But this wasn’t Christian’s first fight, nor would it be his last. Aware of Marc at his back, he bolstered his shields to the front, and then he attacked. Like a soldier tossing grenades, he lobbed clusters of power against the other vampire. One after the other, the sticky balls of energy clung to Noriega’s shields before exploding inward, hammering away at his strength, forcing him to divert power to his shields or risk a collapse. And with every cluster he threw, Christian took a step forward in the physical realm, moving closer and closer to Noriega, as the other vampire reeled under the relentless assault.
Noriega stumbled and fell to one knee, but jumped up almost immediately, roaring his defiance. Swinging his arms wide, he slammed them together, crushing Christian’s shields between them, the power of his blow enhanced by the physical strength of his vampiric nature.
It was a significant blow, but Christian saw it coming, and bumped up his shields in anticipation of the strike. The smell of ozone filled the air, as his shields sizzled, working to absorb and deflect the energy. But Noriega had put too much of his remaining power into the attack, and his shields were weakened. He’d also made the mistake of coming far too close to an enemy who was much stronger than he was.
Bracing his feet, Christian punched through Noriega’s weakened shields, pushing even closer until they were only inches apart. He reached out and gripped Noriega by the throat, watching as shock replaced the anger in his opponent’s eyes. He saw the moment that Noriega discovered the true nature of Christian’s power, a power so dangerous that every vampire who knew of it was dead. Except for Marc.
Christian flexed his fingers around Noriega’s throat, squeezing the breath from him. But the true death, the death that no vampire could survive, was the one delivered by his unique talent. Christian held Noriega’s stare as he drained the vampire of his power, sucking him dry like the vampire he was, and feeding his own power at the same time.
Noriega’s eyes were wide with disbelief, with the knowledge of his own imminent death. There was anger, too. Anger that he’d been used by Anthony, that he’d been deceived by Christian. But that was life, and death, among powerful vampires. A territorial challenge was not a game played lightly, and death was always the result.
Christian waited until Noriega’s power was a mere trickle, and then he leaned close and whispered, “I’ll give your regards to Anthony.” Before the spark of life left Noriega’s body, he snapped his neck, punched into his chest with his other hand, and ripped out his heart. A moment later, the vampire turned to dust in his hands.
Christian’s heart was racing with the overload of energy that was always the result of using his gift. It was as if his enemy’s power was too much on top of his own. For the first few minutes, it always seemed impossible for his body to hold so much. He stared unseeing, hands flexing at his sides, as the cloud of dust that had been Noriega settled over the still-unconscious forms of his followers.
A muffled feminine gasp drew his attention upward, and he caught a glimpse of Natalie’s face as she backed quickly away from the upstairs window. So she’d seen him fight, seen him kill, he thought, as he slapped his hands together, loosening the muscles and getting rid of the clinging remains of Noriega. He wondered what she made of it, whether she’d ever seen a true vampire confrontation before, and whether it would drive her home to the safety of her family in New Orleans.
He frowned at the blood staining his hands and shirt, then rolled his sleeves down and buttoned them anyway. Taking the jacket Marc offered, he slipped it back on, shooting his cuffs as he shrugged his shoulders and settled the jacket in place. He didn’t like the idea of Natalie going back to New Orleans. He couldn’t have said why exactly, but he hoped she would stay.
“Let’s go,” he growled to Marc, quite honestly furious with himself. “Noriega’s ambush was a surprise. And it shouldn’t have been.”
“I didn’t think Anthony would risk one of his own so early in the game,” Marc said quietly. “If he was going to sacrifice someone, I’d have expected it to be one of the outsiders.”
“Maybe he tried. Maybe they were too smart to trust him.”
“Fucking Noriega,” Marc muttered.
“Fucking Anthony,” Christian corrected. “Sending one of his own children to die. He had to know Noriega couldn’t best me. You know—” he said thoughtfully. “I was prepared to let Anthony retire to New Orleans when I become Lord of the South. But now . . . I think I’ll have to kill him.”
HIDDEN BEHIND the heavy fold of drapery, Natalie peered down at the yard behind the house under the yellow gleam of pole lights in the parking area. She’d seen Christian and his lieutenant striding away from Anthony’s office earlier, had seen him turn toward the back of the house. She’d been unable to hear what they’d been saying, but it had been obvious the meeting with Anthony hadn’t gone well. She didn’t know why she’d followed him after that, why she’d hurried down the outside hallway to the tall window where she could watch him and Marc Forest leave. But there was something about him that drew her, something more than his good looks and charming smile. Something that told her she’d like to get to know him better. And that was a first for her. She’d been working in Anthony’s office for nearly two years now, surrounded every day by gorgeous males, and she’d never once been tempted to do anything more than say hello. So why Christian Duvall?
