Night's Cold Kiss (6 page)

She looked at Viktor, really looked. He was as different to Christian as night to day. While Christian wasn’t overly tall, neither was he short.

Viktor on the other hand would be well over six foot, judging from his sitting position. Where Christian was well built, though not overly muscular, Viktor was lean to the point of skinny with high cheekbones, full lips, and waist-length bleached blond hair making him appear rather effeminate.

Even their style of clothing was at odds. Christian wore a casual knit top over faded denim jeans; Viktor wore black rock-and-roll pants with buckles down the leg, snakeskin Cuban heeled boots, a black shirt now open to the waist, and a knee-length white coat. The hair and clothing gave him an almost androgynous appearance—a Japanese manga hero made living flesh.

Christian was all male—powerful and intense. Viktor on the other hand was…
beautiful
and there was something else about him she couldn’t help but like.

Viktor smiled. “If I put my head in your lap like that…” he teased.

She glared and bent forward to plant a kiss on Cerberus’s muzzle. The dog rolled over onto his back, tale whipping back and forth in delight.

“You’re far too beautiful to be named after the hound of hell,” she said, giving the dog’s stomach a good scratch.

“She has quite an effect on the male sex,” Viktor said with a gleam in his eye. “Even I feel like rolling over for a tummy rub.”

“Beasts have always been a specialty of mine,” she said dryly.

Viktor leaned forward in his seat. “A wit as sharp as her
beauty, I see. I like her, Sergei,” he said, raising his glass with long feminine fingers. “I like her a lot.” He drained the remaining wine and handed the empty glass to Mary.

Antoinette hid her smile in the dog’s coat as she gave him another hug. Cerberus sat up and leaned his weight against her, lapping up the attention, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.

“Mr. Laroque, the pilot has clearance. We’re ready to depart,” the flight attendant announced.

“Good,” Christian said. “Then we should still make New York before dawn.”

The engines whined and the aircraft moved slowly out of the hangar and toward the runway. Antoinette took her seat and fought the unsettling churn of her stomach. She closed her eyes, silently reciting a calming mantra. It didn’t help. She gripped the arms of her seat, and then sensing someone watching her, opened her eyes.
Christian.

Her cheeks flamed. “I hate flying.”

For a moment he looked at her with disbelief, then nodded.

“Mary,” he said. “Bring a double brandy for Ms Petrescu before we take off.”

“There’s no need—” Antoinette started to say.

Sergei cut her off. “Nonsense, Christian is right; it’s just what you need.” He shrugged sheepishly. “We’re land people, we don’t fly much.”

“Mary, make it brandies all round.” Christian smiled.

Antoinette reluctantly took a glass from the tray when it came. Usually she avoided spirits, but she needed something to fortify her nerves. Flying—her one great fear. Sergei was right—they were land people. On land, she had control and in the air she had none.

It wasn’t just the thought of flying that had her in a spin. The extravagance of the plane overwhelmed her—fitted out with plush leather lounges and expensive furnishings, it was more lavish than any hotel she’d ever stayed in. And it all belonged to Christian. With this kind of money came power. But what kind of power?

Viktor led Cerberus to a sky kennel fixed for safety during takeoff. Then he took a brandy from the tray and gave Mary a peck on the cheek before returning to his seat.

Just the smell of the strong spirit stole her breath. As she downed a large gulp, tears sprang to her eyes and the liquor scorched a fiery trail down her throat, sucking the rest of the air from her lungs. She choked back a coughing fit, at the same time trying to drag oxygen back into her burning chest.

Viktor chuckled. “Good to see a woman who can hold her liquor.”

She glared at the smug piece of shit and he winked as she brought the glass to her lips for a second go. The next mouthful went down much more smoothly. The buzz soon made it worthwhile and by the time the plane reached the runway she’d finished the rest and felt lightheaded, the biting sting in her throat subsiding to a warming glow.

