Harlequin Nocturne September 2014 Bundle: Beyond the Moon\Immortal Obsession (11 page)

“Give me a call later?” she asked.

“I will.”

“Get that vampire,” she whispered.

“Oh, I will,” he muttered as he marched down the stairs and into the morning.

* * *

Aaron Langdon had been out in the field a month. Only twenty-six, the young man had impressed Rook with his martial arts skills and his sensible reasoning. He hadn't joined the Order to repay vengeance for a wrong done against him or his family, and he was not a vigilante who sought the thrill of taking out vampires. He'd joined to protect humans. And his truth was apparent.

Now he lay in a hospital bed, his face swollen and bruised, his front teeth knocked out and his arm in a sling.

He winced and nodded when Rook walked in. “Sorry,” he managed through what had to be a painful mouth. “I tried, but there were too many.”

“You should have called for backup.”

“I thought you were off for the night. Didn't want to bother you.”

Yes, and he would have probably answered the call with an attitude until he'd heard the reason for the call.

“Did you identify them as Zmaj?”

“Yes, but not because I recognized any of them.”

“Then how?”

“They said they wouldn't kill me because they wanted me to give you a message from Slater.”

Rook curled his fingers into fists at his sides. “Go on.”

“Slater knows the Order is after him. He's not going down without a fight. You asked for it, so now you've got a war.”

Not what the Order, or the city of Paris, needed. Curse his complacency last night. What had he been thinking leaving the rookie alone so he could trip off to meet a woman?

Rook nodded. “Can you describe the vamps who attacked you? Sketch them?”

Aaron lifted the arm in a sling. “My drawing hand. Sorry, boss.”

“I'll send in an artist to help you. We need identification because most of Zmaj hasn't been identified with their rapidly increasing numbers. Was there a bald one in the group?”

“I seem to remember…yes. I know because you told me to keep an eye out for him. Wish I could have taken him into custody, as requested. I've failed you.”

“No, you have not. You survived an ambush. Not many knights can do as much. Rest. Heal. I'll see you in the gym next week, yes?”

“Before then,” Aaron said. “It's just my arm that'll hold me back, but I still have one good arm and two legs.”

“I would expect nothing less from you, Langdon.” After clasping the man's good hand, he left the room.

Swinging by reception, Rook made sure Aaron's bills were sent to the accountant who handled the Order's finances. Then he decided that before heading home to shower and change, he'd stop by the office.

* * *

Verity lingered in the bathtub, lifting a leg from the thick, rose-scented bubbles to glide her fingers down her water-bejeweled skin. It was difficult not to imagine Rook's fingers doing the same, and so she did. Mmm…she wished he could have lingered in bed with her this morning, but she understood the emergency.

She hoped he didn't blame himself for not being there to protect the other knight. Rook was such a leader; he probably would shoulder the blame.

Sinking deeper into the water, she replayed watching him tear away his clothes last night, piece by piece. She'd marveled over his playful side. She'd expected quick and perhaps forceful sex, not such an intimate, intense connection. A few times he had been rough and demanding, twined with his gentler touches; she had loved it all.

Something about Rook was different from other men she had known. It was their connection. But why? Were they soul mates? Was such a thing even possible? How could two souls seek one another? And what if one's soul mate had been born in another time? It didn't make sense that true soul mates should be fortunate enough to be born at the same time, be close in age and eventually find one another out of all the souls in the world.

Curiosity would have her leaning over the family
grimoire after breakfast to read up on souls.

Until then, she was happy to soak until the water turned lukewarm and the bubbles melted away.

Chapter 9

R
ook shrugged off his coat and tossed it across the desk. Now he stared at the inside of his locker door, eyes not focusing on the item he'd hung there decades earlier after installing the locker. A reminder of why he hunted year after year, century after century.

His heart always stuttered to look at the object. Even Oz seemed to sigh within him, his exhale rippling through Rook's muscles until it reached his fingertips, and he had to shake his hands loosely as if shaking off the agonizing memory.

After a few moments, he dragged his thoughts back to the present. He sorted through the silver bullets. Tonight he would carry a pistol. The handmade bullets sported a wood core, which straightened their trajectory. They wouldn't kill a vamp, but they would slow one down so he could get close enough to stake them.

The office door slammed open, and King marched inside. Wrist resting on the top of the locker door, Rook turned to judge his friend's mood. He didn't have to look too long to read King's anger. It was rare but always sharp.

“Explain,” King demanded.

“I sent Langdon on a job I felt sure he could handle. We'd been out half the night with no sight of a longtooth, so I felt he could manage the last stop alone. As he's done many times before. I had no clue Slater had sent out an ambush.”

“Isn't that your job? To have a clue? Why aren't you the one in the hospital right now?”

Rook crossed his arms over his chest. “That's the way you think this should have gone down?”

“Is there some scenario I'm missing? Please, enlighten me.”

“First of all, I'd never end up in the hospital, and you know that.”

King agreed with a tilt of his head. “Touché.”

“I'd been hunting all night. I assigned Aaron the last check over a nest location, as I would normally do had I not been on the case.”

