Lucky Break
Page 12
“Marchand and McKenzie?” he asked, confirming as the rustling of turning pages echoed in the background.
“That’s them. Vampires and shifters, respectively. Elk Valley, Colorado.”
“I’m scanning the index.”
“Of what? The Big Book of Inter-Sup Feuds?”
“No. We don’t have that one. The update subscription’s too expensive. We do carry the Directory of Notable North American Feuds.”
As he sounded utterly serious—and rarely was anything otherwise—I kept the follow-up question to myself. Namely: How was there a cottage industry in supernatural feud directories?
“All right, I’ve got it. Fiona McKenzie and Christophe Marchand. She disappeared, and he . . . Oh. Damn,” he said, probably reading about Christophe’s rather depressing end.
“Yeah,” I said. “Bernard Marchand, we think, was the next one killed. He was one of the Clan’s founders.”
“Correct. And there were others. Many others. Some arrests, some disappearances, some thefts.”
I thought about the missing object Vincent had mentioned. “Does it mention the brooch?”
A pause, then, “Only that the vampires believed Fiona took it. But no sign of it, or her, was ever found.”
“So where the hell had they gone?” I wondered aloud. Had someone killed her and stolen it? Or had Fiona simply taken the brooch and started over somewhere else?
“I don’t have the foggiest. But we’re an hour ahead of you, and dawn is on its way. You want me to send you the rest of the file?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.” Opting to be proactive, I added, “And if you’ve got some kind of general report on the Marchand Clan, could you send that along, too? Ethan’s curious.”
“Easily done,” he said.
Thank goodness something was.
***
While I waited for Ethan to return, I carefully cleaned my katana blade with oil and rice paper, just as I’d been taught. I’d just resheathed it when Ethan walked into the bedroom. He closed the bedroom door behind him, locked it. Just in case.
“Gabriel?” I asked.
“On his way,” he said, kicking off his shoes and pulling his shirt over his head.
“What did he have to say?”
“Mostly grunting.” Ethan unbuttoned his trousers and placed them across the bench at the end of the bed. “He was unhappy with the interruption, less so the reason for it. They should be here by dusk tomorrow. And in the meantime, our temporary human guard is outside.”
“In weird Clan clothes?”
“Actually, yes,” Ethan said with a nod. “She may not yet be a member, but she’s adopted the dress.”
As automatic shades began to descend over the windows, a sign that dawn was on its way, Ethan walked to the painting and let his eyes roam over it.
“It’s a beautiful work,” he said.
“It’s a beautiful valley. Not entirely peaceful, and I haven’t seen any elk, but quite a spectacle.”
My phone signaled a new message. I glanced down, found a snippet about the Marchand Clan from the Librarian. Since he’d evidently worked to stay awake past dawn to get us the information—a possible but not entirely pleasant undertaking for a vampire—I gave him props for his dedication.
“Dossier on the Clan from the House,” I told Ethan. “He’s going to send me details on the feud tomorrow.”
I scanned the screen as Ethan nodded and sat down beside me.
“The Clan is currently unregistered,” I read. “I assume that’s a reference to the North American Vampire Registry. Estimated date of establishment is 1875, which matches what Vincent told us. Fifteen current members, down from a previous max of nineteen.”
“Not a kingdom, then,” Ethan said, turning to put his back against the headboard, stretch legs atop the duvet.
“Not a kingdom,” I agreed. “Vincent Marchand is listed as the founder. Official symbol is a fleur-de-lis. There’s some very brief background about him, Bernard, Christophe. Nothing controversial there, barely a mention of the feud: ‘Possible hostilities with local supernaturals.’”
“That seems at least generally accurate,” Ethan said, “if a vast understatement.”
“Along with the address, contact information, that’s pretty much the gist of it.” I offered the phone. “You want to peruse?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had more than enough of the Marchand Clan today, Sentinel. Put the phone away, and let’s have a moment of peace before the sun puts us down.”
I couldn’t argue with that and had only just switched off the lamp when I found myself covered in vampire, his body long and warm and very obviously naked.
I slid my hands into his hair, golden silk between my fingers. “I think you had on more clothing a moment ago.”
He trailed kisses along my neck, teased fangs against delicate and sensitive skin. “I was overwhelmed with desire for you, Sentinel.”
I opened my mouth to protest, to match sarcasm with sarcasm, but then his hand was on my breast, long fingers teasing, inciting.
“Okay,” was all I managed, as I arched into his touch.
Ethan stripped me of clothing, and then his mouth found mine, his tongue insistent, demanding response, provoking my desire. And the strength of his arousal between us left little doubt about his own.
The flame between us sparked quickly, quickening our heartbeats, flushing our skin. When his clever fingers found my core, sound and taste and sensation merged as he urged me on. The fire bloomed like a sudden inferno, flashing heat across my body, and his name fell from my lips. “Ethan.”