She didn’t have an answer, but she sure as hell had more questions. She’d seen Noriega and his gang waiting when Christian emerged into the parking area, and she’d almost called Anthony for help. But something had held her back, a nagging suspicion that the timing was simply too fortuitous. That Noriega seemed to have known not only when Christian would be leaving, but which door he’d be leaving through. And she remembered Anthony’s blatant hostility toward Christian earlier, when he’d come out of his office to find them talking to one another.
She didn’t know Christian that well, but she knew Anthony. And she didn’t trust him. He’d been blackmailing generations of her family into working with him. She’d wracked her brain for something she could do to help Christian, as she’d watched him toss his jacket aside and roll up his shirtsleeves to bare powerful forearms. She’d taken a moment to sigh in girlish pleasure at the sight, but then her next thought had been to call Jaclyn. They worked together, and if nothing else, Jaclyn would know what to do. But hard on that thought the fight had begun, and she’d been too terrified to move.
It had all happened so quickly. Noriega’s followers all falling like flies, and then Noriega raging hot as he advanced, while Christian only got colder and colder, ice to Noriega’s fire. And then, in a blur of movement too fast for her to follow, Christian’s fingers were wrapped around Noriega’s throat, and he was literally reaching into Noriega’s chest and ripping out his heart. She hadn’t been able to stop her gasp of surprise when Noriega had turned to dust, but hoped she’d backed away quickly enough that no one would realize she’d been watching. She didn’t even know if humans were permitted to see such things.
She knew she should be horrified by what she’d witnessed. It had been violent and bloody, and Christian had been a brutally efficient executioner. But as she stood in the dark hallway, hiding from discovery, it wasn’t horror making her heart pound, her breath come short. It was desire, pure and simple. She’d always been attracted to big, powerful men, but she’d never wanted someone the way she did Christian Duvall. She tried to imagine all of that power and heat and brutal intensity channeled into sex, and felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment, surprising herself at the strength of arousal that just thinking about it conjured up. She didn’t usually react to men like this.
She watched from her hiding place as he picked up his fine suit jacket, and shrugged it on, then shot his cuffs like some James Bond hero, before strolling off into the night.
Why him? Why did he hold such a powerful appeal to her, instead of one of the perfectly nice and eligible men she’d met since moving to Houston, or even one of Anthony’s many vampire minions? Christian was a killer. And she wanted him. If she could just figure out why, maybe she could make the feeling go away before it was too late.
Chapter Three
MARIANN WAS unusually quiet when Natalie finally returned to the office. She’d been gone longer than planned, but she’d needed some time to come to grips with what she’d seen, and what she suspected. She never made the mistake of underestimating Anthony. And she didn’t know if she could face him without him reading the truth on her face, or in her thoughts.
MariAnn looked up when Natalie walked in from the hallway. She didn’t say anything, but stared intently at Natalie, her gaze shifting sideways and back a couple of times, as if to indicate the closed door to Anthony’s office. Natalie frowned, but didn’t hear or see anything amiss. His door was almost always closed, whether he was alone or not.
She paused, then leaned over MariAnn’s desk, and under the guise of writing a note, murmured, “Is someone in there?”
“He’s alone,” MariAnn whispered. “But a few minutes ago, he threw a fit. And I mean threw. Stuff was crashing all over the place in there.” All of this was said with many furtive glances at the closed office door, her fingers clenched around her pen as if it was a lifeline. “He called Noriega earlier, but no one’s called or anything since then, so I don’t know what set him off.”
Natalie’s stomach clenched. She knew what had set him off. Anthony was Noriega’s Sire. From what she knew, that meant he’d have felt Noriega’s death, and now she knew, for sure, that he’d talked to Noriega just before the fight with Christian. She’d suspected as much, but . . . had he ordered Noriega to confront Christian? Or had he been trying to talk him out of it instead? Maybe that’s why he was so upset.
The door to Anthony’s office opened and both women jumped in surprise. MariAnn was suddenly intent on her keyboard, typing away like a madwoman, while Natalie jolted upright and started for her own desk. But Anthony’s next words stopped her.
“I’ve received some bad news,” he said, without preamble. “Terrible news.” He looked away, as if fortifying himself to say it. “Noriega is dead.”