Sara laughed, but the sound held little humor. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”
The woman lifted one manicured eyebrow. “You’re not going to give me trouble, are you?”
“I might.”
The woman’s face remained impassive, but her hazel eyes hardened.
“Listen,” Sara began, releasing her NYC-tough-bitch attitude on the woman, “whoever you are—”
“Dillon.”
“Okay. Dillon. You’re a woman, right?”
“Veana.”
Great, another female vampire. “Whatever. How smart would it be for me to get into a car I don’t recognize with someone I don’t know?”
“You take cabs all the time, don’t you? Same thing.”
No. Not the same thing at all. Sara put her hands up and shook her head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll walk.”
The veana cursed under her breath. “Alex didn’t tell me what a pain in the ass you were.”
Alex? How friendly were they? “That’s too bad. Could’ve saved you the trouble of coming here.”
Sara turned and started down the street, the icy wind finding its way inside her coat. For several seconds she heard nothing but street noise as she walked, then behind her, near her left earlobe, came the hushed words “Don’t be a fool.”
She stopped, whirled around, her heart pounding like a mouse with its tail caught in a trap. The female stood in front of her, breathing slow and easy.
How the hell?
Dillon cocked her head to one side and said in a low, deadly voice, “My assignment is to bring you back to the Romans’ compound and I always complete my assignments. So if you’re thinking of going anywhere else but there tonight, think again.”
Fear pulsed in Sara’s blood. Calm and dignified, with nary a hair out of place, Dillon didn’t look all that big or tough, but Sara knew in her gut that she was as lethal as a gun to the head.
“You and Alexander . . . ?” Sara began, but Dillon knew where she was going and cut her off.
“We are nothing.”
“Friends?”
“No.”
Sara didn’t buy it. “Then why are you doing this?”
“I owe him.”
“He save your life in ’Nam?”
“No. Spanish Civil War.”
“What?”
Dillon’s face hardened. “Let’s go, Doctor.”
Sara didn’t know if the female vampire was lying or telling the truth, but it didn’t really matter. Her main objective was getting through any and all potentially dangerous situations so she could care for Gray. If she was gone, Gray’s treatment would be put in someone else’s hands, and she would never allow that to happen. This veana in front of her was on a mission to keep her safe, and apparently the vampire would not be dissuaded from it.
“Fine,” Sara said, lifting her chin. “I’m going back to SoHo.”
“Wonderful,” Dillon muttered, turning around.
“But,” Sara called out, “not in that car.”
The female vampire stopped, growled, “Fucking New York women,” then headed for the black town car.
After repositioning her shoulder bag, Sara turned and resumed her walk down 12th Street toward SoHo. Behind her, the gentle hum of a car’s engine reminded her that Dillon followed at a snail’s pace.
20
Ethan Dare had a love affair with the mafioso. He thought the ways they did business, carried on relationships, and handed out punishments were perfection personified. And so when he’d hatched the plan to bring down the Eternal Order, he’d adopted many of their traditions, one being their particular way of dealing with a problem employee—or in Ethan’s case, a problem recruit: dark restaurant, large table, hidden weapons.
“You have two objectives,” Ethan began, his gaze connecting with each of the six recruits at his table. “To find and recruit other Impures. And to impregnate humans, Impures, and, if we’re very lucky, Purebloods. My question is: Why isn’t the latter happening with greater speed?”
One recruit, Grevon, a short half-breed with black hair and eyes the color of snow downed his scotch and soda before answering, “Pureblood DNA repels our own.”
Ethan pinned the little shit with an ice-cold stare. “That’s because you’re not keeping them in a state of desire for the moments following release.”
“You have granted us some power, Commander, but it is nowhere near as strong as yours. At the moment of release we are weakened, and we cannot hold on to the control we had over the veana’s mind.”
A large male recruit to Ethan’s left grunted into his plate of rigatoni. “Speak for yourself, Grevon.”
Grevon hissed at the male. “I am, and for several others sitting here.” He turned to Ethan and shrugged. “We need more power, Commander. We need you to give it to us if you want this job done with greater speed.” The male crossed his arms over his chest. “I suggest you go to the Supreme One and—”
The shot was barely heard over the evening restaurant chatter, and Grevon had the courtesy to drop ever so swiftly headfirst into his veal piccata, so that no one but the five remaining recruits noticed the hit.
It was a thing of beauty.
Ethan smiled at each one of his remaining Impures, reveled in the barely hidden fear that lit their eyes. “I want more Pureblood females and I want them in swell. If anyone here is too lazy or too chickenshit to make that happen, I suggest you leave right now.”
No one moved, not even a muscle twitch, and Ethan grinned. They were either willing to do whatever he asked of them or not about to stand up and show him their backs. To be honest, Ethan didn’t care which it was, he just wanted blind devotion, and with the example before them—a fellow recruit’s head lolling in his plate—Ethan was willing to bet he’d have a few Pureblood females in his house by tomorrow night.
Dinner and drinks with the boys was damn good fun.
He was about to slide the gun he held between his legs into his coat pocket when he scented something among the perfume and the tomato and garlic. He was an Impure, true, powerless for most of his life, but when he’d joined with the Supreme One, drank from the paven’s ancient vein, ingested the pure and powerful blood, he’d been granted powers beyond his station, and sniffing out the enemy was one of them.
Ethan cocked his head to the side and inhaled deeply. There were pavens near, Pureblood, old blood, and if he wasn’t mistaken, one of them was morphed and on the hunt.
Hidden in the shadows near the back entrance of Cipriani’s Italian Restaurant, the Roman brothers gathered, ready to spring. His hand on the Glock at his lower back, Alexander watched as Dare and several of his recruits sat at a table chatting it up like they were having a tea party.
“This should be an easy kill,” Lucian muttered.
Alexander glanced over at his brother. “You sound disappointed.”
“I am,” Lucian snarled. “I was looking forward to . . . I don’t know—this is bullshit.”
“What?” Nicholas asked in a harsh whisper. “What is it you want, Luca? An epic battle?”
“Hell, yes!” Lucian hissed.
Nicholas shot Alexander a beleaguered eye roll, then turned back to his younger brother. “I’ll engage you in a little blood sport later, all right? Let’s just end this Impure jackass, drop him at the feet of the Order, and get our lives back.”
Lucian frowned. “Fine.”
“On my signal, then, boys.” Focusing all of his attention on the room before him, Alexander was about to lower the lights and change the mental frequency of the patrons and staff in the restaurant, when it was suddenly done for him. On alert, he whirled back to his brothers, but even before they shook their heads Alexander knew it hadn’t been them. Time slowed and the mélange of scents that hummed in the air ceased to exist. Crouched and ready for whatever was coming his way, Alexander locked eyes with Dare, who seemed to know right where he stood in the shadows.