“But this is your case!”

“We'll never come to terms on this.”

“Of course not because you're always the one who has to be right.” King paced between the desk and the door on the opposite wall that led to the attached chapel.

Rook exhaled. He did like to be right. And he usually was. But he didn't always have to be right with King. Because if anyone needed to be right, it was King. They'd come to terms with that over the centuries. It had never affected their relationship, and it would not this time. But he could admit to himself he should have stayed with Aaron last night.

“It's that witch,” King suddenly said. “She's distracting you.”

“I do not distract easily.”

“I know that. And I know a man needs a lover. I would never insist you abandon your personal life.”

Rook lifted his chin. Where was the man going with this? He seemed upset, almost jealous.

“But she's something more, isn't she?” King swung an accusing look at him. “She's digging up all your old stuff.”

“My—what? You're making a bold supposition.”

“Yes, your stuff,” King insisted.

“What stuff?”

King approached, and when he looked to stab Rook in the shoulder with a finger, instead he landed the finger on the small pentacle crafted from dried willow branches that hung inside the locker door. “This stuff!”

Rook grabbed King by his suit lapels. He wasn't about to read his truth by placing a palm over his chest. He knew it. It was bold, commanding and deeply secretive. But how dare the man suggest he was being controlled by—his truth.

“You can't deny it,” King defied him.

The man did know him better than Oz did, and over the years that had become both a blessing and a curse to Rook.

He shoved King away and closed the locker door behind him, effectively hiding the telling bit of
stuff
. Marianne had fashioned the pentacle. She'd called it a safe hex, designed to protect the inhabitants wherever it was hung. It was the only thing he'd had the heart to save before burning their house to the ground. Some safety those little twigs had offered.

“And what if she is dredging up things I'd—”

“Rather not face? I'm surprised you'd confess, Rook. You're letting the Von Velde witch tear down your walls?” King implored. “It's been forever, man. Why does this have to come up now?”

“Is the timing so inconvenient for you?”

“You have your work—”

“Yes, yes! So we have Zmaj to deal with. If it wasn't that tribe, it would be another. There is always another. You didn't think I'd be able to keep this stuff, as you call it, buried forever, did you?”

“No, but—hell.” King stepped back, dropping his shoulders.

Conceding the battle?

“Since when have you started to believe I can't divide my time between two tasks?” Rook insisted. “I am a knight of the Order. The original knight, if you'll remember. I know my job, and I do it well. And if I choose to have a relationship—”

King swung toward him. “It's become a relationship?”

“I don't—maybe. Yes! I enjoy the witch's company, and I'm not going to stop seeing her because some badass vampire has set his sights on waging war with the Order. The longtooths are a bunch of blowhards—”

“War? I hadn't realized it had escalated to a war.”

Rook blew out his breath, seeking calm in his center before continuing. Was it war, or had that merely been a means to tease him out into the light to face his enemy?

“Langdon delivered that message from Slater. The Zmaj leader has called war. But it's nothing I can't handle.”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

King took a step closer, putting himself face to face with Rook. They held each other's stare too long. Rook read so much in his friend's eyes, which had witnessed centuries. But nothing he didn't already know.

“You want to be king of the world and fuck the girl, too,” King said calmly. “It doesn't happen that way, and you know it. You cannot divide your focus like this. People get hurt.”

Was the man listening to himself? Truly, if anyone wanted to rule the world—no. The argument wasn't going to win him ground, nor did he need to prove his superiority to a man he respected.

Rook exhaled again and spoke calmly. “Aaron is new. He was outnumbered six to one.”

“Numbers you could have handled expertly.”

“Because I've been doing this for centuries. This argument is moot. You're jealous I've found someone and you—”

The punch was not unexpected. Rook dodged King's fist, catching it in his palm with a smack. Rook would not retaliate, but King did not relent. The two struggled as they had not done for decades.

It wasn't like they'd walked through the years without their battles. But they also had been close. He loved King, and the love was returned. And he knew King was only concerned for his mental well-being now.

“She
is
bringing up stuff about Marianne,” Rook confessed.

King pushed away. The man knew well how deeply he had loved Marianne.

“Verity is a fire witch.” Rook rasped out his confession.

“Ah, hell.”

“And she needs protection. Someone from Zmaj bit her. And I've learned she used to date Slater. He may be stalking her. She's entwined in this investigation, and I can use her knowledge.”

“Rook. Fire? Why subject yourself to such torture?”

The man's warning tone did not sway him from giving all the details. “She could be in danger one way or another. I have to stay close to her. And I will.”

“If she was bitten, was the wound sealed?”

“She performed a spell. She's fine. But safe? I'm not so sure.”

King stepped back, giving Rook the space he needed. But he could read the man's disappointment, or rather, his worry, in his slumped shoulders. Only two people in this world knew of the torture King had mentioned. And the other was also in the room, just not present in corporeal form.

King twisted a look to Rook. “Do you want me to join you on this one?”

Did he? He wasn't any closer to Slater than he had been two days ago. And he still didn't have a location for any in Zmaj. He didn't want to assign more knights to the task—they weren't necessary—but one more wrong move and he risked putting all knights in the Order on high alert. He needed to focus.

