Big Game (The V V Inn, Book 3) Read online

  “Anything is fine, thanks. We’re going down to the party.”

  Rafe takes my elbow and directs me after the couple, who entered ahead us. Closed doors line the long hall, and at the end of the foyer sits a large freight elevator spruced up with wood panels and inset with tile, but the size leaves no doubt it’s not a regular elevator car.

  I don’t know the couple, so thankfully we’re not forced to engage in conversation while descending into the pits of hell—known as the Seat of Darkness among the undead. The elevator doors ping open and the subtle stink of death rolls in to greet us. The scent isn’t overpowering like decaying flesh or rotting vegetation, but it lingers on the back of my palate, reminding me why I hate associating with fellow vampires for too long—the more we congregate, the more the odor builds. The others must be used to it, that’s all I can think as to why no one is hurling in a corner.

  Rafe swallows a gag. Dear God, I forgot how much this place reeks.

  Good news is, in ten minutes or so your nose won’t even register it anymore.

  The couple next to us takes a deep breath, seeming to draw pleasure in the cloying aroma and disappears into the crowd before us. Pale, primped bodies mill about, all dressed for a formal evening.

  This main reception room is large enough to hold a hundred or more people comfortably, and looks to be set up in a cocktail hour sort of gathering. The twelve foot high ceiling is festooned with grand crystal chandeliers every ten feet. Tall tables dot the area, draped in orange, red, yellow and rust-toned silks—no chairs to clutter the stream of the mingling undead.

  An ornate champagne fountain sets in the middle of the room. A bubbling mixture of blood and champagne fills the air with an enticing hint of copper and dry wine. Rafe immediately steers us to the right, out of the line of sight from the open elevator, hoping to avoid our discovery as long as possible.

  A human waiter approaches with a tray of non-blood drinks. He’s dressed in a forest spirit type of costume, someone’s idea of a pagan mix to the fall theme. His skin sparkles with glitter and a leaf vest frames his dark chest hair. “Good evening, can I offer either of you a drink?”

  Rafe takes a flute, and I reach for one as well, leery of drinking anything with blood under the Tribunal’s roof. Do I honestly think they’d poison their guests? No, not really. But since I’m not hungry, no need to risk it.

  The waiter grins at me, a seductive light coloring his brown eyes. “Would you prefer to quench your hunger directly from the source, madam?” He tosses his longish black hair back from where it skimmed his shoulder, baring the pristine flesh of his neck.

  Rafe tenses beside me, angered some strange boy-toy would offer himself freely to his wife.

  “No,” I answer with a bland look. “Thank you.” I pat my husband’s thick bicep. “I brought my own.”

  The waiter hustles to another group of people and Rafe relaxes. “Cheeky bastard. That was rather bold, don’t you think?”

  I shrug, not wanting this to turn into an issue. “You never know what compulsion the party organizer may have placed on the staff. Could be normal.”

  I scan the room, looking for familiar faces. I see several people I’d like to avoid, but Coraline’s supporters certainly won’t be discovered if I play the wallflower, so I resign to the fact we’ll have to circulate.

  We step into the milling throng and I brace myself for the fall-out. We’ll be spotted, and the whole room will know in minutes we crashed the party. Several heads turn our way, and I see a spark of recognition in more than one set of eyes.

  It won’t be long now before…

  “Dria,” an oily voice detaches itself from a nearby shadow and saunters up to us. “What an interesting surprise.” The slicked back dark hair and petulant smile belongs to Lucas, an ex-lover to one of the pedophilic Ancients I killed centuries ago. Crap, he would be the first we run into.

  “Yes, it is, Lucas. You remember my husband, Rafe, don’t you?” I smile pretending not to hate the sonovabitch. If I ever find he has tastes for young boys like his old lover did, I’ll make sure he walks into the sun at high noon as well.

  Rafe shakes his hand and nods, while sending me calming energy through our mental link. Relax, liebling. You’re stewing for a fight. Never a good sign this early in the evening.

  Lucas smiles and shoots me an evil look. What? Like I should apologize for killing his lover and own the deed? Yeah, fat chance in hell of that ever happening. I’m not stupid. Sensing no further conversation coming from our way, Lucas slips into the crowd, scampering away like a rat.

