Big Game

Chapter Nine

Vivian
The dark sky spans before the windshield, making the private jet feel like an insignificant bug in the huge expanse. I don't sense Jon in my mind anymore, having slowly and carefully dwindled our connection until almost severed. He needs the break from me, whether he admits it or not. It would be terrific if he found a mate in the batch of frisky females parading back and forth in front of him this summer... time will tell.
Allowing Jon to worry about me, my safety, and my subsequent approval of a potential partner day in and day out is not healthy to his wolf or human psyche. I worried seven years ago that taking him on so young would have its drawbacks, but I never bargained on his love and devotion clouding natural instinct. An alpha wolf needs an alpha mate. That's the order of things. Balancing a new love with his duties as my servant and loyalty to the seethe may be tricky, but not impossible.
I have no doubt whomever he chooses will despise me on some level. Making sure the two have their own intimate bond, separate from his bond to me, will be crucial for his happiness. A small pain pierces my soul at the thought of losing him-but, if he continues as he has, his obsession over me might destroy any daily peace he enjoys.
"Why are you shielding so hard right now, Dria?" Rafe's smooth voice breaks me from my thoughts. "Worried about the evening, or something else?"
"Combination of things, really."
"Hmm.... That suspiciously sounds like an evasive answer. The furball again?"
I look away while examining the dials and readings on the control panel in front of us. "Maybe."
"I haven't felt his pull in my mind since we left. He might buy that crap about our distance being the reason, but I know differently. What are you planning?"
A sigh escapes me as I gaze at my lover. "No actual plan this time. Just a hope."
"Does it have something to do with the huge amount of female wolves coming to the inn this summer?"
I shrug my shoulder and look away.
"Did you think I'd miss the fifty percent discount you offered to packs bringing three or more unattached females?"
"Hey, it worked, didn't it? You saw some of the guests' dossiers? Gorgeous women."
Rafe pats my forearm. "You're a good bitch, Dria. I don't care what the others say about you."
"Wiseass," I remark with a smirk. "Why don't you read the coordinates and leave me be?"
It's full dark by the time we approach the private airstrip inside the city limits. Buenos Aires sparkles like a glittering jewel, bringing back my love of the old city in crystal clarity.
Rafe's hand caresses my thigh through the jumpsuit, our earlier snipe forgotten. "Why do you insist on wearing these things? The zippers drive me to distraction."
A slow smile inches across my face as his hot palm slides closer to my hip. "That's precisely why I wear them, darling."
Rafe shifts in his seat, casually adjusting himself under his slacks. "Think we'll have time to visit that Simpson's shop I love?"
My grin broadens at his attempt to distract himself from his growing arousal. I smell his interest in the confines of the small plane; it's impossible to hide from my sharp senses. "The one with the tacky Homer and Marge merchandise all over the walls?"
"No, that store is good, but not the one I mean. The one named Cowabunga, with the specialty Duff beer?"
I shake my head at his obvious enjoyment. Men will be men.
"What? Is it my fault Buenos Aires is the Simpson capital of the world? How can I resist?"
I laugh and he continues. "I need some new talking Homer bottle openers, too. Hey, pay attention to the runway, it's coming up fast."
In a few minutes we touch down and taxi into a waiting hangar. We grab our wardrobe bags and head to a storage room at the back of the building. Changing quickly, we hustle into our evening attire.
My strapless purple gown plunges deep in the back and I shiver when cool air in the unheated building touches my skin. I gather my hair loosely at the base of my skull, shoving pins in with a precision gained from decades of experience. The elegant style doesn't look too formal and allows some of the curlier tendrils to cascade around my face and down the nape of my neck. I pull on the matching satin gloves, tugging the material up to my biceps, and turn to Rafe.
He's finishing the last touches on his black bowtie, pulling the knot tight. "How does it look? Crooked?"
I stare at his well-muscled body, encased in the custom-made, silk and cashmere blend black tuxedo. Light from the overhead fixture glints off the fabric, catching on the diamond studs running down the pleated white shirt. I retrieve the gray silk scarf from his bag, then lift his collar and slide it around his neck, draping the fine material down the jacket's lapels.
