Biting Oz: Biting Love, Book 5 (25 page)

“And if the shoppes default, well.” Julian downed another shot. “The bank will be ripe for takeover or worse.”

“Fuck me,” Nixie said. “Aren’t we as much fun as a barrel of dicks?”

Julian eyed her. “I think you mean ‘barrel of monkeys’.”

“Dude, the only possible way being mashed in a barrel with a bunch of hairy little things would be fun is if it’s dicks.”

“Ah.” Julian set the shot glass down. “My mistake.”

“Remind me,” Mishela said. “Why is the Coterie going after Meiers Corners?”

“First tell me what the Coterie is,” I said. “And Nosy and the Alliance.”

Julian said, “The Iowa Alliance is a group of philosophically like-minded vampires who live in harmony with humanity.”

“The good guys,” Nixie translated.

“Thanks,” I said. “And ‘Iowa’ Alliance because…?”

“The Alliance is based there,” Glynn said. “It’s where the leader lives.”

“Ah.” I nodded wisely. “Scary Ancient Dude.”

Nixie snorted. “Better than Ancient ‘One’, which is totally
baka
fakerific cuz there’s more than one.”

“But not many,” Glynn said. “In our world, age means strength, and the head of the Alliance is a vampire who’s walked the earth so long, no one knows how old he is.”

“Couple that with his steel will, preternatural intelligence and personal fortune…” Julian knocked back his last shot, grimaced. “He’s the most dangerous being on the planet. Thus Ancient ‘One’ is most appropriate.”

I finished off my beer, set it on our tray. “Okay. And the Coterie?”

“The vampires running the Chicago territory,” Julian said. “They stand philosophically against the Alliance. Their leader Nosferatu hates the Ancient One. I’ll let you explain.” With a nod to Glynn, Julian swept the rest of the empties onto the tray, stood and doddered off toward the bar. Apparently not as sober as I’d thought.

Glynn watched him go. “Chicago’s the third-largest city in the United States. It’s also the third-largest population center of vampires.”

I raised eyebrows. “Vampires fill out censuses? Is that one of the race options and I just didn’t see it?”

“We have our ways.” Glynn shrugged. “The Coterie is a bit of a mafia-like group that uses a gang of rogues, the Lestats, as their muscle. Nosferatu is the head of it all.”

Mishela took off her cap and played with it absently. “Nosferatu’s after power, territory and blood.”

“Especially ours.” Nixie scrubbed salt out of the only bowl Julian had left her. “Nosy and his homeboys love to grab up small-town blood centers.”

“Don’t they have blood centers in Chicago?”

“They’re protected,” Glynn said. “Grandfathered in on an arrangement the Ancient One made with the federal government. Vampires are powerful, but even a pack couldn’t stand against a platoon of Marines or Army field artillery.”

“The Coterie’d be jackass stupid to invade Chi-town blood banks.” Nixie threw the bowl on the table. “So they score on the streets and in their clubs. But that blood’s full of drugs and crap—and they have to hunt it, so it’s iffy besides. Funeral homes and hospitals are surer, but most of that blood’s old and sick.”

“Yuck,” I said when I deciphered that.

Glynn said, “Nosferatu is trying every way he can to take over territory west.”

“Yum, yum, farm-fresh blood,” Nixie said.

Which upped the yuck-factor. “So the government protects big blood centers and the Alliance protects the small-town centers?”

“And small-town people,” Glynn said. “It’s forced Nosferatu to bargain for blood or, worse yet, buy it.”

“I know Nosferatu hates the Ancient One.” Mishela popped her cap back on her loose hair. “But why is the Coterie going so hard after Meiers Corners?”

“Revenge?” Nixie said as Julian returned and passed around refills. She yoinked all the peanuts, gobbled up two cheekfuls and munched like a tiny blonde chipmunk. “Nosy wanted our close and hackable blood center. He’s tried like three times to get it or the city under his thumb. But we
pwned
him every time. That’s gotta sting.”

I took a sip of my beer, smacked my lips at the bright taste of imported pilsner. Julian’d sprung for the good stuff.

