Smoke and Ashes (11 page)

“I don't think…”

“I know.”

Tony waited and when she didn't say any more, he sighed. Of course she heard it, even three thousand miles away. She could hear the blood moving through the hand holding the phone.

“You know I'm right.”

He sighed again. “I guess.”

“Tony…”

“Fine. You're right. Happy?”

“Ecstatic. Let me know how it turns out. Unless, of course, I find out on the news and then you needn't bother.”

“Because then I'll be dead.”

“That's not as much of an excuse as it used to be. Now…you call Henry, I'm going to grab a bite.”

The background moaning grew louder.

 

Henry paused outside the door to Tony's apartment. He could feel the power painted around the frame. He could smell the cherry cough syrup. It seemed that in the weeks since they'd talked, Tony's studies had progressed. And adapted.

Tony had always been adaptable. It had helped him survive on the street. It had helped him accept that the world held wonder and darkness beyond the barriers most people thought marked the edge of reality. It had certainly helped him working in an industry that created yet another reality and very nearly believed in it.

Yes, adaptable was good.

Young, arrogant, prickly, possessive; not so much.

And if Tony didn't exactly go out looking for trouble, he certainly seemed to call it to him.

A noise pulled Henry's attention to the far end of the hall, and he turned in time to see an overweight tabby slip out of the last apartment. The cat's owner kept the door open on the safety chain so that the cat could wander in and out at will. Henry had never met the owner, but he and the cat had come to an understanding months ago.

The tabby's yellow eyes narrowed; he raised his tail and sprayed the wall just outside the apartment door.

Mine.

Henry sighed and raised a hand to knock. That was exactly the sort of welcome he was anticipating.

He could feel a life on the other side of the door. Hear a heart beating. Feel power…When the door opened, he smiled. It was more of a warning than a threat. “Leah Burnett?”

She was no more than five foot five, Mediterranean looking—south side of the inland sea. Almost, but not quite, Arabic. Under black-and-yellow clothing she had the kind of curves most women in this age dieted away. Thick dark hair fell in soft curls just past her shoulders, framing a face with full lips, high cheekbones, and dark eyes narrowed in a frown.

“You're Henry Fitzroy?”

“I am.” He could feel old power clinging to her like smoke. No, not merely old. He was old. This was ancient.

“I thought you'd be taller.”

At six feet, his father had been huge—even before his girth had expanded to fit his ego. At five six, Henry was more typical of his century. “Sorry.”

“No, it's all right. I like a man I can look in the eye without getting a crick in my neck.”

And she
was
looking him in the eye. Wondering what she was trying to prove, he let a little of the mask fall and a little of the Hunger rise.

She smiled in a way that told him she knew exactly what she saw. Then she drew her tongue over her lower lip, leaving it glistening, and tossed her hair back off her face to expose the curve of her throat. Looking up at him through thick lashes, she drew in a deep breath and exhaled a challenge.

Henry felt himself respond and only barely managed to keep himself from moving toward her. He dragged the Hunger—both hungers—back under control and asked, “Should we be doing this in the hall?”

She laughed and stepped aside, her power masked as his was. “Tony's asleep.”

The wards on the doorframe stroked against him as he stepped over the threshold but made no attempt to keep him out. Leah seemed satisfied with that as she closed the door, and Henry wondered just how sensitive to Tony's wizardry she was.

“Did he tell you he dusted a demon this evening?”

“Dusted?”

“Well, specifically ashed. He called it a Powershot. Took a lot out of him,” she added quietly as they stood together looking down at the young man on the bed. “How much did he tell you on the phone?”

“He told me your history. Your pertinent history with the Demonlord,” he added when she snorted. “He told me of the Demonic Convergence, and he told me how this Demonlord is planning to use it to kill you.”

Pushing her hair back off her face, she nodded. “Demonic minions. As long as the spell controlling the Demongate holds, they shouldn't be able to hurt me, but they have.”

Minions. He could hear Tony in the word. “May I see the spell?”

Moving away from the bed, she unzipped her hoodie and raised her T-shirt. “Be my guest.”

It was an amazing tattoo. Even…no,
especially
knowing what it was. He dropped to one knee to get a closer look. And frowned. “I have seen the language of the damned,” he said softly, head cocked to one side as he followed the curve of the characters, “and this writing I do not recognize.”

“There is more than one hell, Nightwalker.” She matched his formal cadence. “And more than one heaven, I suspect.”

“Blasphemy.”

The two fingers she placed under his chin were warm, and he allowed her to lift his head. “A religious word. And a strange word coming from a man whose church believes him soulless and damned. I say there is more than one hell and I am in a better position to know. By the time your lord was born, I had been carrying mine for over a thousand years.”

“Your
lord
is…”

“I
know
what he is. You take yours on faith.”

“Mine is not trying to kill me.”

“His…” And she grinned, breaking the mood, suddenly looking no more than the young woman she appeared to be. “…minions would.”

Again with the minions. Henry strongly suspected Tony had provided it. “The church does not think of itself in that way.”

“Yeah, like that matters.”

She had a point. “They would kill you as well.”

“Oh, they've tried.”