"You look divine. And the tie is perfect." I run a hand down his chest and below, slipping a warm palm over his pants to cup his cock.
"No teasing," he says, pulling his hips away. "I'm not walking into a group of bloodsuckers with an erection."
"Fair point." I sashay to the door and zip my hanging wardrobe bag. "I hear an engine outside, must be the hired car."
"Do you want a wrap?"
I shake my head and step into my glittery heels. "I'm fine. I'll touch up my makeup in the car. Let's get on the road."
Rafe unbolts the outer door and a moist breeze pushes my hair from my face. The driver stands at the ready and opens the rear car door. I slide into the long limousine, across the soft leather seat, while Rafe stows the bags in the trunk and speaks to the driver. He's a private hire not associated with the Tribunal. The two men speak in Spanish and in no time we're rolling through the darkened city streets.
We cruise past ornate, older structures, skyscrapers, the capitol building and the miniature Washington Monument known here as El Obelisco, which marks the 400th anniversary of the city's founding. Buenos Aires has changed much in that time, and I've enjoyed seeing it grow over the centuries. The area is a gorgeous mix of culture and European architectural styles.
Finishing the last touches to my makeup, I snap my compact shut, slip my red lipstick into a handbag, and check the time. Almost nine. We should arrive before the party has truly begun. I fiddle with a glove and stare out the window at the various lights racing by.
Worried, dear? Rafe's soothing mental voice fills my head.
Concerned would be more accurate. Best we stay on our toes tonight.
A soft snort comes from the seat next to me. Yeah, you think? I dread these events at the best of times, but after Coraline's Alaskan visit... who knows what den of vipers we could be strolling into.
I rest a hand on his arm in reassurance. Nothing will be blatant or outright. Vampires are subtle in their steering of events, especially when dealing with their own kind.
After twenty minutes, we pull in front of an opulent townhouse. Its stone veneer, intricate railings, and high arched windows are reminiscent of old, large London townhomes costing millions of pounds. Warm light spills from every window of the distinguished structure. The Tribunal owns the entire, very expensive, block and their underground lair below the street surface far exceeds the footprint of the buildings above. A lone doorman stands outside with no indication of a party going on through the windows.
Rafe opens the car door and exits, offering a hand to me. As I emerge from the sleek black limo a shiver steals down my spine again. Is that apprehension I'm feeling or a tinge of excitement? I shake it off and pull my aura in tight, not wanting to broadcast, if I don't have to.
My rhinestone-encrusted spiked heels flash in the street lamps as I step to the curb, glancing up and down the sidewalk. A couple walks arm and arm from the next house down, and two more figures beyond them stroll in our direction. I brace myself and plaster on a smile to my perfectly made-up face.
Show time, darling, I project to my husband. Be sharp.
Rafe's warm hand glides down my bare back, stealing some of the chill that's settled at the base of my spine. Never you fear, liebling. I've got your back. We'll do fine tonight.
Fear? I wouldn't call it fear.
No, of course you wouldn't. How silly of me.
He's trying to draw me out, but that shiver really surprised me. Was it intuition?
It's called 'you should have worn a coat', Rafe quips while motioning for the doorman on the steps to come to us. A younger vampire around the age of fifty saunters down, looking unsure if he wants to listen to a human or not. I turn to face the pony-tailed wall of meat and wait for him to recognize me. It only takes a second. His goateed visage shows genuine happiness at my arrival.
"Alexandria?" He bows deep and takes my hand, delivering a perfunctory kiss to my gloved fingers. "I had no idea. You weren't on the list tonight."
"Surprise, George," I say, pushing fake warmth into my tone. "Think they'll have room for two more?"
To his credit, not a reaction is revealed as he smiles. "You know they always do."
By this time, the closest couple has reached us, and George nods for them to proceed us up the stairs. I keep my back to them, not wanting to engage anyone here on the street. Rafe grabs the bags, and the car pulls away.
"Any remaining accommodations in the main building or will we be forced to one of the other Tribunal homes tonight?" I ask.
He takes our luggage from Rafe and climbs the steep stairs to the ornately carved wood double doors. "There's always a room for VIPs, Alexandria. You should know that."
I smile, following him up. "One never knows what favor one might be in when arriving unannounced."