Surreptitiously she glanced at the two Aeternus. The only vampires she’d ever really dealt with before were dreniacs—half insane, vicious killers addicted to death-highs. With them, it was easy—destroy them quickly before they destroyed you or anyone else. But this was something new. Two living, breathing Aeternus, and PID agents to boot. She should feel safe with guys. So why did her gut roll over every time Christian’s deep blue eyes turned her way?

The engine whine grew louder. Antoinette tightened the belt and clutched the arms of the seat as the plane began to pick up speed. She hated this part even more than landing. There was no turning back now.

The plane hurtled down the runway, committed to taking off, the front lifted and the movement smoothed out as the wheels left the tarmac, climbing steadily. She had a moment of near panic as the retracting landing gear thumped loudly beneath the plane.

“I expect there will be quite a stir at the conference this year,” Viktor said a little more loudly than necessary.

Was he trying to distract her?

“Really?” Sergei said. “Do tell.”

The conference was an annual event attended by representatives of the human and parahuman people. Her uncle had refused to participate since…since she couldn’t remember when. To be going now was completely contradictory to his usual reluctance. And that didn’t bode well for the seriousness of the situation.

Viktor turned to her uncle, mock surprise written all over his face. “The Mer-people have agreed to officially attend for the first time, it should be very interesting.”

Antoinette frowned and sat back in her seat, suddenly tired. Sergei and Viktor continued to talk about parahuman politics while Christian approached the flight attendant. He glanced in Antoinette’s direction and said something to the woman. A moment later, the elegant flight attendant came over.

“Ms Petrescu.” She bowed her head gracefully. “Mr. Laroque has asked me to show you where you can freshen up.”

Do I look that bad?
Still it would be nice to wash her face; the brandy had made her flushed and warm. She followed Mary toward a door at the tail end of the cabin.

“Everything you need is in here, Miss Petrescu.” Mary opened the door for her. Antoinette looked into the room, her breath catching. Although Mary didn’t exactly smile, Antoinette detected a twinkle of amusement. She must look like some country bumpkin coming to the city for the first time.

“You can freshen up through there.” Mary indicated to a door past the opulent full-size bed with gold brocade quilt and pillows. Antoinette removed her shoes to cross the rich burgundy carpet. The bathroom had marble bench tops, a full-size shower and spa. The tiles felt cool beneath her bare feet.

Catching her disheveled reflection in the mirror above the basin, she leaned in closer. No wonder they’d suggested she come in here—she looked like hell.

Her eyes, emphasized by dark circles, were sunken in her head and a feverish flush covered her cheeks. She massaged the temples of her pounding head and turned on the faucet, splashing her face. The water, like ice over hot coals, dashed the heat on her cheeks. She reached for one of the fluffy white towels hanging from the brass rail beside the counter.

Feeling a little better, she found some painkillers under the counter and took a second look at the bed. Maybe if she just lay down for a bit…

Antoinette crawled from the bed, running a hand over her face to wipe away the sleep. She glanced at her watch. Shit. It’d been an hour. She’d only wanted to close her eyes for a minute. What would her uncle think?

Wait…something’s wrong.
Nothing she could put a finger on, but the hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she’d learned over the years to trust that feeling.

Barefoot, she opened the door a crack and peered into the main cabin. Empty. Where was everyone? The dim lights formed dark shadows around the edges of the cabin, making it difficult to see. She let the door close behind her. Only the faint, constant drone of the engines echoed through the room and she frowned.

Halfway across the floor, her foot slid in something sticky. The coppery scent hit her nostrils as she squatted to investigate. Blood. Her instincts kicked into full alert—she crouched lower, her eyes darting left and right.

A trap! They’d been lured here to die. Drawn in by scheming vampires—she knew they weren’t to be trusted.

Well, they wouldn’t get her without a fight. Oh God, Sergei. She went for her weapons case only to find it gone.

Shit!
The bastards had taken it. She had to reach the cockpit and force the plane down. Somehow. She had to get back on the ground. There she had more of a chance—more control.

For the first time she noticed a dripping noise coming from up ahead. Antoinette tilted her head, trying to locate the source and inched forward. The galley.