  Leave it to you to point out when I’m feeling bitchy, I say, while threading my hand around Rafe’s arm and walking deeper into the party. I have my reasons to hate him.

  Looks like he’s running off to report your presence.

  Won’t matter anyway, once Ro—

  “Dria!” Rolando’s smooth tones boom across the open space and all heads swivel in our direction. Flamboyant ass has the nerve to grin. He knows I hate being the center of attention when we visit.

  Well, if you didn’t want to be noticed, you shouldn’t have worn that gown, sweetheart.

  I pinch Rafe hard through his suit sleeve. Are you trying to set me off?

  One hand snakes down and cups my ass as the dashingly handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed Rolando descends on us both. I’m trying to help you shake the tension. It’s boiling off you in waves.

  Realizing he’s right, I clamp down my mental walls, effectively shielding any escaping tendrils that might reveal my distressed state to the surrounding undead.

  Rolando’s eyes mirror his obvious delight at our appearance. “Naughty girl.” He kisses both my cheeks and reaches for Rafe’s hand. “Why didn’t you call first?” His powerful voice glides over me, the subtle Spanish accent adding to his charm.

  “After the lovely visit from Coraline and her enforcers in January, we thought coming in under the radar would be smarter.”

  The tall, elegant vampire nods sagely and turns to usher us deeper into the gathering. I can’t help but notice his own power is leashed tightly. It almost feels like there are a bunch of fledglings walking around in the Seat of Darkness. “Yes, that woman does hate you. Whatever did you do to her to earn such wrath?”

  I shrug one pale shoulder and follow alongside, still firmly attached to Rafe. “As far as I can tell, I beat her kill record as an enforcer, and she’s held it against me over four centuries.”

  A flash of humor crosses his sharp features. “Some ex-enforcers are eager to forget their long terms of service, and others wrap their achievements around them like a cloak of honor.” He pauses and eyes me sideways. “You never struck me as the latter.”

  Rafe clears his throat when it becomes obvious I’m not going to respond. “Only the soulless could speak callously over the loss of life and disregard the scars left by years of killing.”

  Roland stops and looks Rafe full in the face, as if seeing him for the first time tonight. “And you believe vampires have souls?” He arches an eyebrow. “You’d be one of the few humans in this room to share such an opinion.”

  A naked woman walks past us, trailing after a large male vampire in a tux. She appears dazed, and her body bears the mark of many fresh punctures. She locks eyes on Rafe and smiles. A dulled expression, due to drugs or blood loss, colors the effect of her beauty. The vampire holds a gold leash hooked to a velvet collar around her neck, and gives it a gentle tug when her pace falters.

  A look of disgust shows briefly on my husband’s face before he slips his reaction carefully behind a mask of distance. “When you treat them like pets, how can you expect anything more?”

  We stop in front of the blood fountain, and Rolando tilts an empty glass into the flow. “Dria, may I top off yours? Looks like you haven’t had any blood, yet.”

  “No, thanks,” I sip from my glass. “I’m driving.” He laughs and fills his own glass.

  Live music spills from open doors at the far side of the
reception hall. The lively beat of Spanish rhythms thrum the air and one of my favorite tango songs fills the night. I straighten and Rolando notices my reaction.

  “You should dance.” The crafty bastard winks at Rafe. “We can continue this interesting discussion about vampire souls when you return.”

  Rafe takes our glasses and hands them to a passing semi-naked harvest priestess holding a tray. It’s been a while since we’ve danced, my love. Maybe it will help chase away the spirit riding you tonight.

  I follow his lead to the rich music pouring from the adjoining room. A large parquet dance floor occupies the middle of the area and faux trees line the room’s edge—plastic branches decorated in vibrant fall colors. He shoves my tiny handbag in his suit pocket and drapes both over an empty table at the edge of the dance floor. Bright gowns and black suits encase the pale forms of dancing, whirling vampires, quite distinguishable from the few humans dancing among them.

