Natalie blinked in surprise. She knew vampires healed quickly, but had no idea that their blood could heal others, too. She was still absorbing this piece of information when he said, “You should sleep now. You must be tired.”
She was tired. But it was a sated sort of exhaustion, the kind that made her want to stretch with contentment. It was also the sort that made her want to curl up next to Christian, and sleep it off together. And then she wanted to wake up in his arms, and do it all over again. But that wasn’t going to happen. She wondered when he’d trust her enough to sleep with her. It made her a little sad that he still didn’t.
She felt her eyes closing in spite of her thoughts, felt the soft brush of his lips on her forehead, and then he was pulling the covers back and lifting her beneath them.
The last thing she remembered was the sound of his deep voice. “Sleep, mon amour.”
CHRISTIAN WAITED until he was sure Natalie was deep in her dreams, then climbed out of the bed, and headed for the basement and his secure sleeping vault. He hated leaving her, hated knowing that she would wake up alone, as would he. But he wasn’t sure she was ready for the reality of a vampire lover, or that he was ready to drag her into the hazards of his life. She was already in danger because of him, and it would only get worse once he became Lord of the South.
ANTHONY STARED out the window at the Houston skyline, seething with so much anger that his fangs were pressed against his lips and blood dripped from his palms where his nails had pierced the skin. Fucking Christian Duvall. Why couldn’t he have stayed where he belonged? Or better yet, why hadn’t Hubert killed him the moment he made it clear that he was no longer playing the European’s game? That had been the moment of Duvall’s greatest vulnerability, the perfect moment to strike. But had Hubert recognized it? Had he seized that moment and rid them all of the danger that was Christian Duvall? No, that idiot European had been too busy turning peasants into mindless soldiers. If you could call those things soldiers. They had not an ounce of independent will, and were a bit too fervent in their worship of Hubert, even for his taste.
It was too late for that now. No point in moaning over the past. The fact was that Duvall was still alive and ruining all of Anthony’s carefully laid plans. Because of Duvall, he was forced to hide away in this condo, while waiting on Hubert to make his move. But far more egregious was the way that French bastard had moved in and stolen Natalie right from under his thumb. He’d had her there for nearly two years, while he plotted and planned for their future together. And maybe he’d been foolish not to have made his move sooner. She was, after all, a young woman. And like all women, she wanted a man to love and protect her, to provide a home that she could turn into a gracious reflection of their lives. And he’d planned to give that to her, he still would. But he hadn’t wanted to begin their lives together under Raphael’s thumb. She was to be part of his new life, a life where he was in full command of his destiny, of their destiny together.
He knew for a fact that she hadn’t taken a lover the whole time she’d been in Houston. And she’d never fallen for the easy seduction of his vampires, despite her many opportunities. She’d been waiting for him, but perhaps he’d made her wait too long.
He slammed a hand down onto the thick arm of his chair. He couldn’t believe she’d fallen for Duvall, of all people. He was a player, anyone could see that. It was all a game to him, one woman after the next. And now his Natalie had become the fucker’s next target. Assuming he hadn’t already bedded her. But Anthony couldn’t believe that. He knew his woman. She was meant for him. She would see that, once he got her away from Duvall. But he’d have to move fast, before it was too late.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t be the one to rescue her, because Raphael was making a big fucking deal about Jaclyn’s bodyguard. Or lover, or whatever he was to her. Who cared? He’d needed a few moments alone with Natalie, and the vamp was in the way. So he’d blanked a bit of the vamp’s memories. It wasn’t anything the great Raphael hadn’t done a thousand times. If Natalie hadn’t noticed the change and innocently pointed it out, no one would have been wiser. In retrospect, he should have told Natalie what he’d done, and asked her not to mention it. But again, that was the past.
If he was going to get what he deserved, what he’d been working toward since he’d taken over the South, he needed to look forward, to the next move in his plan.
He’d already spoken to his allies, and Duvall would soon be nothing but a memory. But first, he had to get his Natalie to safety. He couldn’t risk something happening to her by accident, just because she’d been taken in by that Frenchman. Which brought him full circle. He had to get her away from Duvall, and for that, he’d require help.
The doorbell rang, sounding loud in the nearly empty condominium. No one but his closest children knew about this place, and he’d taken only a handful of those with him when he’d decided a tactical retreat from the estate was necessary. He wasn’t in hiding, though he knew some would call it that. But that was because they didn’t know his strategy, they didn’t have his vision. He wasn’t hiding, he was avoiding unnecessary risk, while biding his time.
One of his guards stepped into the doorway behind him. “Marcel Weiss, my lord,” he said.
Anthony didn’t look back, but simply raised a hand, indicating the guard should let Weiss in.
A moment later, Weiss’s cynical voice said, “Rather a cliché’, isn’t it, old man? Lurking in the dark and staring through the big picture window? All you need is rain and a bat signal, and you’re set.”
Anthony’s lip curled. He didn’t like Weiss. Under other circumstances, he’d have happily killed him, just for being an asshole. For the time being, however, their goals dovetailed neatly. Weiss wanted to rule the South—which meant getting rid of Duvall. And Anthony wanted Natalie back.
“No priceless scotch to share?” Weiss persisted, as he plopped himself into the chair next to Anthony’s.
“You got my message,” Anthony said, not bothering to reply to the foolish comments.
“Obviously. I’m here. The question remains, however, why am I here? Your message was rather short on specifics.”
“We share an enemy.”
He caught the curious tilt of Weiss’s head in his peripheral vision.
“Duvall,” Weiss said. He might be an asshole, but he was a smart asshole.
“Duvall,” Anthony confirmed. “I can’t do any hunting right now, for obvious reasons.”
“Is Raphael still in town? I thought he’d left already.”
“He did leave, but Jaclyn is still around, and Raphael left additional guards with her. Not to mention Duvall, who, I understand, has been given permission by Raphael to kill me himself.” He snorted dismissively. “Duvall has an inflated opinion of himself. I still rule the South. He’s only one, while I am many.”
“And yet, you’re giving it all up,” Weiss reminded him. “Before we talk any kind of joint venture, I’d like to know why.”
“My reasons are my own. Suffice it to say I miss New Orleans. I only came here because of Katrina and the destruction it caused. The properties I lost were worth millions. But that wasn’t what drove me away. It was the voices of my children who died in their sleep, drowning, while I could do nothing to help them.” Anthony shook himself out of the memory. He hadn’t meant to reveal so much. “I want to go home now. But I want it on my terms. Whatever vampire rules the South behind me can make that possible. And I can make you that vampire.”
“Why me?”
“Why not? You obviously hate Duvall, and I think we both know he’s your strongest opponent. I had hoped one of my own would succeed, but Noriega failed, and Scoville has turned coward and bowed out. That leaves you or Barranza, and he seems to have disappeared. No one will even admit to knowing his whereabouts, unless you . . .”