and I’m not your pet,” she snapped. “It doesn’t matter what you think about it. I wouldn’t expect a man like you to understand.”

It stung him, another surprise, and an unpleasant one.
A man like him?
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Damien watched her rise, feeling a little like she’d just slid a sharp blade between his shoulders. The pain was just as sharp, and just as unexpected.

He caught her hand in his before he could think better of it, rising to stand only inches from her. Her skin was cool and silken, and Damien pulled her closer. She was surprised into compliance, and Damien used the momentary advantage to move in, murmuring directly into her ear.

The desire that made him shiver at her nearness was nonsensical. He knew it. But Damien could no more fight the sudden attraction than he could just let her walk away. And once again, he found himself using that gentle, unfamiliar tone.

“Wait,” he said softly. “Don’t go storming off. You… surprise me. Grigori aren’t exactly known for their deep emotional attachment to one another, you know.”

He could feel the tension thrumming through her, but she made no move to break away from him. She turned her head slightly to respond, and Damien knew that to an outsider, the two of them looked like lovers, about to go home and do unspeakable things to one another.

I wish
, he thought. Instead, he now had the very sharp point of a small dagger biting insistently into his abdomen.

“You know nothing about my kind,” she said, “and you underestimate me. Try and turn me in if you want, Mr….”

“Damien,” he said, amused again at her formality. “Damien Tremaine. It’s not ‘Mr.’ anything. And if you make me bleed on my new shirt, I’m going to be very put out.”

“Damien, then,” she continued. “You can try to turn me in, but they won’t catch me. This is too important. I don’t know what’s going on, but I intend to find out… whether or not you try to get in my way.”

“I believe you can count on that…
kitten
. And next time we meet, I’ll be stealing that terrible wig.”

She pulled back just enough for him to see her eyes flash angrily as she yanked her hand out of his. He caught just a glimpse of silver as she slipped the dagger back into… gods above and below, was that a
garter
?

“My name is Ariane, not
kitten
,” she hissed. “You won’t find me so amusing if our paths cross again. Good night.”

With that warning, she spun on one sexy, spindly high heel and clipped away on those long legs of hers. Damien watched her go, hungrily taking in every tight little swish of her ass as she headed out the door. He wasn’t alone either. There wasn’t a man in the place who wasn’t drooling into his lap over her.

Bemused and frustrated, Damien settled back onto the bar stool to finish his martini. Her scent lingered around him like a ghost.
Ariane
, he thought. A pretty little kitten with intriguingly sharp claws. He looked forward to
“getting in her way,” as she put it. She might want to avoid him, but he planned to show her just how tenacious he could be when he wanted something.

He wanted to win.

And right now, he wanted her.

chapter
FOUR

S
HE’D HOPED
to sleep him off.

Two nights after her initial encounter with Damien Tremaine, Ariane finally had to admit it wasn’t working. Between her fruitless search for Thomas Manon, who seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth, and restless dreams full of a slim, sandy-haired devil whose mouth she had an unholy fixation on, nothing was going the way it was supposed to. And she’d thought she’d planned for setbacks.

With a frustrated sigh, Ariane adjusted the wig on her head, then stepped back to take a good look at the picture she presented. A little severe, she decided, looking critically at the violet-eyed wraith staring back at her. She’d really prefer another dress like the one she’d borrowed the other night. The black leggings, black V-neck tunic, and black boots were supposedly stylish, but with her coloring and the wig from hell—and damn that obnoxious vamp for being right about it—she looked a little… pale. Still,
the dark color kept her less noticeable. She needed to be able to blend in.

As though that was going to happen.

With an angry little huff of breath, Ariane dragged the hated wig off her head and threw it across the room. She felt an unexpected surge of pleasure. Sure, throwing things was childish, and she’d probably messed up the stupid thing beyond what she could repair, but…

Just getting angry and expressing it had felt
good
. It was a luxury she’d never before had.

“Enough,” she muttered, deciding the wig was staying on the floor. Either she’d find a better one, or she’d just walk around
au naturel
. It wasn’t like she’d been so successful at going incognito anyway.

A quiet knock at the door sounded just as she’d dug her fingers into her hair, freeing it from the tight coil she’d flattened against her head and sending the platinum locks tumbling around her shoulders.

“Ari? You in there?”

The husky voice was both familiar and welcome, spurring Ariane into action. She moved quickly across the small room to answer it. She opened the door a crack and peered out, her face brightening as soon as she saw the petite brunette waiting at the threshold.

“Elena! Come in!”

Elena Santiago, the vampire who ran this safe house for some other vampire called Strickland, one of the more successful lowblood power brokers in the city, lounged against the door frame. Her exotic beauty—waist-length waves of rich chocolate hair, café au lait skin, and curves that could stop traffic—was a convenient cover for a woman who was as tough as the claws she could extend
without warning. Ariane undid the heavy chain that provided a small—very small—barrier to anyone trying to barge in uninvited. Even as inexperienced as she was, she understood that the chain was more of a psychological reassurance than anything. It wouldn’t do a thing to slow a determined vampire. Elena’s eyes, a striking pale green and decidedly feline, widened as the door opened the rest of the way.

“Something wrong?”

Elena blinked and shook herself slightly. “No. No, it’s just… the hair. It caught me off guard. I guess I sort of forgot that the wig was a wig…” She trailed off for a moment, her eyes skimming over every pale wave. “Damn. For a bloodline that’s so big on keeping to itself, the Grigori have an awful lot of ‘look at me’ going on.”