George's amusement rumbles from deep in his broad chest and spills into the night air. "If I treated you poorly, I think Rolando would eat me for breakfast."
We enter the main hall, and the interior warmth banishes the last of the night chill from my skin. Honest-to-God burning torches line the walls of the tapestry-covered walls, with reflections of the dancing flames shimmering on the highly polished marble floor. Scenes of harvest and goodwill are depicted on the wall hangings-the Tribunal's only nod of festive adornment to the fall season on the main floor. I'm betting downstairs there will be a more elaborate theme for their autumn gala.
"Shall I put your things in a room upstairs?"
At my nod of thanks, the doorman ascends the curving, black-carpeted tread. "I think the Edwardian room is free. Will that suit?"
"Anything is fine, thanks. We're going down to the party."
Rafe takes my elbow and directs me after the couple, who entered ahead us. Closed doors line the long hall, and at the end of the foyer sits a large freight elevator spruced up with wood panels and inset with tile, but the size leaves no doubt it's not a regular elevator car.
I don't know the couple, so thankfully we're not forced to engage in conversation while descending into the pits of hell-known as the Seat of Darkness among the undead. The elevator doors ping open and the subtle stink of death rolls in to greet us. The scent isn't overpowering like decaying flesh or rotting vegetation, but it lingers on the back of my palate, reminding me why I hate associating with fellow vampires for too long-the more we congregate, the more the odor builds. The others must be used to it, that's all I can think as to why no one is hurling in a corner.
Rafe swallows a gag. Dear God, I forgot how much this place reeks.
Good news is, in ten minutes or so your nose won't even register it anymore.
The couple next to us takes a deep breath, seeming to draw pleasure in the cloying aroma and disappears into the crowd before us. Pale, primped bodies mill about, all dressed for a formal evening.
This main reception room is large enough to hold a hundred or more people comfortably, and looks to be set up in a cocktail hour sort of gathering. The twelve foot high ceiling is festooned with grand crystal chandeliers every ten feet. Tall tables dot the area, draped in orange, red, yellow and rust-toned silks-no chairs to clutter the stream of the mingling undead.
An ornate champagne fountain sets in the middle of the room. A bubbling mixture of blood and champagne fills the air with an enticing hint of copper and dry wine. Rafe immediately steers us to the right, out of the line of sight from the open elevator, hoping to avoid our discovery as long as possible.
A human waiter approaches with a tray of non-blood drinks. He's dressed in a forest spirit type of costume, someone's idea of a pagan mix to the fall theme. His skin sparkles with glitter and a leaf vest frames his dark chest hair. "Good evening, can I offer either of you a drink?"
Rafe takes a flute, and I reach for one as well, leery of drinking anything with blood under the Tribunal's roof. Do I honestly think they'd poison their guests? No, not really. But since I'm not hungry, no need to risk it.
The waiter grins at me, a seductive light coloring his brown eyes. "Would you prefer to quench your hunger directly from the source, madam?" He tosses his longish black hair back from where it skimmed his shoulder, baring the pristine flesh of his neck.
Rafe tenses beside me, angered some strange boy-toy would offer himself freely to his wife.
"No," I answer with a bland look. "Thank you." I pat my husband's thick bicep. "I brought my own."
The waiter hustles to another group of people and Rafe relaxes. "Cheeky bastard. That was rather bold, don't you think?"
I shrug, not wanting this to turn into an issue. "You never know what compulsion the party organizer may have placed on the staff. Could be normal."
I scan the room, looking for familiar faces. I see several people I'd like to avoid, but Coraline's supporters certainly won't be discovered if I play the wallflower, so I resign to the fact we'll have to circulate.
We step into the milling throng and I brace myself for the fall-out. We'll be spotted, and the whole room will know in minutes we crashed the party. Several heads turn our way, and I see a spark of recognition in more than one set of eyes.
It won't be long now before...
"Dria," an oily voice detaches itself from a nearby shadow and saunters up to us. "What an interesting surprise." The slicked back dark hair and petulant smile belongs to Lucas, an ex-lover to one of the pedophilic Ancients I killed centuries ago. Crap, he would be the first we run into.