“That’s possible,” Glynn said. “Nosferatu was successful taking over a few small eastern blood centers. Meiers Corners standing firm might taunt him.”

“So why bother with it?” Mishela asked. “Why not stick with easy blood?”

“Because he can’t go much further east,” Julian said. “Not without running afoul of the New York Cadre.”

“Sounds like ball teams,” I said. “So if he wants to go west, why doesn’t he just go west?”

“Because of Project Shield.”

I frowned. “What’s—?”

“What you’d think,” Glynn said. “A line of Alliance households on the Coterie’s border.”

“Both a defense and an early alert system.” Julian lined up an arc of shot glasses. “Like the old DEW line between North America and the USSR during the cold war.”

Nixie said, “It’s all ‘Red rover, red rover let Nosy come over’.”

“You mean he’s trying to break though?” I frowned. “And he just picked Meiers Corners at random to attack?”

“If only,” she said. “We’re the Anne Robinson.”

“I beg your pardon?” Julian said.

“Suit guy.” Nixie winked. “Renaissance dances are his bubblegum pop.”

I suddenly got it. “We’re the weakest link.”

“Yup,” Nixie said. “Goodbye.”

I got cold.

“The Ancient One won’t let that happen,” Mishela said. “He’ll stop it before it goes too far.”

“You weren’t around the last time he personally stepped in.” Glynn shuddered, tossed off the last of his drink and shuddered again. “It wasn’t pretty.”

Julian turned distinctly green around the edges.

Nixie frowned at her husband. “Okay, so top priority is keeping Scary Dude from having to unleash his Ancient mojo.”

“But how?” Julian said. “If Camille is in Meiers Corners legally, it’s her prerogative to offer whatever sales incentives she considers efficacious.”

“Julian, sweetheart, love of my life. Want to tool that down to words invented in the last millennium?”

I said, “If she’s not doing anything illegal, we can’t force her out.”

“That sucks.” Nixie upended the last bowl of peanuts into her mouth. She held it out to Julian and batted her eyelids.

With a sigh, he gathered bowls onto the tray and returned to the bar.

Nixie lowered her voice and leaned in. “So, what if we eighty-six legal? Could we run over there, tear off her head, dig out her heart? Blow up her club?”

“It would make life easier,” Glynn said. “But the Ancient One tends to frown on that sort of thing.”

“Us being the good guys.” Mishela grinned.

“So we sit on our thumbs and twirl while the bitch takes our audience?” Nixie frowned at the door. “We should at least check out the club.”

I opened my mouth to agree.

Glynn cut in with a snarled, “Too dangerous. Julian would forbid it—and I also.”

Though he said it to Nixie, he was glaring at me. I blinked.

“Shoulda sent you to get peanuts too.” Nixie said it to Glynn, then gave me an apologetic shrug. “They tend to be a mite overprotective of their mates.”

Second time, I couldn’t let that pass. My “young man” was bad enough. “Glynn’s not my—”

“We could turn Camille’s ploy against her,” Mishela said.

“I’m interested,” Nixie said. “Details.”

I tried again. “Glynn’s not—”

“Of course, he isn’t.” Mishela grinned. “Focus here. Camille’s snatching tourists, right? So her customers have to be sleeping somewhere, eating during the day when she’s closed. We just tell those businesses to talk up other good-guy businesses. We grab the tourists back—and the show.”

“We could also offer incentives,” I said, my mind starting to work now that the scary mate idea was off the table. “An MC
Quainte Shoppe Coupone Booke
or something. That’ll take more time to put together, but it’ll work for both tourists and locals.”

Julian returned with a trayful of peanuts—and a glass of milk. “Drink.” He plopped the glass in front of Nixie. “We’ll leave right after. You need your rest.”

“We need to prevent Ancient One Armageddon more.” She grimaced but drank.

“Hey.” I frowned. “If this Ancient guy is so powerful, why doesn’t he rule Chicago already? Or New York or London or any of the big cities?”

“He does, in a way.” Glynn fingered his empty glass. “He has business interests all over the world, a much more effective leash on things up until now.”

“Don’t get me started on that,” Mishela said. “He’s really pissed at the economy. Blames Nosferatu and works insane hours to keep it from tanking completely.”