  My husband unfolds a knife from his pocket and kneels at my feet. He places the silver coated blade near the top of my left thigh, drawing the material away from my body and meets my eyes. With one tilted eyebrow he seems to ask “Well?” He’s asking permission to slit my tight dress. We won’t be able to tango like the music calls for unless he cuts the beautiful fabric.

  What the hell, I smile down at him, excited to have some fun. It’s only a dress. Go for it.

  With a devilish grin he proceeds to slice the material in one fell swoop, from my hipbone to the hem. Cool air hits my leg, and one hot hand slides from my knee to thigh. I stare down into my lover’s bright blue eyes and the room disappears.

  He tightens his grip and returns my gaze, wearing the most seductive look I’ve seen on him in ages. His thumb creeps up and brushes in close to my bare pussy, sending a tingle to my middle. “You’re the naughty one now, aren’t you?” I whisper.

  “When am I not, liebling?”

  Before I can blink, his free hand holding the knife whips down and he’s repeated the cut on the other side, altering my expensive gown into suitable tango attire.

  I hear the blood pounding through his veins as the pulse of the music takes him. One cannot be in Argentina for long and not be affected by the dance that was born here.

  He stows his knife and sweeps me into his arms to whirl us among the other dancers. The music seeps into my bones, washing the vile aftertaste of the room’s occupants from my essence. Quickly, I’m lost in the steps, the intoxicating beat, and my husband’s experienced lead.

  “I needed this.” My head snaps right and left as my feet mince and kick, encased in their sparkly heels. We’re locked in sync, gliding up and down the dance floor like sensual marionettes, bending to the rhythm and sexual pull from one another.

  Rafe’s hand skates down my back to lower me into a provocative dip, trailing his hot lips along my neck. If I stay close enough, your perfume blocks out the rancid smell of death coming off these parasites.

  Laughter bubbles up as he sweeps me high above his head, gradually allowing my body to slide down his chest. My calf hooks his leg, slinking around his well-formed muscle before sliding down to rest my foot on the floor. He steps away and twirls me again, bringing our bodies together then apart as I back-kick my calves on every step.

  Each time he steps between my legs my hot core presses against a hard muscled thigh, reminding me of the last intimate moment we shared, tangled together on the bed in the plane.

  You want me again, don’t you? I ask through our mental connection.

  He smiles and kisses me briefly when we come together in another move. Only if you’ve got that coroner’s gel in your little handbag. I need to block out the stench or my parts may not work right.

  I laugh as he spins me again—picturing my virile husband with un-working parts for any reason strikes me as impossible. Didn’t you stop smelling it after ten minutes or so?

  You’d think, right? He heaves a dramatic mental sigh, trying his best to get me into a good mood with his humor. But sadly, no. Your deadly compatriots really reek. I’d say it’s enough to off-put even the most ardent of admirers.

  For a few seconds I’m lost in the moment, allowing the beat of the music to soothe my soul and my husband to guide me through the moves. Am I up for the intrigue and the political maneuvering this trip will take?

  The vampire bodies around us shimmer in quick movements. The energy level on the floor rises to meet our own, spurring the others into faster and more complicated moves. The sexual tension becomes too much for a couple and they break off, locked in a sensual kiss.

  It takes a lot to get a vampire’s blood pumping, and right now, mine sings through my veins, almost matching that of my spouse’s. Is it any wonder vampires like to tango?

  We continue for two more songs, gathering an audience among my peers. As the strains of the last song die, and Rafe lowers me to the floor in the deepest dip yet, a spark of the Tango burrows deep inside me. It wraps my heart in warmth, making the upcoming greetings awaiting us more bearable.

  Rafe slides an arm around my waist and guides me off the dance floor. A group of pale faces approaches us, smiling a welcome they don’t mean. You knew they’d spot us sooner or later, liebling. Might as well get the worst of it behind us.

  Honey blond hair appears from behind a taller, tuxedoed vampire, and the snide tones of Coraline squash the remaining joy I hold from the dance. “Alexandria, aren’t you here early this year?”