"Yes, it is, Lucas. You remember my husband, Rafe, don't you?" I smile pretending not to hate the sonovabitch. If I ever find he has tastes for young boys like his old lover did, I'll make sure he walks into the sun at high noon as well.
Rafe shakes his hand and nods, while sending me calming energy through our mental link. Relax, liebling. You're stewing for a fight. Never a good sign this early in the evening.
Lucas smiles and shoots me an evil look. What? Like I should apologize for killing his lover and own the deed? Yeah, fat chance in hell of that ever happening. I'm not stupid. Sensing no further conversation coming from our way, Lucas slips into the crowd, scampering away like a rat.
Leave it to you to point out when I'm feeling bitchy, I say, while threading my hand around Rafe's arm and walking deeper into the party. I have my reasons to hate him.
Looks like he's running off to report your presence.
Won't matter anyway, once Ro-
"Dria!" Rolando's smooth tones boom across the open space and all heads swivel in our direction. Flamboyant ass has the nerve to grin. He knows I hate being the center of attention when we visit.
Well, if you didn't want to be noticed, you shouldn't have worn that gown, sweetheart.
I pinch Rafe hard through his suit sleeve. Are you trying to set me off?
One hand snakes down and cups my ass as the dashingly handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed Rolando descends on us both. I'm trying to help you shake the tension. It's boiling off you in waves.
Realizing he's right, I clamp down my mental walls, effectively shielding any escaping tendrils that might reveal my distressed state to the surrounding undead.
Rolando's eyes mirror his obvious delight at our appearance. "Naughty girl." He kisses both my cheeks and reaches for Rafe's hand. "Why didn't you call first?" His powerful voice glides over me, the subtle Spanish accent adding to his charm.
"After the lovely visit from Coraline and her enforcers in January, we thought coming in under the radar would be smarter."
The tall, elegant vampire nods sagely and turns to usher us deeper into the gathering. I can't help but notice his own power is leashed tightly. It almost feels like there are a bunch of fledglings walking around in the Seat of Darkness. "Yes, that woman does hate you. Whatever did you do to her to earn such wrath?"
I shrug one pale shoulder and follow alongside, still firmly attached to Rafe. "As far as I can tell, I beat her kill record as an enforcer, and she's held it against me over four centuries."
A flash of humor crosses his sharp features. "Some ex-enforcers are eager to forget their long terms of service, and others wrap their achievements around them like a cloak of honor." He pauses and eyes me sideways. "You never struck me as the latter."
Rafe clears his throat when it becomes obvious I'm not going to respond. "Only the soulless could speak callously over the loss of life and disregard the scars left by years of killing."
Roland stops and looks Rafe full in the face, as if seeing him for the first time tonight. "And you believe vampires have souls?" He arches an eyebrow. "You'd be one of the few humans in this room to share such an opinion."
A naked woman walks past us, trailing after a large male vampire in a tux. She appears dazed, and her body bears the mark of many fresh punctures. She locks eyes on Rafe and smiles. A dulled expression, due to drugs or blood loss, colors the effect of her beauty. The vampire holds a gold leash hooked to a velvet collar around her neck, and gives it a gentle tug when her pace falters.
A look of disgust shows briefly on my husband's face before he slips his reaction carefully behind a mask of distance. "When you treat them like pets, how can you expect anything more?"
We stop in front of the blood fountain, and Rolando tilts an empty glass into the flow. "Dria, may I top off yours? Looks like you haven't had any blood, yet."
"No, thanks," I sip from my glass. "I'm driving." He laughs and fills his own glass.
Live music spills from open doors at the far side of the reception hall. The lively beat of Spanish rhythms thrum the air and one of my favorite tango songs fills the night. I straighten and Rolando notices my reaction.
"You should dance." The crafty bastard winks at Rafe. "We can continue this interesting discussion about vampire souls when you return."
Rafe takes our glasses and hands them to a passing semi-naked harvest priestess holding a tray. It's been a while since we've danced, my love. Maybe it will help chase away the spirit riding you tonight.