I pictured a sort of shadow mogul, a vampire Howard Hughes skulking in hotel penthouses. “This Ancient of yours is a business tycoon? Then why have I never heard of him?”

Glynn said, “You’ve heard of him, all right. He’s Mishela’s guardian. Kai Elias.”

Entr’acte

Glynn insisted that everyone walk Junior home that night. He implied it was for safety against rogues, but actually it was so he wasn’t alone with her, couldn’t touch her and smell her and love her. Emerson eyed him, but wisely said nothing. If the other male had made the twitting comment Glynn could just see on his lips, he’d have turned him into bloody mincemeat.

Or tried. Emerson was a thousand years plus. He’d probably put up a bit of a fight.

Glynn’s fangs started to throb at the thought of Emerson putting up a fight. As tense as Glynn was, he might have enjoyed it.

But Emerson said nothing. And when they rounded the corner onto Fourth and met the annoying flying tube with the grinning mad head and Glynn slashed it to pieces with his bare claws, Emerson said nothing again. Good thing, because the flying tube had only whetted Glynn’s vampire urge to destroy.

He half expected Junior to shriek in protest when he shredded the tube, but she only choked back a laugh. It made him smile. He found himself doing that far too often around her. She smiled at him in return.

Their smiles died, and they stared for an awkward moment at each other. Her scent became pungent with arousal and he hardened in response. He did that far too often around her, too.

He had to remember they had no future. She wanted it that way. And he had his own dreams.

So he motioned Emerson to walk her to her door while he stood at the mouth of the narrow, dim walkway, scowling when she fumbled her key into the lock. Before he left Meiers Corners, he was damned well putting in a better light.

Mishela glided up next to him. “You want to tell Mr. Elias about tonight or should I?”

Glynn turned his scowl on her. “I don’t
want
to tell him. But better me than you. You get overly dramatic.” Then he realized Mishela was supposed to be guarding Emerson’s wee tornado of a wife. “Where’s Nixie?” He kept his voice low.

Mishela’s was equally low. “She wanted to scope out Camille’s club.”

“Cock. That’s incredibly dangerous.” Glynn glanced at Junior. She’d finally gotten the key to work. Emerson waited stoically at her side, but the lawyer’s jaw clamped with a male’s imperative to be with his lover and a vampire’s need to protect his vulnerable human.

Still, he’d stay with Junior until she was safe inside. Glynn strode across the street, Mishela trailing. He muttered, “If anything happens to Emerson’s wife—”

“Relax, Glynn. Nixie’s the logical choice. If anyone can do goth, it’s her. And Camille’s not going to risk starting all-out war in her own club.”

“The Coterie risked war trying to kidnap you.”

“Using a masked man, so we couldn’t prove it. This is different. They won’t want any fingers pointing.”

“I hope you’re right.”

At Fangs To You’s mirrored doors, two males in identical tough-guy black blocked Glynn’s way. The Tweedledum and Tweedledee of bouncers. One smelled human, the other vampire, but it mattered little. Glynn bared his fangs with a snarl and the men fell back. It gave Glynn the instant he needed to slip them a hypnotic suggestion. His simmering irritation made it a bit harsh—one male cupped his crotch and the other bent over puking as Glynn strode through the doors.

Inside was dim, crowded and loud. People mobbed a long lacquered bar to the left. More ringed a corner bar, hazed in smoke. Not cigarette. Glynn tested the air, scented smoke cloyingly sweet. Illegal, but Camille always enjoyed pushing the boundaries. She’d have a battalion of lawyers standing by to get her out of any real trouble.

Red light played over a full dance floor where youngsters, human and vampire, thronged, hopping like a bunch of demented chickens. Glynn wondered if it was modern dance or they were having some sort of fit. Probably dance, though he’d stopped learning popular steps before the waltz. Nixie wobbled in their midst.

She saw him and immediately started over. Good thing or he’d have waded in to drag her out. Emerson would be livid. The small tornado should have known that, having been married to her vampire for several months now. Yet she’d chosen to enter this den anyway. Glynn hoped it was worth it.