His father stepped forward. “Do you feel the pull?” He thumped his own chest with a closed fist. “Here. Now that you know?”
At the question, a fine tremor passed under Mikhail’s skin and he realized after long years in dormancy, his body was waking, his emotions churning. He wasn’t altogether in control, and he didn’t like it at all.
“Mikhail?” his father said, relentless.
“Yes, I feel it.” But numbness was better.
“Good. Follow it. Win her or kill her by your own strength. But do it like a man, not a machine. Love her if you can. If not, take her down hard and free yourself.”
Mikhail unclenched his fists. “That I can do.”
Later, when he thought everyone was gone, Madelena stole into his office and came to stand at his shoulder. She took in the maps on his laptop, leaned over the list he was writing and read aloud, “E-kit, tool belt, surveillance pack, fiber optics…putty explosives? Oh, hon. A first aid kit with an epi pen. Nice touch. Cold packs and six pints of blood. Titanium cuffs and a hobble?”
She sat on the desktop. Her tight leather pants creaked as she crossed her legs. Leaning back, she cocked her head at him and waited. And waited. He gave up on working and threw down his pen. “Yes?”
“I’m worried about you.” Absentmindedly she fingered the sleek battery pack on her hip that powered her heart, a device she’d wear forever unless they found a suitable heart for her. Gregor had very nearly lost his mate by seeking her too late. Mikhail’s mate, meanwhile, wasn’t awaiting rescue. His mate would as soon kill him as look at him. “Gregor says you won’t take him or Alex or any of your lieutenants along with you.”
“By tradition the groom goes alone to collect his bride. I know someone in LA who I’ll bring on to help with surveillance and some systems hacking. I think that’s fair. I’m under an obligation to do my best not to harm her people. And, of course, I want to take her alive. The more of my people I bring along, the more firepower I have, the less likely that is to happen.”
“So…you’re saying this is more like a ritual abduction. A show of strength, but not so much that there’s no one left to be in the wedding party.” When he didn’t disagree with her, she smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “Thanks, I’ll worry about you less now.”
Mikhail suffered the hand on his shoulder, and chose not to tell her that Alya had no similar obligation toward him.
Chapter Two
Alya buzzed her assistant. “Tina, push back my mani -pedi by half an hour.” She came around her desk to stand in front of the miscreant du jour.
“So, Frank. You tried to drain your friend…” She turned toward her first lieutenant, Dominick.
“Jason. Jason Biggs,” Dominick offered. “We’re rehydrating the poor sod.”
Frank, a broad built vamp lacking both a chin and any discernible fashion sense, shifted his glance between the guards on either side of him. Both young men looked like they’d be right at home in a skate park, but Alya suspected Frank already understood they’d snap his neck without hesitation.
Shuffling in his ankle shackles, he grimaced as if she already had her fist up his ass. Someone had used a Sharpie to scrawl “Lecter” across his forehead.
“Your Majesty—”
“Alya, Frank. I’m a prince, not a queen. This isn’t Windsor Castle.”
“I’ve never hurt no one—”
“Until you took a fancy to Jason Biggs’ blood.”
“We were fighting.”
“So?”
“It just got out of control. I mean I got out of control, I guess. I just…bit down…and I couldn’t stop.”
Alya leaned forward and whispered, “How’d you like it?”
Frank shook his head. “It was weird. Too weird.”
She turned to Dominick. His eyes twinkled with amusement. This Frank was no shining example of a vamp, but she believed he hadn’t attacked Jason meaning to drain him, and he didn’t have a taste for vamp blood. So far, so good. That meant she didn’t have to kill him. But she was sure Dominick had brought him to her for another reason. Finding out why would be half the fun. Needing some alone time with Frank, she dismissed the guards and turned to Dom.
“Dominick, you sorry Irish bastard. Why didn’t you kill him on the spot? Why is he here? Why is my mani-pedi delayed?” She thrust her hand at him. “Look at the chips!”
Dominick squinted at her nails. “Frightful chips indeed, sir. Well now, you see young Frank here, while not being the sharpest tool in the box, can fairly lay the claim of never doing anyone harm. Until recent events, I should say. Mostly he just trolls around Santa Monica pier, snacking on those even less fortunate than himself.”
“Admirable. And what else?”
“I’ve been noticing that he spends his spare hours in Jimmy Smith’s pool hall. Frank is tight with Jimmy himself.”
Alya grinned. They’d been trying to get a line on Jimmy Smith and his gambling operations for a long time. It was time Jimmy started giving them a bigger cut. “Do you mean you’ve caught me a rat? Good kitty.”
On cue, Frank let out a high-pitched squeal. “I’m no rat.”
Alya caressed Frank’s stubbled cheek. “Darling, draining another vamp is a mortal offense. You leave me no choice. Rat or die.”
“Jimmy will kill me. Slow. I won’t rat. I’d rather die now.”
Alya let her hand trail from his cheek, down his neck and chest. Rotating her hips like a pole dancer, she lowered herself into a crouch at his feet. From under her lashes, she watched his reaction. She smelled his fear—and his arousal.
“Last chance, Frank.”
“Last chance for what?”
She grabbed his ankle hobble and gave it a hard tug, pulling his feet out from under him. His head hit the floor with a loud, all-too-hollow conk. Picking up his legs, she dragged him along by his hobble like a huge, wondrously ugly rolling bag. As she passed the sofa, one of her feeders, Matthew, glanced up from the New York Times Review of Books, barely mustering interest in the scene. They became jaded so fast.
Her destination was a winch in the ceiling near the windows. The big, east-facing windows.
The office was rigged with various restraining devices, more for her pleasure in feeding than this sort of work, but handy enough in a pinch. Frank was just starting to fight back. But it didn’t matter. She pulled down the winch, hooked the hobble to it and hoisted him up like a side of beef. He dangled upside down, groaning, his fingers scraping the carpet.
“Alya?” Matthew said.
“Yes, love?”
“Why is it okay for vamps to suck on us but not other vamps?”
“What a good question. Frank, can you tell Matthew why?”
Frank only made sad noises, so she wound him up and let go. While he spun, she answered Matthew herself. “It’s simple. You’re our natural prey. It’s right that we feed from you. When we feed from each other, it’s cannibalism.”
“But you’ve done it, right?”
“Yes—but for good reason.” She went to sit next to Matthew. Pliant as a friendly cat, he put his head in her lap. While she talked, she stroked his silky chestnut hair away from his neck. “You see, the blood is the voice of the soul. When we drink, we hear the souls of our victims.”
“You can hear my soul?”
“When we’re little vamps we’re taught not to listen to our dinners. It’s too confusing.” Fleeting memories of Marrakech crossed her mind. The garden with the fountain. The orange tree in blossom. Her mother bringing her a servant to practice upon, saying, You must only sip, child, as a bee sips honey. Never take too much.