Night's Cold Kiss (3 page)

He let his gaze drop to the swell of her breasts. They rose and fell with each enticing breath, the outline of her nipples straining against the thin fabric. Taking her glass, he placed it on a nearby table and moved closer to run his hands along her silky bare arms. Her crimson lips begged to be kissed and he complied, crushing her against him to meld his mouth with hers.

A moan escaped her as he ran his hand down the curve of her back until he was able to reach under the fabric of her dress to touch her naked skin beneath.

“Let’s go inside,” she murmured against his lips.

“Let’s not.” He broke away and stepped back a few feet. “And let down your hair,” he demanded.

For a moment longer she just looked at him, which only heightened his anticipation. Then slowly, one by one, she removed the pins and allowed her hair to tumble down around her shoulders. Rolling her head, she fanned it through the night air like liquid black silk catching the moonlight.

She moved in a silent provocative dance, closing the distance between them, and stopped when her shins met the edge of the chair between his thighs. She ran her hands inside his shirt, across the bare flesh of his chest. Her heartbeat thundering, and he felt her pulse pounding through her hot, questing palms as she ran them over his torso. In turn, he ran his slowly down her back and under the hem of her short dress—her smooth skin was supple under his fingertips. He continued to move his hands over her hips until the soft fabric bunched around her waist. Underneath she wore a lacy thong.

He reached behind her and with agonizing slowness, undid the zipper. His eyes locked with hers—they begged him to hurry—he smiled, slow and deliberate, as he ran his hands along her sides, raising the dress higher and higher. Giselle lifted her arms above her head so he could slip it off
completely, allowing her hair to tumble down over her bare back in a dark waterfall.

Pulling her toward him, he bent her back and ran his tongue along the hollow between her breasts. Sighing, she tossed back her head as he took one rosy nipple into his mouth. A flick of his tongue and it hardened in response—she whimpered when he did the same to the other. Wrapping his arms around her, Christian pulled her closer, sliding up to her soft inviting throat.

Her blood pumped strong, pulsing through her jugular just beneath his lips. His fangs strained to their full length and the hunger growled through his body like an instinctive beast. But instead of giving in to it, he set about arousing her more, making her blood sing.

Touching, tasting.

Her breath came quicker—her heart beat faster—her blood pumped sweeter. He could smell it, almost taste it.

So sweet, but it could be so much sweeter still.

The skimpy underwear came apart easily in his hands and he casually discarded it over the railing, the lacy fabric disappearing into the night.

Gasping in delight, she moved to undo his trousers but he grabbed her wrists.

“Please, please,” she begged. “I want to feel you.”

“Not yet.” He stood and carried her to the balcony rail.

She gripped his shoulders, fear replacing the excitement in her eyes.

“I won’t let you fall,” he whispered in her ear.

Her passion’s blood was sweet and spicy, but her fear would give it a sharp tang.

Balancing her with one hand, he opened his trousers. His need to feed was almost unbearable as he entered her with one hard thrust.
Not yet…wait…wait for the right moment.
His anticipation grew.

At first they moved together slowly. She soon forgot her precarious position and wrapped her legs around his hips,
matching his strokes, her body moving against his with delicious sensations.

Gradually their rhythm quickened and the excitement grew. She leaned back and a cry escaped her as he thrust deeply, again, and again, the tension building in his groin.

At the moment of her climax he pulled her toward him and pierced the soft skin of her neck with his fangs. Hot, sweet, spicy nectar filled his mouth and slid down his throat in a revitalizing rush, triggering his own release. He pulled back and watched her face as a second orgasm took her, then sank his teeth in again.

Her warm blood pumped through his veins, dispelling his fatigue and invigorating tired muscles. He ran his tongue gently over the puncture marks on her neck, so the enzymes in his saliva would seal the wound, leaving no trace of his feeding.

She still panted with the heat of what they had shared and sighed as he withdrew. He helped her down from her precarious perch and she bent to pick up her discarded dress and slipped it on.

Leaning against the balcony railing, he listened to the waves washing up on the beach just beyond the hotel’s vast lagoon pool as he rebuttoned his trousers.

“How long have you been with the agency?” he asked, making small talk. It felt cheap to rush a donor out the door after he was finished.

“About three months now. I’m putting myself through law school.” She picked up her discarded glass and leaned beside him, the sheen on her skin glistening in the moonlight.

“Why did you become a donor?”

“The agency pays well, though some think it’s degrading to let the Aeternus feed from them. An ex-friend of mine
said I was no better than a proverbial cow. But…” She turned and looked him in the eye, then dropped her gaze from his. “There’s another reason.”

“HIV.” He’d tasted it in her blood.

Color rose in her cheeks as she met his eyes. “Courtesy of my first boyfriend.”

He nodded, knowing quite a few donors with HIV. Since the Aeternus were immune to human disease, it was a safe way for infected humans to have casual sex without the worry of passing on their affliction.

She studied her hands. “A friend of mine was dying of cancer and she talked an Aeternus into
embracing
her.” A single tear slipped from her eye, tracing a silver path down her cheek.

“I assume it didn’t end well,” he said.

