“Son of a bitch,” she swore and threw down the phone, which fortunately landed on the bed so it would be available when someone finally called to clue her in. She just hoped that whenever they got around to it, she wasn’t being called because her team was about to be dragged knee-deep into a clusterfuck.
XAVIER PULLED ON soft leather pants that stretched easily around the hard muscles of his thighs, a padded leather vest that would do nothing to stop a modern bullet, but might slow down a knife thrust, and leather boots. The clothes were comfortable and wouldn’t interfere with movement, which was why he wore them. He didn’t worry about bullets or knife thrusts. When battle-driven adrenaline flooded his system, he’d barely feel those or any other wounds. Unless the knife was big and the strike true enough to hit his heart, or the bullet equally true and designed to shred flesh, he wouldn’t much feel the injury until long after the battle ended. Even supposing his enemy had such weapons and ability, the damage would have to be massive to take him out of the fight.
He was a vampire lord—a title that indicated far more than a simple affinity for making tough decisions and persuading others to follow him. His power and strength combined to make him one of the toughest creatures on earth, nearly impossible to kill. Another vampire lord, especially one whose power equaled his own, might score a lucky hit and take him out. One whose power was greater than his might, theoretically, succeed in killing him. But the only vampire he knew who was likely to have power greater than his own was Raphael, and he’d left Europe to its own devices. At least for now.
What made Sakal dangerous was his sorcery, which had been returned to him in full the last Xavier had been aware, and now appeared to have grown.
Fortunately, whether it was fate or happy coincidence, Xavier was all but immune to magic. He didn’t like to speak in absolutes, since fate was a fickle bitch, but he’d never encountered a magic user who could make sorcery work against him. He’d wondered at that particular talent of his. Every vampire lord possessed some unique power that was his, or hers, alone. A thousand years ago such an immunity would have been very useful, but in this modern age, when magic was thin on the ground, and sorcerers few and far between, it had seemed less so. But perhaps fate had known what she was doing after all, because Xavier was now prepared to face Sakal.
After tying his boots, he proceeded to arm himself with weapons new and old. An unassuming sword—short enough to be maneuverable in tight quarters, but long enough to keep his enemy from getting too close—was belted round his waist. It was simple in design, with a plain hilt, but the combination of modern steel and ancient techniques of folding and tempering had produced a blade that couldn’t be found anywhere in the world, not even in the best weapons’ markets. And while there were a few similar blades circulating among the vast population of earth, only this one had been tested in battle and proven to his exacting standards. After tying the scabbard to his thigh, he secured three knives of various sizes about his person, picked up the very modern, and very deadly MP5 submachine gun lying on the table next to him, and he was done.
He wasn’t in his quarters in the basement vault or even his private office on the first floor of the vampire wing. Instead, he was in the small room near the loading dock where he’d met with Chuy and Joaquim. Chuy, who was at this moment beyond the Fortalesa’s walls, had left this gear for him, depositing a piece at a time over the days since they’d settled on this strategy, in order to avoid notice. Absolute secrecy were the watchwords of the night. No one but Chuy and Joaquim knew of tonight’s plan.
He experienced a small twinge of guilt, knowing Layla would be furious when she discovered his deception. He’d have told her, but he’d observed enough of her interactions with her team to know she trusted them absolutely. And while she probably would have honored a vow of silence when it came to the others, he knew without a doubt that she’d have shared with Brian Hudson. The relationship between those two was far more than simple professional respect, more even than friendship. No longer, perhaps, but he suspected that once upon a time, they’d been more than friends to each other, no matter how much she denied it.
And why the hell was he wasting time and energy worrying about such things at this critical moment? He needed to be ready, and that meant more than just strapping on weapons. He needed to get his fucking head in the right place for battle, and adopt the mindset to kill anyone who tried to stop him.
A quiet mental hail had him spinning for the door a moment before it opened to reveal Chuy, dressed and armed much as he was, his eyes already lit with a red-tinged lust for the coming fight.
“Sire,” his lieutenant murmured.
“Everything ready?”
“Yes, my lord. The dock is quiet. The final deliveries completed thirty minutes ago. The vehicle you requested is waiting a mile outside the wall.” He winced. “Though I do wish you would reconsider taking one with at least some defensive armament.”
Xavier grinned. “We’re trying to be subtle and commonplace. One of those black behemoths would all but announce our presence.”
“Yes, my lord,” Chuy agreed unhappily. “Even so . . . ”
Xavier clapped his lieutenant’s shoulder. “Do you have so little faith in me? I will defend us.”
“I would never doubt you, Sire.”
“I know. A little teasing, old friend. Nothing more. Shall we go?”
Chuy nodded once, then turned and, taking the lead, walked out into the hallway and discreetly scanned both directions before Xavier joined him.
They moved quickly and with purpose after that. There was no skulking about, no attempt to conceal their presence. They didn’t anticipate running into anyone—vampire or human—but if they did, they wouldn’t offer an excuse for their presence. Xavier was the Lord of Spain, and the Fortalesa was his. No one had the right to question where he went or why.
Nonetheless, he sensed Chuy’s relief once they were beyond the walls and traveling through the trees to the narrow fire road where a small, ordinary four-door sedan of indeterminate age was parked. It was exactly what Xavier wanted for tonight’s mission—dusty from the dirt road, with a back bumper that was dented as if it had suffered a rear-end collision recently. The only modifications to the unassuming vehicle were the windows, which were dark enough to conceal the occupants. Xavier was well-known, by appearance at least, in this area. And he didn’t want to risk discovery if a driver happened to glance over and see him sitting in traffic.
The drive to Barcelona was uneventful, with little traffic until they drew closer to the city proper. Even then, it was late enough that most clubs and bars were closed, but not yet time for the earliest commuters to begin flooding the streets. Chuy did a drive-by of Sakal’s lair and was circling around the block for another look when Xavier’s phone rang.