Masters of the Night (25 page)

“
Mmm
.
No
prob
,” she smiled drowsily. “What’s going on? Besides
looking like it’s a bonfire in here?”

Wrapping her into her blankets and quilt, Henri lifted the mystic into
his arms, hurried to the bathroom window and climbed out onto the limbs of a
cottonwood.

James clambered out after them.

The bedroom door kicked open and the Shadows rushed the room.

“Go back and get your
goonies
,” Henri
commanded James. “You’re going to need them.”

The Lady Jane Weston was flashing from the tree, screaming like a
banshee, calling on her forces.

Within moments, the alley behind the apartments, black as pitch, became
sparked with crimson eyes, crossbow bolts and stakes slicing the air with fire
trails.

A full raiment of power from the crossbow slayer, a shower of bolts,
sprayed the air like deadly splinters, and in the wake of the arrow tips,
swords and stakes and knives and fangs flashed and clashed, punctuated with
Andre’s shouts, phantom screams—and the light, lilting laughter of the
vampira
. She clapped her hands in glee from a fifth story
fire escape like she was at a riotous play.

But Henri and Angie weren’t there for the encore.

They were in a cave miles from town.

Angie sat in front of a fire pit dug out of the cave flooring, watching
a curtain of rain drape the cave entrance.

Henri took a small tin cup from a stone shelf, caught some of the drops
and held it for Angie to drink. The flight had been difficult for her. She was
still somewhat weak.

Hell, the flight had been difficult for him. He was still somewhat
human.

And the insufferable rain had started pouring out of the sky on them
like a reservoir turned upside down. He threw another log on the fire and
checked to see if the blankets he had spread across the cave boulders were dry.

They were warm and toasty. He wrapped her in her blankets and draped
his coat over her as well. “Better?”

“Better,” she smiled. “Where are we?”

“Safe.
For the moment.”

Henri had spirited her away while Andre’s troupe kept Jane and her
entourage busy.

Angie had protested, of course, and Andre had to practically kick her
in the butt to get her to go. She was fiercely loyal.

One of the reasons Henri was senselessly in love with her.

“What is all this?” Angie asked, glancing around the cave. Besides the
fire pit, there were matches, oil lamps, flashlights, and a coffee pot.

“Teenagers like to come up here and play house,” he said. “Sometimes
after they leave, they even get to play mommy and daddy.” He paused and studied
her. “You were too weak to fight, Angie. And Andre had an obligation. He could
not let you fall into Realm hands.”

“I know.”

He sat down beside her at the fire and tucked her blankets closer
around her.

“I don’t think I like caves very much,” she said, staring into the
blackness of several tunnels and remembering her vision. “Where do they go?”

“These caves lead under one of my castles,” Henri answered simply.

“One of his castles,” she murmured to herself.

“Feel like spelunking?” he smiled.

She wrapped her blanket around her and trudged along beside him through
the rock-walled tunnels until they stepped through a camouflaged hole in the
mountainside and out into fresh air.

The rain had stopped, and the black towers of a castle poked at the disbanding
clouds from behind a tree-shrouded, massive wrought iron fence.

A metal plaque with a soul-shuddering inscription was above the gate,
an epitaph.

As you are, so once was I,

And as I am now, so shall you be.

The gate was locked with heavy chains and an iron padlock.

Henri honed his gaze in on the chain and lock.

Nothing happened. Not even a quiver in a link.

“What’s
wrong?”Angie
asked.

“Humanity,” he answered, and not pleasantly.

Cupping the lock into his palm, Henri turned a steely blue gaze on the
rust-coated iron. After several moments that seemed an eternity, a slight
scraping sound emitted from the hollow of the lock.

The lock popped open.

He pulled the lock from the chain links, pushed in the shackle, rubbed
away a little of the rust and slipped it in his pants pocket.

“Why didn’t you just break the links and the lock with that whoop-ass
strength of yours?” Angie asked.

“It’s an antique,” he said simply.

25.

