The Sonoran Desert, Mexico
SOTIRIS CLOSED THE document he’d been reading and switched off the light, turning instead to the pitch-black desert rolling by on the other side of the big SUV’s tinted windows. He wasn’t driving his Maybach tonight. He wasn’t driving at all. His driver was a vampire. After all, who better to hunt for vampires than one of their own kind? Sotiris could have hunted just as well on his own . . . with some minor effort. But he’d needed a driver for the SUV, since he hated the things, and all but the weakest vampires could sense their own kind, which would make the hunt much more efficient.
This particular vampire—his name was Ramiro—was physically stronger than magically, but he was well-connected among the many vampires of the drug cartel. And having been born in this general area, he spoke fluent Mexican Spanish. Having him along would save time in locating the isolated villages, and dealing with both humans and vampires. And if it came down to a physical confrontation with anyone they encountered, he was more than powerful enough to deal with it, thus preventing the waste of Sotiris’s energy on something so menial.
Ramiro had approached Sotiris not long after the rather ignominious fall from grace of the Southern Vampire Lord Jabril, which was thanks mostly to the vampire lord Raphael’s interference. Since Raphael’s idea of a suitable replacement for the territory was considerably more . . . progressive, those of Jabril’s vampires who’d enjoyed his ruthless regime had been forced to adapt or die. Or, as in Ramiro’s case, find a more amenable posting. Hence, his work with Sotiris, who firmly believed in the survival of the fittest, and to hell with the rest. Ramiro was more than a driver, however. His talents were far more suited to clean and quiet assassination, especially when it came to eliminating anyone who posed an obstacle to his employer’s business interests. Even a sorcerer as powerful as Sotiris could benefit from traditional human investments, especially when one had a knack for picking up insider knowledge on several large corporate entities. That the knack came from his use of magic was only logical. He was a sorcerer, after all.
“How much longer, Ramiro?” he asked, hating this endless drive, but admitting its necessity. It wasn’t as if he could drag a parade of powerful master vampires up to his Manhattan penthouse to be fed to his amplification device. Even the dullest doorman would have noticed that. The lake house, too, was out of bounds for now. He couldn’t trust the place’s security until he could be absolutely sure that neither the girl nor Dragan had given away the location. Unfortunately, he’d still have to empty it out and find another equally discreet location for his various collections. He hadn’t decided yet if he’d sell the place. Sorcerers of his power were able to think extremely long term. Even if the house had to sit empty for a hundred years, it might be worthwhile. It wouldn’t put an undue strain on his resources, and it was perfectly located—easily accessible from Manhattan, and yet remote enough that no one would think to look there. It had served him for a very long time before this most recent incident.
“A few more miles, my lord,” Ramiro responded, turning his head slightly to be heard over the seat. There was a privacy screen that Sotiris could raise, if desired. But that wasn’t the case tonight. “There’s a small town just ahead,” the vampire continued. “Cartel-controlled like most of them, but this one’s ruled by a vampire master who’s more than typically powerful.”
“Excellent.” Sotiris thought for a moment. He’d gone back and forth on the question of when to drain the donor vampires of their power, finally deciding that night would be better since every vamp’s power would be at its peak, strengthened as it was by an active vampire symbiote. He’d decided to use magical coercion to control them, when simple persuasion wouldn’t work. He could use sorcery to immobilize the creatures physically, if necessary. It would expend more of his power, but the pay-off would be worth it. And if he waited until nearly dawn to hook up his device to the donors, the sun’s rising would take care of the cleanup for him. He figured on taking two a night, until the device was fully topped off. The final number would depend on their relative strength, but his working assumption was no more than twenty vampires, which would have his device fully charged within ten days. Plenty of time for him to demonstrate its power to potential clients . . . in the most deadly way possible. He planned to charge a substantial fee for its use. He had to make it worth the price.
Chapter Nine
MAEVE ROLLED INTO the solid heat next to her. The room temperature had dropped during the night, and they’d both been too tired to bother with figuring out the furnace—too busy washing off the blood and sweat of the evening. She sighed and cuddled closer to—
Shit! She froze in place, then very, very slowly rolled away from Dragan’s big, warm body and sat up. Holding that position, she shifted just her eyes sideways to make sure he hadn’t woken up. Assured that her invasion of his personal space had gone unnoticed, she cautiously stood and moved back to her own bed, tugging the—
“You forgot your pillow.”
She uttered an undignified squeak, turning so quickly that her legs got twisted, and she fell in an awkward heap onto her bed. “Sorry,” she said, staring at him and wondering how much he remembered. Hell, wondering what she’d done. She hadn’t been cuddled up to him when she fell asleep, that much was certain.
“I don’t mind, you know.” His smile was gentle, without a hint of sexuality.
Maeve didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at that.
He studied her a moment longer, his eyes half-closed, then said, “I’ve never before had anyone seek comfort with me after a battle. Someone who trusted me enough to keep them safe.” He shrugged slightly. “With my brothers, it was different. We fought together, we took care of each other. But we were all powerful warriors, we provided safety—we didn’t seek it. But before then, before I was called into Nicodemus’s service, when I was the goddess’s defender and nothing else, I had no one.”
She frowned. “But . . . you lived in a village, in your father’s kingdom. You were their hero, their defender.”
His smile was sad this time. “I was their monster, the one sent out to fight, because I was bigger and more deadly than any other monster. But that’s all I was. They didn’t see me as a man, as a neighbor. Certainly not a hero.”
“What about your family? Your parents, your older brother?”
“I was taken from my mother’s birthing bed to be raised by priests whose only purpose was to prepare me to serve the goddess. I had no contact with my family, and the priests had no care for me. Once I was old enough to live alone, they never spoke to me again.”
Maeve’s eyes filled with tears as she crawled off her bed and back to his, lying next to him and hugging him as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I care about you. And you’re not a monster. You’re Dragan, and you’re my hero.”