Vampire Games

Page 12

“Claude stop—let him go!” I took a step toward the men, but halted in my tracks. My hand automatically strayed to where I kept my sidearm, even though I was no longer carrying. But even if I had been, I wasn’t entirely certain I had it in me to shoot Claude.
What could I do? Grab him? I wouldn’t even register as a blip on the radar of an out-of-control vampire.
Claude growled and pushed the selkie away. Coates fell to his knees, and I cringed in sympathy. He struggled up and turned to face us, wobbly on his hurt legs.
My feet moved again, almost of their own volition, and I reached to help the man up. But I stopped—as I had before—only this time for a very different reason.
Burned into the center of Coates’s chest was a symbol I recognized.
The brand.
I looked at Coates’s eyes—and the fear behind them bled through, almost palpable. He was muttering something softly, words I couldn’t quite catch. With each syllable, his voice grew louder.
“…I don’t remember!” Coates struggled back and fell against the arm of the couch. He sat on it, his face in his hands.
Dammit. His breath came quickly. Hyperventilating.
“Calm down, Mr. Coates. No one is going to hurt you.” I shot Claude a warning glance, one that he pointedly ignored. Triumph lit his face.
Neither of us approached Coates at first. The selkie gathered his breath and tried to calm himself. I tried to do the same, but anger hit me at Claude’s actions. We weren’t criminals who would strip a man against his will, even of just his shirt. Even a liar like Coates.
I understood he wanted to make progress on the case—hell, I did, too. But there were lines, and he’d just crossed one of them. Screw crossed, he’d dove over and done cartwheels on the other side.
But I had to keep focused. Claude was a problem for later. With that in mind, I walked closer to Coates.
“Mr. Coates?” His breathing had slowed, but perspiration covered his nearly bald head, and I could see skin connecting his fingers up to the first joint as he held his face. A sure sign of a selkie in distress. It was the first step before their joints joined and they transformed into seals. That he was still in human form given his emotional state was a testament to his control. A prince of some sort, indeed.
As I drew closer, he looked up from his hands. Obvious distress still colored his features, but he seemed calmer.
“I don’t remember,” he said, voice soft. “I don’t remember that whole week. All I know is…” He took a deep breath. “When I think of talking about it, or if I even try thinking about it, a feeling of panic hits and I—”
“Can you walk us through it? Anything? The last thing you remember?”
“No—I told you. I don’t remember.” His voice grew fiercer, more panicked. “Just leave me alone!”
Claude moved between us—suddenly standing in front of the selkie—and I decided I really hated vampire speed.
“Tell us what you do know. We aren’t leaving until you do.”
The selkie started yelling again, his words turning indecipherable, and he faded into another panic attack. I grabbed Claude’s shoulder and tugged him away from the selkie.
“He has to tell us something,” he said before I could speak. Emotion that I’d never heard from the vampire rode his voice. Claude was rattled. “We need a next step.”
“He can’t. Look at him. Really look, Claude.”
Doubt flickered across Claude’s face, and he glanced at the selkie.
“There is nothing he’s able to tell us, other than what he already has. But that could be a good thing.”
“What?”
“Think about it. Something preventing him from speaking? Causing him to go into a panic attack when he tries to say too much? That stinks of magic. Maybe Natalie can make some sense of this. Use him to trace whoever created the spell.”
He looked torn, his gaze all but dragged to the selkie.
“And, Claude.” Bright blue eyes flickered back to me. “This isn’t like you. This kind of pressure. You’re hurting him.” I kept my voice calm, even though I had to fight the urge to shake him, or slap some sense into him.
“Anymore.”
“What?” I asked.
Something dark flickered across his features, but then it was gone, leaving only pained regret behind. “This isn’t like me anymore.”
Chapter Eight
If the drive to Wisconsin had been awkward, the drive back to Chicago was positively painful. Claude was obviously lost in thought, and far more distant and worried than I’d ever seen him. I swung back and forth between wanting to rage at him for treating the selkie like that, and telling him about my vision of Luc from when I was a child, just so he would let this go. How could I get him to give up his quest to prove the innocence of a man who was anything but?
And a third urge tugged at me. An urge that was far more dangerous than the others. I wanted to comfort him.