Which brought them neatly around to the matter at hand. Holding her hips, he moved her around so that he could see the wound. It was small, a minor flaw on the smooth curve of café-au-lait skin and only barely deep enough to bleed. Not worth noting had it not been the first blood drawn from this body in over three thousand years. Bending closer, he drew in a long, slow breath. The scent of her blood was familiar; neither the demon that had attacked her nor the demonic power that enveloped her had marked it. The scent around the blood, her scent, was almost smoky and he found himself wanting to taste. To lick a moist line along the curve from hip to ribs. Could he feed? Would the protective power perceive the threat or the seduction?

The flesh of her hips was warm and yielding under his grip. The air between them began to heat. Henry caught the scent of her arousal and growled low in his throat. She wound her fingers into his hair and subtly shifted her weight to bring bared skin closer to his mouth.

 

The growl snapped Tony fully awake. One moment he'd been dreaming of driving his car from the backseat and the next he was up on his elbows staring at Leah and Henry at the foot of his bed.

Actually, Henry on his knees, his hair wrapped around Leah's fingers, his mouth about to descend to skin was pretty damned hot. Tony could feel his body responding like it always did when Henry got the vampire mojo going. His responses had gotten a bit kinky after all those years of teeth and, under normal circumstances, he'd be more than happy to lie here and watch while they went at it.

Unfortunately, the word normal had sweet fuck all to do with his life.

“Not a good idea, Henry.”

Oh, yeah, interrupt a vampire when he's about to chow down. Not the best way to live a long and happy life. Henry's eyes were dark, and he had the whole Prince of Darkness thing on full blast.

Too bad.

Their history helped him hold Henry's attention but only just. “Ryne Cyratane is in the building and he doesn't look happy.” In fact, for a guy who supposedly fed off sexual energy—and there was enough floating around that Tony strategically draped a fold of blanket over his boxer-briefs as he sat up—the Demonlord looked decidedly unhappy. Possessive even. Possessive and pissed. Tony recognized the expression even when he could see the wall of his apartment through it. “Henry! I'm guessing he doesn't like to share with other powers! He's already sending demons after Leah; it won't help her if he starts sending them after you, too.”

Henry's lips drew back off his teeth.

Great. Vampire, prince; they both saw the whole thing as a challenge.

“Leah! Turn it off!”

Yeah. Like that was going to happen. Her head was back, her skin practically glowed, and even he was starting to find her tempting.

Henry was after blood. Leah was after sex. Together, they'd make a bad situation worse. As far as Tony could see, there was only one thing to do. He picked up a pillow and threw it as hard as he could at the vampire's head.

The next instant, he was flat on his back, Henry's hands around his wrists, Henry's body driving his down into the thin mattress. Tony's hips bucked up as Henry's teeth closed through the skin of his throat and concerns about demonic interference abandoned ship…along with pretty much anything else resembling cognitive thought.

 

“Oh, please, there's no need to be embarrassed, it's not like I've never seen ejaculate before.”

“Make her shut up,” Tony muttered as Henry handed him a glass of juice.

“How?”

“I don't know, vamp her or something.”

“I don't think we want to go there again.”

Tony wasn't sure he
could
go there again. At least not for a couple of days. Provided those days included thirty-six hours of sleep and a lot of liquid. He handed the empty glass back to Henry, wrapped the sheet and the shredded remains of his dignity around him, and stomped off to the bathroom to clean up.

The shower helped. Although he had to brace himself against the tile to keep the water from pounding him down onto his knees.

Afterward, wrapped in his one thinning bath towel, he wiped the mirror clean and studied the mark on his neck. It was…noticeable. In spite of the coagulant in Henry's saliva, the actual bite within the impressive bruising still seeped blood. Fortunately, in the almost empty medicine cabinet, he had one sterile pad remaining from the exploding beer bottle incident. No gauze, but there was a rolled-up tensor bandage with very little
tense
left that should do, provided he kept it fairly loose.

Tomorrow…

Crap.

He didn't think he even owned a turtleneck.

“Tony?”

Henry outside the bathroom door. Worrying.

“I'm okay.”

It seemed a little pointless to balk about being seen in a towel, all things considered, so Tony squared his shoulders, stepped out into the hall and across it to his closet. He'd have gone back into the bathroom to dress except Henry needed a few moments in there. Leah was out of sight, so she had to be in the kitchen end of the room where the angle was too tight to see or be seen from the hall. He pulled on jeans—Henry had destroyed his last clean pair of underwear—a T-shirt and a sweatshirt over that, then socks and shoes. Dressed, he walked into the living room and quickly stripped the bed, throwing the bedding onto a pile of dirty laundry in the corner and folding the mattress up into the sofa. It was a little stiff; he didn't close it often. The two cushions went back on as he shoved debris that had been under it out of the way with the side of his foot.

There.

That ought to help bring things back to what passed for normal.

He turned to find Leah standing behind him. “Could you not fucking do that!”

“Sorry.” She offered him a large glass of what looked like chocolate milk. “It's an instant breakfast. I dropped a couple of packages from the craft services table into my purse.”

“That's not…”

“Please, it's a CBC show. Think of it as your tax dollars at work.”

It didn't seem worth it to argue. Tony sat at one end of the sofa and took a cautious swallow. “It's a little slimy.”

“How old was your milk?”

“Oh, ha.” Another swallow. He frowned as she pulled a chair out from the table and dropped onto it. “Are you…um…Tall, dark, and naked is gone, did you…um…”

“Get off?” She crossed her legs and smiled at him. “Don't worry. I took care of it. Although, if truth be told, you guys almost took care of it for me. Woof!”