I follow his lead to the rich music pouring from the adjoining room. A large parquet dance floor occupies the middle of the area and faux trees line the room's edge-plastic branches decorated in vibrant fall colors. He shoves my tiny handbag in his suit pocket and drapes both over an empty table at the edge of the dance floor. Bright gowns and black suits encase the pale forms of dancing, whirling vampires, quite distinguishable from the few humans dancing among them.
My husband unfolds a knife from his pocket and kneels at my feet. He places the silver coated blade near the top of my left thigh, drawing the material away from my body and meets my eyes. With one tilted eyebrow he seems to ask "Well?" He's asking permission to slit my tight dress. We won't be able to tango like the music calls for unless he cuts the beautiful fabric.
What the hell, I smile down at him, excited to have some fun. It's only a dress. Go for it.
With a devilish grin he proceeds to slice the material in one fell swoop, from my hipbone to the hem. Cool air hits my leg, and one hot hand slides from my knee to thigh. I stare down into my lover's bright blue eyes and the room disappears.
He tightens his grip and returns my gaze, wearing the most seductive look I've seen on him in ages. His thumb creeps up and brushes in close to my bare pussy, sending a tingle to my middle. "You're the naughty one now, aren't you?" I whisper.
"When am I not, liebling?"
Before I can blink, his free hand holding the knife whips down and he's repeated the cut on the other side, altering my expensive gown into suitable tango attire.
I hear the blood pounding through his veins as the pulse of the music takes him. One cannot be in Argentina for long and not be affected by the dance that was born here.
He stows his knife and sweeps me into his arms to whirl us among the other dancers. The music seeps into my bones, washing the vile aftertaste of the room's occupants from my essence. Quickly, I'm lost in the steps, the intoxicating beat, and my husband's experienced lead.
"I needed this." My head snaps right and left as my feet mince and kick, encased in their sparkly heels. We're locked in sync, gliding up and down the dance floor like sensual marionettes, bending to the rhythm and sexual pull from one another.
Rafe's hand skates down my back to lower me into a provocative dip, trailing his hot lips along my neck. If I stay close enough, your perfume blocks out the rancid smell of death coming off these parasites.
Laughter bubbles up as he sweeps me high above his head, gradually allowing my body to slide down his chest. My calf hooks his leg, slinking around his well-formed muscle before sliding down to rest my foot on the floor. He steps away and twirls me again, bringing our bodies together then apart as I back-kick my calves on every step.
Each time he steps between my legs my hot core presses against a hard muscled thigh, reminding me of the last intimate moment we shared, tangled together on the bed in the plane.
You want me again, don't you? I ask through our mental connection.
He smiles and kisses me briefly when we come together in another move. Only if you've got that coroner's gel in your little handbag. I need to block out the stench or my parts may not work right.
I laugh as he spins me again-picturing my virile husband with un-working parts for any reason strikes me as impossible. Didn't you stop smelling it after ten minutes or so?
You'd think, right? He heaves a dramatic mental sigh, trying his best to get me into a good mood with his humor. But sadly, no. Your deadly compatriots really reek. I'd say it's enough to off-put even the most ardent of admirers.
For a few seconds I'm lost in the moment, allowing the beat of the music to soothe my soul and my husband to guide me through the moves. Am I up for the intrigue and the political maneuvering this trip will take?
The vampire bodies around us shimmer in quick movements. The energy level on the floor rises to meet our own, spurring the others into faster and more complicated moves. The sexual tension becomes too much for a couple and they break off, locked in a sensual kiss.
It takes a lot to get a vampire's blood pumping, and right now, mine sings through my veins, almost matching that of my spouse's. Is it any wonder vampires like to tango?
We continue for two more songs, gathering an audience among my peers. As the strains of the last song die, and Rafe lowers me to the floor in the deepest dip yet, a spark of the Tango burrows deep inside me. It wraps my heart in warmth, making the upcoming greetings awaiting us more bearable.
Rafe slides an arm around my waist and guides me off the dance floor. A group of pale faces approaches us, smiling a welcome they don't mean. You knew they'd spot us sooner or later, liebling. Might as well get the worst of it behind us.
Honey blond hair appears from behind a taller, tuxedoed vampire, and the snide tones of Coraline squash the remaining joy I hold from the dance. "Alexandria, aren't you here early this year?"