Her face was pale in the moonlight as she shook her head. “She died two weeks ago.” She sucked back a tearful breath, catching her lower lip between her teeth—then gave him a shaky smile. “She said that she’d rather die trying than lose her hair to chemo.”

Christian shook his head. Most of those embraced died a very painful death as their body tore itself apart trying to adjust to the DNA changes.

Humans
—when would they learn?

“This guy she was seeing said if she could raise ten thousand dollars, he would do it. I tried to talk her out of it, but she refused to listen.”

That got his attention. It wasn’t against the law to embrace someone if they truly wanted it, but it was against the law to take payment for it.

“Who was this man?” He tried to keep his voice calm so he didn’t frighten her.

“I don’t know, she wouldn’t tell me.” The girl looked at him. “It was wrong what he did to her, wasn’t it? And to leave her like that…” She wrapped her arms around herself, and despite the heat, shivered.

The third this month—maybe Viktor’s right, it is starting
again. “I can get someone to look into it if you give me the details.”

“Would you? I really didn’t know who to report it to.” Her face lit up and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You know, I have no other plans for the night, I could stay if you like.” She lowered her eyes and looked at him through downcast lashes.

He was tempted, but shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I have too much work to do tonight.”

Her face fell. He guided her back inside and helped her into her coat.

“Here’s something extra for you.” He held out a couple of folded hundred dollar bills.

She looked at the money, but didn’t take it. “You don’t need to do that, I had a nice time.”

“It’s a gift, for you.”

Her face darkened. “I’m not a prostitute. I thought we had a good time. The agency pays me well to donate, it’s a job. If I like the client I sometimes offer more, but I never take money for sex. That would make it feel…dirty.”

“I’m sorry.” He bent forward and brushed her cheek with his lips. “I had a nice time too.”

She gave him a stiff half-smile and nodded as she buttoned her coat, then left without another word. He closed the door after her. Humans. He would never understand them.

In the dining area he set up his laptop and logged into the Department of Parahuman Security system. The Department mission statement blazed across the top of the Web page: “To protect and enforce the laws to the benefit of parahumans and humans alike.”

An instant message flashed up within seconds.
“Where have you been?”

Christian smiled at Doc’s lack of platitudes. Intel’s administrator was business as usual. He typed his response. “Hello to you too, Doc.”

“I’ve been trying to contact you for two days now—what have you been up to?”

“Working, what else? I’ve been with the local boys all day. By the way, it looks like I’ve got a lead on another embracing scam death.”

“We’ve had reports of a half dozen more deaths in the past few days, and from all over the country. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“So it’s more than one guy then?”

“Worse—dreniacs.”

Christian’s heart sank. To be embraced by a dreniac meant that, if the human survived, they would be infected with Necrodrenia—a full-blown addiction to death-highs and chaos. An all-too-familiar scenario.

“Then it’s no coincidence Viktor has contacted me.”

“He’s resurfaced? When?”
Doc’s response flashed on the screen.

“I spoke to him just over an hour ago. He wants to talk when I get back to New York. Can you dig up some old files for me on the case he was working on? Send them in an encrypted e-mail.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks, Doc. And I’d appreciate it if you made it top priority.”

“I’m on it. I’ll get back to you ASAP.”

First Antoinette then Viktor. Both disappearing from his life around the same time and now appearing again. It had to be more than a coincidence.

He typed Antoinette’s name into the Department’s search engine and it came back with numerous hits. Busy girl. He opened her profile and a picture appeared on the screen of a Venator in martial arts gear and standing in front of a low wooden structure next to a large man leaning on a cane. The caption read, “Antoinette and Sergei Petrescu of the Petrescu School of Training.” One of the best private schools in the country for preparing to become a Venator.

It’s her—I knew it.

Reading on, he wasn’t surprised to find she’d been trained by her uncle, Sergei, since it was to his care that Christian
had delivered a very young Antoinette and her brother sixteen years ago.

Antoinette the warrior, even back then. She’d protected her little brother ferociously, trying to keep him away from Christian with fire burning in her eyes and determination fierce on her face. She’d seen him as the big, bad Aeternus boogie man; he should’ve known she’d grow up to be a Venator.

And she’d been busy. Already one hundred and forty-two confirmed Necrodreniac excisions were credited to her name—one hundred and forty-three, he corrected, remembering the one from the night before.

Christian hadn’t thought of Sergei in years either. When Sergei was younger, an accident had prevented him from becoming a Venator himself. But that hadn’t stopped him from training some of the best since Antoinette’s father, Grigore. Sergei had started the school shortly after coming to America sixteen years ago.

The computer chimed incoming mail, breaking his train of thought.

“You’re a legend, Doc,” he said out loud to the empty room when he opened the e-mail to find the documents he’d requested.

After decrypting them, he opened the first file and read through the summary notes on The Troubles, as they had been called, over a decade and a half ago.

At last he came to what he was looking for—the crime scene report of a murder committed toward the end of that period.