“That’s them. Vampires and shifters, respectively. Elk Valley, Colorado.”
“I’m scanning the index.”
“Of what? The Big Book of Inter-Sup Feuds?”
“No. We don’t have that one. The update subscription’s too expensive. We do carry the Directory of Notable North American Feuds.”
As he sounded utterly serious—and rarely was anything otherwise—I kept the follow-up question to myself. Namely: How was there a cottage industry in supernatural feud directories?
“All right, I’ve got it. Fiona McKenzie and Christophe Marchand. She disappeared, and he . . . Oh. Damn,” he said, probably reading about Christophe’s rather depressing end.
“Yeah,” I said. “Bernard Marchand, we think, was the next one killed. He was one of the Clan’s founders.”
“Correct. And there were others. Many others. Some arrests, some disappearances, some thefts.”
I thought about the missing object Vincent had mentioned. “Does it mention the brooch?”
A pause, then, “Only that the vampires believed Fiona took it. But no sign of it, or her, was ever found.”
“So where the hell had they gone?” I wondered aloud. Had someone killed her and stolen it? Or had Fiona simply taken the brooch and started over somewhere else?
“I don’t have the foggiest. But we’re an hour ahead of you, and dawn is on its way. You want me to send you the rest of the file?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.” Opting to be proactive, I added, “And if you’ve got some kind of general report on the Marchand Clan, could you send that along, too? Ethan’s curious.”
“Easily done,” he said.
Thank goodness something was.
***
While I waited for Ethan to return, I carefully cleaned my katana blade with oil and rice paper, just as I’d been taught. I’d just resheathed it when Ethan walked into the bedroom. He closed the bedroom door behind him, locked it. Just in case.
“Gabriel?” I asked.
“On his way,” he said, kicking off his shoes and pulling his shirt over his head.
“What did he have to say?”
“Mostly grunting.” Ethan unbuttoned his trousers and placed them across the bench at the end of the bed. “He was unhappy with the interruption, less so the reason for it. They should be here by dusk tomorrow. And in the meantime, our temporary human guard is outside.”
“In weird Clan clothes?”
“Actually, yes,” Ethan said with a nod. “She may not yet be a member, but she’s adopted the dress.”
As automatic shades began to descend over the windows, a sign that dawn was on its way, Ethan walked to the painting and let his eyes roam over it.
“It’s a beautiful work,” he said.
“It’s a beautiful valley. Not entirely peaceful, and I haven’t seen any elk, but quite a spectacle.”
My phone signaled a new message. I glanced down, found a snippet about the Marchand Clan from the Librarian. Since he’d evidently worked to stay awake past dawn to get us the information—a possible but not entirely pleasant undertaking for a vampire—I gave him props for his dedication.
“Dossier on the Clan from the House,” I told Ethan. “He’s going to send me details on the feud tomorrow.”
I scanned the screen as Ethan nodded and sat down beside me.
“The Clan is currently unregistered,” I read. “I assume that’s a reference to the North American Vampire Registry. Estimated date of establishment is 1875, which matches what Vincent told us. Fifteen current members, down from a previous max of nineteen.”
“Not a kingdom, then,” Ethan said, turning to put his back against the headboard, stretch legs atop the duvet.
“Not a kingdom,” I agreed. “Vincent Marchand is listed as the founder. Official symbol is a fleur-de-lis. There’s some very brief background about him, Bernard, Christophe. Nothing controversial there, barely a mention of the feud: ‘Possible hostilities with local supernaturals.’”
“That seems at least generally accurate,” Ethan said, “if a vast understatement.”
“Along with the address, contact information, that’s pretty much the gist of it.” I offered the phone. “You want to peruse?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had more than enough of the Marchand Clan today, Sentinel. Put the phone away, and let’s have a moment of peace before the sun puts us down.”
I couldn’t argue with that and had only just switched off the lamp when I found myself covered in vampire, his body long and warm and very obviously naked.
I slid my hands into his hair, golden silk between my fingers. “I think you had on more clothing a moment ago.”
He trailed kisses along my neck, teased fangs against delicate and sensitive skin. “I was overwhelmed with desire for you, Sentinel.”
I opened my mouth to protest, to match sarcasm with sarcasm, but then his hand was on my breast, long fingers teasing, inciting.
“Okay,” was all I managed, as I arched into his touch.
Ethan stripped me of clothing, and then his mouth found mine, his tongue insistent, demanding response, provoking my desire. And the strength of his arousal between us left little doubt about his own.
The flame between us sparked quickly, quickening our heartbeats, flushing our skin. When his clever fingers found my core, sound and taste and sensation merged as he urged me on. The fire bloomed like a sudden inferno, flashing heat across my body, and his name fell from my lips. “Ethan.”
