Vampire Assassin League Bundle 4 - Eternity (2 page)

Devereaux lifted his head, licked at his lips, and snagged the hands attempting to maneuver his pants off his hips, as if they’d find anything there other than disappointment. Another tremor came, riding atop the humid air as if searching him out somehow. Just him. Relentless. And instantly enslaving.

“What’s the matter, Love?” one of them asked.

“Oh... snap. He’s not going anywhere. Not with what he’s got.”

Dev smacked the speaker’s hands off his crotch. This was getting complicated. In hindsight, he should’ve stuck to the ‘inebriation clause’.

“Too much for you, Handsome?”

That question had a snide undertone to it. It would probably get him featured on another police sketch, too. He couldn’t help it. Or her. Or the orgy of feasting that he’d put into play and now had to leave. Something odd was happening. Something wonderfully odd. Perfect. Inescapable. He cleared his throat and looked over the tops of their heads.

“Apologies, ladies. Sincerely. I have to go.”

“What?”

That was screeched from more than one throat. Devereaux didn’t care. They no longer mattered. The next moment, they’d ceased to exist. His entire focus right now was on the next tremor. And what it might mean. And the fact that each tremor seemed to be losing power. As if moving away.

“Seriously. I... need to leave. Now.”

He snagged his jacket, but couldn’t see his shirt. Or his neck cloth. Looked like the vest was going to be a casualty to this aborted feast, as well.

“And just how are you planning to manage that?”

“You tell him, Shirley.”

“Yeah. It’s sixteen to one. Remember?”

Dev launched upward, clinging to the ceiling as they seemed to collapse into the space where he’d been standing. They made a haphazard pile of shapely limbs and bare breasts, and if he wasn’t mistaken, more than one wasn’t wearing her panties, either. Yet, not one of them noticed where he clung to the shadowed space beside their chandelier.

“Holy shit! Did you see that?”

“I think that guy really was a vampire.”

“No way.”

“Well, I think he was gay. He probably frequents St. Ann’s.”

“I think we all could use some more tequila. Marge? Set up some shots!”

Good plan, ladies.
And then Devereaux ceased hearing or seeing anything from the room below him. Another tremor finally occurred. Vibrating all the way through him. Lifting hairs on his scalp. Faint. Yet insidious. He had to find the source. Something made that inescapable. And immediate. And intense. He was on the gallery a second later, dropping into the crowd the next, shoving his jacket back on as he moved. And then he was on the prowl and seriously hunting...

His mate.

CHAPTER TWO

“Well... looks like we got the hot and steamy part covered. Even in the middle of the night, New Orleans is a sauna. With benefits.”

“What benefits?”

“Aroma. Music. Views.”

Sydney wrinkled her nose. “That isn’t aroma, Stan. That’s smell and odor and stink. That’s not music, either. It’s a blending of every raucous sound known to mankind. At ear-blistering level. Thank heavens the studio doesn’t want a locale in the party zone – that Bourbon Street nightmare back there. I’d quit.”

“You’re just having trouble with all the hunks that keep coming out of the wrought ironwork to block your path. Can’t say I blame them. Everybody wants a part in the movies.”

“Maybe you should’ve picked a realtor with a smaller mouth.”

“And maybe you shouldn’t run around with ‘studio location scout’ emblazoned across the back of your jacket.”

“Oh, shut up and help me.”

“I’m not pulling weeds if this isn’t our site. Do I look that stupid?”

“Do I have to answer that with a straight face?” she countered.

“Cute.”

“Anybody see the realtor yet? We can’t select a site if we don’t get in and check rooms!” She yelled it over her shoulder toward her three-member crew before turning back to shine her flashlight on what might be a courtyard of a late eighteenth-century mansion. It was also the eighth building they’d checked. All vacant-looking. Most intact. Most of them with the characteristics of the vampire pilot the studio wanted. All she needed now was the inside layout. Damn realtor.

“We’re early, Syd. You said two. It’s five of. And you know those Southerners.”

“Do tell.”

Hmm. That looked like the innards of an old mattress against one wall. A rust pile that might be a chair. Sydney shuddered and kept moving her light. Oh look. Right next to her was a big fountain. Or bird bath. It was crafted of stone. And heavy. Probably why it hadn’t been carted off.