The first attached photograph was of a little girl with blond ringlets and large emerald eyes in her tiny haunted face—a six-year-old Antoinette Petrescu. She sat on a stone floor beside her grief-stricken father as she held tightly to the free hand of a small thumb-sucking boy. The next picture was of a woman with long fair hair lying facedown in a pool of blood on the stone floor. Marianna—Antoinette’s murdered mother.

Antoinette put away her equipment when Sensei Takimura entered the training room followed by the orderly double line of first-grade students. She bowed respectfully to her former teacher as the six-year-olds grabbed their wooden swords in readiness for their
kenjitsu
lesson.

She watched the Japanese elder take the kids through their training
katas,
hardly able to remember when she was that young. The school taught many forms of martial arts, not only training the body but disciplining the mind as well. Anything to give human Venators the slightest advantage against their physically superior foes.

She ran the end of the towel hanging around her neck across her damp brow and she left the room. It’d only been a week since she and Nici had returned home from the Miami mission, and already she was itching to take on a new job, but her injuries had slowed her down—and she hated it. She was starting to get a bit edgy but even after a fairly light workout, perspiration bathed her skin and her side ached like a bastard.

“Sis!” Nici jogged up the hall to meet her. “Uncle wants to speak to you in the office—immediately.”

She headed back the way Nici had come, but after a few steps she realized he wasn’t following. “You coming?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “But I do need to talk to you about something important later. Come find me when you’re done.” His expression gave nothing away, but he had a tightness around his eyes, which usually meant he was keeping something from her.

Antoinette frowned. What could that mean? Nici had failed the dreniac Venator exams a few years ago, though he’d always preferred the hi-tech stuff anyway. But they were partners and they’d always done everything together.

She walked the short distance to her uncle’s office and knocked on the door before entering. Sergei sat behind his desk, dark circles under red eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept—something was up.

She sat in the seat opposite him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nic has been killed.” His Romanian accent was heavy with grief.

“Of course he hasn’t. I just saw him.”

He shook his head and waved his hand. “Not Nici. Your Uncle Nic—my brother.” He slapped his open palm on his chest.

Antoinette froze. She hadn’t known Uncle Nic very well and hadn’t seen him since she was a child—before Sergei had brought them to America.

“A dreniac—”

Sergei held up his hand, cutting her off. “No. He was murdered, shot in the head.” His shoulders slumped. “And there have been others—like before.”

She sat stunned, implications dawning on her. Uncle Nicolae headed the Guild in his sector. With dreniac incidents on the rise and now the assassination of Nicolae and other officials…

She leaned forward. “The Troubles?”

“You’re right, Sergei. She is extremely quick,” a velvety voice spoke from behind. Antoinette turned and fell into the most brilliant blue eyes she’d ever seen. Her stomach jumped, knocking the breath from her lungs.

His lean frame rested casually against the wall, hands in the pockets of his stylish dark Armani suit. Midnight hair brushed the collar of his red silk shirt, which lay open at the throat and his pale skin shone beneath in shocking contrast. It suited him.

Her gaze ran over the rest of him, sensing the power coiled beneath his casual demeanor. Like a cobra ready to strike. She raised her eyes to his and they stared back with a twinkle of amusement.

Those eyes…recognition dawned.
What’s an Aeternus doing here? And not just any Aeternus but…

“Antoinette, this is—”

She cut her uncle off with a dark glare. “I know who he is.” She dropped her voice to a deadly level. “Since when
do we invite the likes of the Crimson Executioner into our training school?”

Christian kept his expression casual—no one had called him by the old title to his face in over a century. Surprise, confusion, and then fury danced across her fine features. Tendrils of damp blond hair stuck to her cheeks flushed from fresh exercise, highlighting the deep purplish bruise from the dreniac encounter in Miami. Her eyes burned with an emerald fire, almost searing him where he stood.

He straightened and took his right hand out of his pocket, extending it to her as he moved forward. She glanced at it then whipped around so hard her braid slammed against her shoulder as she turned her back on him, leaving him hanging.

“Why is he here?” The edge to her voice cut deeper than any blade.

Her skin glowed with a fine sheen of perspiration and damp patches marked her workout sweats. Antoinette’s deliciously hot scent brought an image of her naked beneath him, moaning in pleasure as he bent to take her throat. He quickly scrubbed it from his mind. It wasn’t what he came here for and he had no time for such distractions. “Miss Petrescu, if I may—”

“I was not addressing you, vampire.” She spat out the last as she would a foul-tasting morsel.

“Antoinette,” her uncle roared.

She flashed a contrite expression, but only for a second. When her eyes met his her blood sang with bitterness and hatred. He could smell it on her breath, taste it in the air around her. So full of anger. Such deep and powerful fury.

Christian refused to let his irritation show. “We prefer the term Aeternus to that parasitic name you humans have coined.”

“I think it’s best if I talk to my niece alone, Christian. I’ll call you with my answer,” Sergei said.

Christian nodded. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under such
tragic circumstances, yet again. Your brother was a good man, just like Grigore.”

That got her attention. Her head snapped around at the mention of her father’s name. When he smiled, her eyes narrowed into slits.

“It’s been a long time.” Sergei reached over to clasp Christian’s outstretched hand. “And we are in your debt again. Thank you for bringing this to us.”