Wide-eyed under her
curtains of dark lashes, Angie gazed with wonderment at the creature returning
from the dark. He was fearsome more than reassuring.
Demanding
more than requesting.
And every request was a command. But she couldn’t
deny the fires shooting through her at this moment, warming every vein.

Henri De
LaCroix
had stolen her heart—lock,
stock and barrel.

Henri pushed the gate open.

A stone and mortar behemoth, the castle was grandiose with its stained
glass windows, but not friendly. Fierce faces of gargoyles bared their fangs
from the parapets. And the tower windows were jaded—and jailed.
Grated with spiked iron.

The massive castle doors opened on their own as Henri stood before
them.

Henri handed Angie a flashlight from the cave. “You have never been in
a
vampyre’s
castle before,
sweetums
,
and this one belongs to the
vampyre
you are in union
with.”

“Is this a definite tourist must-see?” Her smile was shaky.

“A simple tourist would think he was only shuddering at the cobwebs in
the halls and his own imagination,” he said. “But you will sense much more from
these living walls.”

“Castle walls couldn’t be …”

“These are my walls,” Henri said tightly.
“And
haunted as hell.
Trust me.”

He took her chin in his hand, lifted her face so she could not break
his gaze. “When you enter, you will feel as though the breath is being sucked
out of you. Take a moment to gather your wits about you.”

She stepped across the threshold—

The dark palace enshrouded Angie so quickly she gasped and sank against
the vestibule wall.

Besides sensing
vampyres
—everywhere—and
strange occupants passing close but unseen, a blade of cold encompassed her. “I
feel as if the ghost just did a hit and run on me again,” she cried.

“It’s possible he did,” Henri said. “Our watcher is still with us, I
have a feeling, sticking this out to the end.”

“It’s the gray ghost,” Angie breathed with relief. “I thought perhaps
Jane was calling the very dead from the grave to attack us.”

“No one, alive or among the undead, has the power to touch the final
grave,” Henri said. “One and One
Only
retain that
power.”

A strand of fog momentarily passed over. They were dusted with pasty,
pale light from the stained glass windows.

The intricate patterns fell in soft hues against the floor, but seemed
to form the shadows of creatures from the imagination’s darkest side.

A sound of slight rustling above them, high above
them.

Angie looked up. And wished she hadn’t.

Vampyres
hung from the
vaulted, Gothic ceiling as viscous as spiders that could drop and kill anything
below them in an instant.

“They will not descend,” Henri assured her as he gently squeezed her
fingers between hers. “They are mine.”

As a dark form zipped close, she knew he also had dark companions.

What else was living on the premises?

Best she not
ask
, she decided.

Henri led Angie up a wide staircase carpeted in red and antique gold,
and down a tapestry laden hall to a room in the farthest wing, his bedroom.

The bedroom was as large as her whole apartment and richly furnished.
But the forest green window drapes were heavy, blocking out whatever sliver of
moon might be brave enough to hang over this dark kingdom.

The bed with a pale blue comforter in a fine brushed
fabric,
was a welcome contrast to the heaviness of the room. A lovely painting of a
winsome, mossy stone bridge at evening hung above the headboard.

“Wow! Not bad,” she said as she plopped onto the bed and dissolved into
the soft, luxurious mattress.

The dim room was also
Febreze
fresh.
“Shouldn’t there be a warm chocolate cookie or mints, or something?” She smiled
up at her rescuer.

He pulled open the night stand drawer, and popped a mint her way.

She laughed, caught it and
unwrapped
it.

In the hall, a shirring sound like many wings came. Then it stopped.
Just outside the door of the room.

“They are here to protect you while you sleep,” Henri said.

“Are they loyal?” she asked, nervous.

“They are,” he said. “They have their reasons, not the least of which
is their hatred of Jane.”

“Where will you be while I—sleep?” She fought panic.

“With you,” he smiled and nodded at the bed. “It’s a Cal-King.”

Moving to a far wall, he pulled aside a tapestry revealing a small,
almost imperceptible panel in the wall.