She whipped aside the concertina door to find Mary slumped against the wall, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling, her throat ripped open. The blood formed vivid crimson rivulets against her pallid skin. But the eyes were the worst, terror frozen in their vacant gaze.

An overturned coffeepot lay on the counter. A large fat drop fell slowly with a splat into a pool of mingled blood and coffee on the floor beside Mary. Something gnawed at An
toinette’s thoughts. Why would Christian murder his staff?

Maybe it was the other one.

The cockpit door to her right banged shut as the plane dipped with a pocket of turbulence. Antoinette’s heart lodged into her throat and her stomach sank; already knowing what she’d find. She steeled herself and carefully pushed open the door.

The breath left her lungs in a whoosh and she felt as if she’d been sucker-punched in the gut. Blood was splattered across the inside of the windshield in the telltale sign of arterial spray. The captain lolled sideways in the chair, his hand wrapped around a gun as the controls moved on their own. Thank God for autopilot.

Antoinette turned the copilot’s chair, hoping against hope he may still be alive, yet knowing he wouldn’t. The man had a gaping hole where his throat had once been, just like the captain.

So brutal.
This wasn’t the frenzied attack to satisfy a death-high. This has been done slowly out of pleasure—pure, simple, and perverted pleasure. Besides, there was no trace of the telltale scent in the recycled air.

She tried to push down the bitter taste of panic rising up the back of her throat as her heart beat wildly in her chest. She must not give in to fear—it would get her killed more quickly than anything else.

A strange warmth bloomed in her mind and spread throughout her body, clouding her thoughts and soothing away the feelings of horror at the scene in front of her.

She turned. Her breath quickening. Christian stood a few feet away—shirtless. Her body betrayed her at the sight of his bare chest; his lean, well-defined frame glowed in the dim light. Her fingers itched to rake through his hair and trace the ridges across his stomach.

She grew hot and ran her hands over her hips, lifting her dress high as she rubbed her thighs together.

No,
came a voice from within. She shook her head,
trying to clear the creeping fog. What had she come here looking for?

Focus, take back control.
There was something she had to do. Something important, only she couldn’t remember what it was.

He held out a beckoning hand and her feet moved on their own.

Stop—he’s doing this to you.

But she couldn’t stop. His eyes drew her in, brilliant blue like the Aegean Sea. She wanted to dive into their cool depths and lose herself forever.

She reached him and he pulled her against his chest. His hot scent overpowered her senses, making her weak and turning her legs to jelly.

He forced her back against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head, claiming her mouth with his, devouring her. And she let him. His hardness pressed against her and she knew she wanted him, right here, right now. If he’d let go of her wrists, she’d rip off those trousers and show him just how much.

This time the voice inside screamed.
You have to stop. Snap out of it before it’s too late. This is wrong.

But how could it be wrong to be in his arms? How could it be wrong to have his lips on hers? This was right.

“Oh so right,” she whispered, and sighed as he moved his kisses to her throat.

A groan escaped her and her skin burned with feverish pleasure. He unbuttoned her dress, reached inside, cupped a lace-covered breast, and brushed her erect nipple with the pad of his thumb.

She swayed with heady pleasure, her knees almost buckling and she cried out. He traced kisses across her naked skin. When he moved back to her throat, she thought she would burst if he didn’t take her soon.

His lips brushed her ear. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word,” he whispered.

She froze. That rhyme—why that rhyme? The one
he
had sung.

As if plunged into icy water, her passion died. She wrenched her wrists from his grasp then pushed him away to find that instead of Christian’s stirring blue eyes, a cold pale gaze stared back. Lank brown hair had replaced thick dark locks.

She knew his face so well. It’d visited every childhood nightmare. That same cold smile chilled her now, just as it had back then.

“Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.” The killer continued to sing the same haunting lullaby he’d sung all those years ago as he slit her mother’s throat before her six-year-old eyes.

She felt warmth pooling around her feet and she looked down expecting to see she’d wet herself with fright, just as she had back then. But it was blood. Her blood.

The scream tore from her throat. “Nooooooo!”