Because this case seemed to have shaken the confident vampire to his core. And something in me didn’t like that one bit. But I couldn’t comfort him, and I dared not show what I knew of Luc—that would risk him cutting me out of the case. Or worse, prompt a confrontation with the Magister before he was ready. Before he had backup in place. Before he had a plan.
Or worse, what if he stood by his friend regardless of what he’d done?
So I watched the darkening landscape fade from buildings, to naked trees and open spaces, and back to buildings even bigger than the ones we’d left behind, undecided and feeling like a wishy-washy loser.
We pulled into Claude’s underground parking lot, and I shook my head to clear it. I’d dozed, nearly falling asleep.
“You still sleep during long drives,” Claude murmured as he parked in the low-lit garage.
“You still talk about stuff that’s none of your business.” It wasn’t much of a comeback, and he laughed. I frowned and exited the car. I’d need a little more time away from my almost-nap before I could think of a witty retort.
Claude didn’t mention dinner, and neither did I. I could have rustled up something from his fridge, which appeared to be well-stocked. Or I could have demanded he order me something. Even after the day we’d had, he would have done so. But I wasn’t interested in food.
I pulled a bottle of vodka out of his freezer and mixed it with Coke from the fridge. Claude walked in after taking a shower, his hair still damp, and watched me drink half the first cup in one long swallow.
“You crossed a line back there,” I said.
“I know.”
I waited a beat, but he didn’t offer up anything else. No explanation. No promise that it would never happen again.
“That’s it? That’s all I get? You know? Well, fuck, Claude. Of course you know. You’re not a damn idiot.” I waved my glass at him. “At least I didn’t think you were.” Then I downed the other half.
Claude walked around the counter slowly. He took the glass from my hand and went about making me another drink.
“Have you ever been so obsessed with something that you couldn’t see straight?” he asked. “That you couldn’t see your future without it?”
“No,” I lied. Why else was I here, working with Claude, if I wasn’t a little bit obsessed myself. My brother’s disappearance had ruined my childhood. My parents had gone from normal to fixated on keeping me safe. I’d grown to actually resent him—and that had made me hate myself a little bit.
And at times, when I was alone in the dark, I could almost admit I had a bit of an obsession for Claude that hadn’t quite died.
But I’d never hurt anyone for my obsession, not an innocent.
“No?” He handed me the refilled glass and I grimaced.
“Okay, I kind of get it. But I would have never done what you did.”
“Maybe you’re just a better person than I am.”
Fat chance of that. And then I said it. The question that was really bothering me. The one that had haunted my mind all the way back from Milwaukee. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been there, Claude?”
He turned away from me and pressed his hands against the edge of the countertop. His head dropped, but I couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t decide what he might be feeling.
“I don’t know.” His voice was low and tired as if he carried a burden.
“I don’t understand how branding a selkie gets Nicolas any closer to taking over as Magister.”
“I haven’t got all the answers yet, Beatrice. I’m still putting together the puzzle.”
I hurt for him although we’d had such a short time together. Why did my body seem convinced that we’d forged a real connection? I set my drink down and walked to him. I slid a hand up his back, intending to offer him a small bit of comfort.
Claude had other ideas.
He turned, an emotion that looked somewhere between pain and determination on his face, and his mouth took mine. The kiss was laced with desperation and need, and passion flared at his touch. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled me against him, then up. My legs went around his waist and he carried me the couple of steps to the countertop behind me.
The granite was hard and cold. My whole body ached, and his hands slid down my sides to cup my breasts through my shirt. I cried out against his mouth.
The gravity of what we were doing niggled at me, bringing doubt. It had taken me months to get him out of my system after our brief affair. Months to quit moping around when I wasn’t working. Months to convince myself that it hadn’t mattered. That he didn’t matter.
It was all bullshit. But it was bullshit I had needed to believe.
At the same time, I couldn’t bring myself to pull away as his lips slid down my neck, his fangs so close to my skin. I shuddered. And he growled against the tender skin of my collarbone.
“Need you,” he said, his voice rough and full of an emotion I wasn’t keen to examine.
I tilted his face to mine and took his mouth, trying to show him without words that I was just as desperate for him as he was for me. He drew me closer, one hand wrapped around my back and the other under my butt. His hardness pressed against me through our clothes, right where I needed him. I moaned, and then we were moving.