“Any
vampyres
worth their salt have escape
routes—in the event they need a quick escape from a slayer—or the Lady Jane.”

Angie bent and dipped her head into the small enclosure, but pulled
back quickly, sputtering at the cobwebs clinging to her face.

“If anything goes awry, this will take
us,
or
you if I am not able to go with you, to a tunnel, then upward to the highway.
There is a car with a full tank of gas hidden in the brush and trees.
V-8, black with smoked windows.
Grab it and drive like hell
to
Tuscon
or Phoenix. No clouds, no rain—desert sun.
Do not go back to Stephen. There will be Realm
loyals
thick as wasps watching the grounds.”

Smoothing the tapestry back in place, he opened the door beside it.

A large square sunken marble bath tub beneath a skylight glistened with
warm, fragrant water. Angie could only imagine how beautiful this room was on
full moon nights.

Flower petals floated invitingly in the water.

A sink in a marble vanity with gold faucets was in a separate alcove
with an oval, gold-framed mirror.

Angie turned from the tub to him. “This is for me?”

“You could not use a few moments of relaxation?” he smiled.

“
Oui
.
I could.”

“Enjoy,” he said, kissing her. “I am sorry there is not much
moonlight.”

“
S’okay
,” she said, then looking back eagerly
at the warmth waiting for her.

Practically ripping off her clothes, she dove in. “
Oo
,
this is wonderful!”

“I’ll see if there’s any food in the house,” Henri said, and left her
to herself to luxuriate.

By the time she finally forced herself to leave the water behind, Angie
found a floor-length black satin gown and robe waiting for her on the bed, and
a tray of fresh fruit and vegetables.

She slipped the gown over her head and nibbled on a strawberry.

Then she spotted the little lacy black negligee tossed over the back of
a tufted silk chair.

She kept the black robe, but exchanged the gown for the sheer
shortie
.

“Thought you might like that one,” Henri said with a sly smile as he
came through the door with a bowl of soup.

“I like,” she said with a smile. “Do you?”

“I would like to take it off,” he said.

And he did.
Slowly, with deliberation.

As soon as the bit of black lace was on the floor, his shirt tumbled
next to it. His pants also fell under her deft fingers. They tumbled onto the
bed into a pile of soft pillows. She ran her hands across his chest. Touching
him lit her with fires that burned all the way down. A moan escaped her lips.

She wrapped her legs around him and he groaned with pleasure, rocking
in her liquid warmth as she arched and receded and kept him on the edge of the
dream with kisses and caresses until he was driven deeper, longer and harder,
and finally into release. Then he lingered, pressing her into more sweetness
with him.

Nestling into Henri’s arms, Angie released her body to him once more,
then
slept. A sense of security enveloped her, strange
though it was. Her bodyguards were
vampyres
.

When she awoke, Angie smiled dreamily. She smoothed her arm across the
pillows to find the master of her heart and let him excite her.

Empty pillows met her touch.

She sat up straight and slid off the bed.

Was he hanging from the ceiling in the closet?
Mousing
around on the rafters? Passed out cold under the bed in a box of dirt?

Whipping on the black satin robe, she rushed to the bedroom door and
opened it a slit.

A pair of red eyes peered into hers from the darkened hallway.

Her breath caught in gasp.

The
vampyre
stod
, a sword in his hand, its blade resting across his
shoulder.
“Do you need something, my lady?” he asked politely.

“I—I—Where is Henri?” she stammered.

“He had a visitor. He will return shortly. Is there anything I can do
for you, my lady?”

“No. No, that’s okay. I’m fine.” She closed the door.
Quickly.

And realized she wasn’t breathing. She exhaled.

Returning to the bed, she sat anxiously.

Like a prairie wind, barely visible to her, he was suddenly through the
door and beside her.

“Sure,” she said. “Use my body, then
take
off
in the middle of the night.” Her smile teased, but the somber lines in his face
swept her elation into trepidation—again.

“The crossbow slayer is downstairs,” he said, and not happily. “I
suppose you should hear what he has to say.”