“Everything is slow down here. Like molasses. I can see why. Who could move fast in this heat?”

“Must you go on and on about it?”

“Shit. Me? You know the actor they’re considering for the lead. Franklin. He’s pure prima donna. At this rate, we’re going to need air conditioning in every corner of every room.”

“Well. All of that is contingent on finding the right house in the first place, now isn’t it? And then we have more trouble. Get on the cell. Call the realtor. Find out what the holdup is.”

“On it.”

“And check on building codes. Modifications. We’re going to need more than air conditioning. We’re going to need municipal power. And wiring that won’t fry the place the moment we flip a switch. Jeez. This just gets better and better. They probably don’t even allow air conditioning in this section.”

“Oh. They allow it. Look up. The place next door has a little air conditioner unit attached to every upstairs window. Like a cheap motel.”

“Looks like they quit working sometime around the Vietnam War era, too. Thanks Stan. Thanks a lot. Why did I bring you again?”

“Mule. You got heavy equipment. I get to haul it.”

“And nowhere in that job description does it say smart-ass remarks. Oh, look. We got another one. Where the hell is security?”

Sydney pushed her glasses up her nose and looked across the yard at yet another gorgeous fellow. Stan hadn’t been exaggerating earlier. She’d seen enough hot males this evening to populate a male revue show. And yet, she instinctively knew they had nothing on this guy. His face was half-shadowed by the street lights behind him, but the half she could see gave her heart a healthy punch. Wow. If handsome had a visual description, she was looking at it. And he was tall. Extremely broad-shouldered. Thickly muscled. Black slacks rode his thighs all the way to his open coattails. And that old-fashioned velvet coat was gapped open, as if he needed those abs and pecs framed and displayed. He was leaning against the gate post and he was focused entirely on her.

Entirely.

Her heart gave another lurch.

“All right, guys! Who ordered a male stripper? ‘Fess up, and I won’t—”

“Stan,” Sydney stopped him.

“What?”

“Stop that. As far as you know, that’s the realtor.”

“Not hardly... unless he sounds like a sixty year old woman on the phone.”

“Go give him a card. One of mine.”

Her employee gave her a look that spoke volumes before sighing heavily and approaching the newcomer.

“Hi. Listen. Buddy. You’re encroaching. We got private business here. And we’re not casting extras until next month. Here’s a card. Okay? Next month. See you then.”

Stan handed the guy a card. The stranger took it without moving his gaze from hers. And then he spoke. One word.

“Extras?”

Hell’s bells.
His voice was incredible. Deep. Magnetic. Sydney dropped her flashlight, sending an arc of illumination along the brick wall before it stopped rolling. Every hair on her body whispered upright with the accompanying shiver. There was the strangest sound in the air, too. A deep, pulsating throb. Like a vibrato note.

“Yeah. Extras. For the series we’re developing. And please. Don’t tell me you didn’t know. And expect me to believe it, anyway.”

“Series?”

Man! The guy had the most amazing voice! It was tinged with a slightly foreign accent. Each syllable perfectly enunciated. One word from him could melt ice. It was doing a fair job of it already on her legs. And arms. And starting a tingling where she wouldn’t even admit. She didn’t have permission to look for cast members. But if the studio head could see and hear this guy... well. Hell. He’d probably get a walk-on part. Maybe even some dialogue.

No. Wait. They’d already interested Franklin in the lead. He was a hot ticket. They needed him to help get financing. Franklin demanded a contract proviso that nobody in any project got to be prettier than him. He got final approval. And that included the actresses. Mr. Perfect here was never getting past that proviso... which was just as well. He was messing with her concentration and doing a major number on her nerves. Even as he’d moved his attention, seeming engrossed now with Stan. And Stan wouldn’t quit talking and explaining. Like he’d turned into one of those chatty dolls and someone had pulled his cord and until it rewound, he just couldn’t shut up. That was really odd. She wasn’t the only one with raised eyebrows. And rapt attention. The three members of her crew and more than one bystander beyond the iron rails fronting the courtyard were all watching and listening as if opening night was already happening.

“We’re developing a series. It was in all the trade journals. And all over the internet. Couldn’t keep it quiet if we wanted to. And we don’t. That’s why we booked a full page ad in all the tabloids.”