  Chapter Ten

  Jonathan

  The late afternoon sun glints through the thin trees, catching my eye while I sprint across the property in wolf form. Brush and dried grass snag my fur as my paws sink into the thawing tundra. I’ve left Eric behind, worried he wouldn’t be able to change fast enough to explain to the wolves why they need to return to the inn.

  Ice fills my gut at the thought of one of my old packmates being hunted with silver bullets. Who’s out here, tracking wolves when they come to play? Has Jerry, the crafty sonovabitch, fooled us all?

  A series of muted pops sounds in the distance. I push myself further, stretching my body into longer strides. A low wailing howl reaches my ears followed by a chorus of tortured yowls, a sense of loss hanging in lingering notes.

  Werewolf blood floats in the air, along with the loud steps of a human crunching through last year’s dead growth. The dark-skinned form of Kotsana looms in front of me, carrying the still body of his wife in his arms. Tears pour down his face, and rage billows from every pore on his well-muscled body.

  Three Weres flank him, still in wolf form, herding the man toward the inn, away from death and closer to safety.

  “Why?” He weeps into the stillness. “Why would someone shoot Deneishia with silver?”

  The wolves around him show teeth, telling me to keep my distance. I have several choices—I could hunt the shooter, find and warn the others, or lead this group to the inn and see to helping the injured wolf. I make a snap decision, bounding off in the direction the survivors came from, anxious to keep everyone from danger.

  I race across the sloping hills of the vast Alaskan tundra, skirting the edge of the of Arctic National park. My paw snags in a jagged crevice of ground and momentum tumbles me into a shallow ravine created by frost upheaval. As I pick myself up, I notice I’m not alone.

  The distinct gray and brown flecking around Naomi’s nose distinguishes her from the rest of her pack. Her whiskey-colored eyes meet mine, but she doesn’t move from her prone spot in the mud. I give a soft woof to encourage her, and she glances at her right rear leg. She’s caught in a trap. Shiny jaws clamp over the delicate bone, digging deep furrows welling with blood.

  The metal is too bright for a traditional bear trap, and judging by Naomi’s inability to change back to human and pry the jaws open herself, I’m betting the tooth-like spikes are silver-coated. I push my will to the surface and shift, making the change in lightning speed.

  Naked, I crouch next to her and soothe a work-roughened hand down Naomi�
��s back, trying to calm her raised hackles. “Shh, honey. It’s just me. I’ll have you out of this mess in no time.”

  Anger boils low inside me, chasing the chill from my bare skin and fueling me to grab the silver-coated metal without hesitation. Pain singes my fingertips and palms as I pry the trap apart.

  A small whine escapes the wolf as Naomi limps forward out of the jagged clutches. “We don’t allow traps of this sort—never have.” I snap the device in half, ensuring its destruction. Blisters rise on my exposed skin, but I ignore them to examine the gaping wounds on Naomi’s shifting leg.

  Forcing a change to either form will usually heal minor injuries. Transformation takes longer due to the silver taint, but in a few minutes she’s back to normal, standing with blood trickling down the deep mocha skin on her calf. She shakes her head, sending long, skinny black braids in a silky tangle of movement. “The trap was hidden under leaves at the bottom of the ravine. I tripped like you did and went sailing into it.”

  “How’s your leg?”

  She tests her weight on it. “Not bad. I think I can run.” We climb the sloped side of the fissure, staying low to scan for shooters. “Jon, what the hell is going on up here? First we have one of your guys shot yesterday and now one of ours?”

  “Were you there when Deneishia was shot?”

  “Nope. They were a few miles away, but I heard it and the pack howls afterward.” She scans the horizon before turning to me. “Coast looks clear. Should we sprint for the trees?”

  The slender trunks won’t offer us much cover, but they are bound to be better than walking the open tundra like sitting ducks. “Yeah, can you handle it?”

  Naomi lowers her eyes to take in my dangling junk. “Can you run with that hunk of meat banging against your legs on every stride?”

  Heat burns in her gaze and my body instantly responds to her attention. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” I say and playfully smack the toned and well-rounded woman on the ass. “You first, so I can watch you run.”

  She smiles and meets my eyes, well aware I won’t leave her behind and want her in front of me to keep her safe.