You know you will not stay away from her. Like she said, something is drawing her soul and yours together. And if you abandon her now, you will never find that soul
.

Oz's argument could not be ignored. Why shouldn't he be allowed this tryst? Wasn't he due some happiness? Fuck, the timing had been bad, but he wasn't going to give up this exciting new woman simply because some idiot longtooth wanted to play war games.

“What does Oz think about all this?” King asked.

“He wants the soul,” Rook stated. “My soul.”

King lifted a brow. Hell, he hadn't told him that part yet.

“The witch—” Rook began.

“Your lover?”

“Verity,” Rook said firmly, “has been carrying my soul with her for a century. It's trapped in a piece of wood that grew up through the soul where Himself buried it long ago. She carved the wood into a heart and has worn it around her neck. I knew it was mine the night I saved her from a Zmaj attack and laid my hand over the thing. But it was stolen from her that night. Find the vamp who bit Verity, and I find my soul. And—an entrance to tribe Zmaj.”

“That's…”

“Incredible. Unbelievable.”

“Destiny,” King provided.

Rook nodded. “And I don't intend to question it. She is in my life for a reason, my friend.”

“It seems so. What if you use her as bait?”

King's suggestion infuriated him—but only for a second. Switching to knight mode, Rook realized it was a promising idea. If the vampire discovered his victim was still alive, he might return to finish the task. Rook could capture the vamp and force him to lead him right to Slater.

But she hadn't wanted to look at a few mug shots. What sort of bribe would be required to get her to actually play bait?

“I'll get on it,” Rook said. “And you're right. My focus needs some readjustment. By nightfall I'll have a plan. I'll be in touch.”

“Excellent. You know I am concerned about you, right?”

“You should not be. But yes, I know that you are. We have been through a lot together.” Rook held out his hand, and King slapped his hand into the firm clasp. “Live to serve,” Rook said softly.

“Die fighting. But you had better not die before I do, my friend. I'd never forgive you for it.” With a smirk, King strode out.

And Rook opened the locker door and traced the outer curve of the symbol his wife had fashioned so many years ago.

“I can never atone for what I did to you,” he said.

That is why he had not sought his soul through all the centuries. Because to take it back would mean he was over what he'd done to Marianne so long ago. Unrepentant.

“Someone else needs my soul more than I do now. I hope you can understand.”

* * *

The night was cool and stunningly quiet as he raced toward the vampire standing fifty yards away.

Rook's rules for hunting vampires were thus:

If possible, always hunt alone. The hunter was responsible for his safety only and no others. And as a recent addendum: When hunting with another, do not presume the other man can handle any interaction with the enemy on his own.

The most important weapon is the brain, then the stake.

Anger (aroused in the vampire) reduces awareness.

Blood scent distracts the opponent. A good hunter will use his own blood as a weapon.

Vampires are supernaturally fast. Hunters use agility.

Without an invitation, vampires can only enter public buildings. If in a dire situation, entering a private domicile will give the hunter time to recover and concoct a plan. However, the risk of putting innocents in danger is great.

Vampires are not stupid. (Most of them.) Always expect the unexpected.

The old ones are not necessarily stronger, but they have greater determination to fight for survival.

Each rule had been developed through trial and error over the centuries. Vampire comes at you spitting blood and flailing some crazy wild talons? The knight had better compensate for that flimsy column of ashwood he carved the night before and had pridefully thought would save his ass.

King had tested a few disposal methods. He was always willing to make sure the tools and defense skills Rook invented were worthy—to a degree. Even King drew the line on occasion. The man had his pride.

Once Rook had traversed the French countryside with an arsenal tucked into a large wooden traveling trunk and strapped to the back of a wobbly carriage; he'd since streamlined the tools of the trade.

The Order coat was designed to protect as much of the knight's body as possible without impeding movement. It was lightweight leather, reinforced with Kevlar where it laid over main arteries. Originally, chain mail had been sown into the leather, making it bulky and quite heavy. Thank the gods for modern technology.

Over the years, Rook had refined the trunk of tools. The fragile vial of holy water had become a small syringe, hidden within the palm and spring-loaded to eject the contents with one click.

A large wooden cross, inlaid with a brass figure of Jesus, had evolved into a streamlined silver weapon, again hand-sized and pointed at each of the four armatures. Gone was the holy figure; vampires laughed at the Christian symbol of hope. Silver did not harm vampires, but it was handy when werewolves were on the scene. Also, religious objects were only effective if the vampire had been baptized. But a holy wound would burn into a baptized vamp and never heal, slowly eating away at flesh, bone and organs until finally death arrived. The process could take days or even weeks.

The handsaw Rook had used on more than a few occasions to remove a vampire's head (when it was once believed removal of the head necessary for the final death) had been discarded and replaced with a thin gauged cable garrote that rolled up nicely, like a household tape measure. Again, it did not behead the vampire, but it hurt like a bitch, and not many of his opponents struggled for long when the cable chewed into flesh and bone.