“Tabloids?”

“You didn’t see it? Damn! That was my idea and cost a fortune. We’re trying to get buzz started. For our series. We’re calling it Intimate Secrets, but the title has to await studio approval.”

“
Intimate
...secrets?”

His voice! Those words! Holy shit. Her knees trembled. Weakened. She’d have probably fallen if the stone bird bath wasn’t there beside her. Her palm gripped the edge while her knees just kept shaking. An instant flash of heat arced through her bosom, too.

“Yeah. Just think of it! We get people to confess their deepest, darkest secret desires when they think they’re off-camera, and then we make it happen. The first one is already scripted. It’s a kick-ass episode all about vampires. I know. Why don’t they just throw another sinker when I’m looking for a curve ball? What can I say in defense? Vampires are still popular. That’s why we’re out here, in this god-forsaken section of the French Quarter, in the dead of night. We’ve got to find the perfect spot for a vampire to hang out.”

“You think this is where a vampire would... how did you phrase it - hang out?”

“Maybe not this exact building. But hey. We’ve seen some other places. We’ve got options.”

“Derelict places?”

“Well... yeah. It’s easier to deal with empty buildings.”

“Really?”

“Lots easier. You know the hell we have, otherwise? Much easier to get leasing agreements if the place is off the beaten path and unoccupied. Tons easier to modify pre-existing walls and such for our needs. And don’t get me started on the insurance. Then there are the municipal factions, building permits, utilities, ecological concerns, trash removal, and let’s not forget – the ever-present gawkers.”

The man turned his face back to her, lowered his chin a fraction, and somehow gained a lot more light on his face. Stan not only shut up, he visibly sagged, before catching any reaction on the opposite gatepost. Part of her noticed that. The other was solidly enthralled. And she didn’t even know a good description for that word until right now.

Oh dang. Mister Perfect had little lines in his forehead. She’d never seen such a look. She was in danger of swooning. Big time. A tingling sensation hit her nose even as she panted for air. She watched him lift the little business card in his hand and scan it.

“You agree with all this, Miss Sydney Ross... LLC?”

“Please. It’s just Sydney.”

He smiled. The world shifted. He grew in stature and definition somehow. Or maybe it was just the lights. Everything flared up for the briefest of moments before sinking back to a poorly lit section of New Orleans in the middle of the night.

“Very well. Sydney. Are you in agreement that a vampire would reside in an abode such as that?”

He gestured to the building backing her with an arm that contained every bit of the disdain already in his voice. Sydney didn’t dare move her eyes. Or her hand from where it still clung to the fountain edge. Or even her feet.

“Well. Maybe... not exactly that one. But one like it. I mean... after we get done with restoration and modifications. You know. We’d inspect it first – for soundness of construction. Foundation status. Wall stability. Then we’d clean. Put in new floors and stairs if we have to. Paint. Wallpaper. New floor coverings. Furniture. Lighting effects. That’s why we need building permits. And lease agreements that are favorable toward restoration efforts.”

Now, why the hell was she a chatty doll all-of-a-sudden? Part of her noticed her crew looking at her with the same raised brow look she’d worn earlier. Not Stan. He was still leaning against the post, looking at his feet or something else on the ground. The other part of her was abuzz with... something. It resembled the sensation she’d felt one summer out in the lake in a canoe with her cousin, Ron, during a lightning storm because their parents had told them not to do it. Hair raising. Electrifying. Slightly scary. Totally titillating. Heady.

But worse.

This sensation was addictive.

“You know... you could always find out where a real vampire would reside in the first place. And save yourself all that trouble.”

Chuckles followed his statement. Probably due to the absurdity of it. Sydney didn’t join in. Maybe it was the look on his face. Or perhaps it was the absolute magnetism of the guy. Man! If she could get him any kind of part, the series would rocket off the chart. She didn’t have to guess at it. Something made it inevitable. Inescapable. This man radiated vibes that contained pure sex appeal. He even managed to look like he’d just come from an interrupted tryst with a lover. Or a score of them. That would certainly explain the half-dressed view. The female demographic on viewership would go right off the charts. If he could act, he’d even be a good replacement for their lead.