“There’s no maybe about it, and, yes, of course, you’re going with me. What was I thinking?”
“Some bullshit about me staying behind with all the other ladies.”
“Shame on me. You’d better get cracking, then. We leave in thirty minutes.”
Houston, Texas
ANTHONY SET THE phone down, with satisfied smile. That would take care of Vincent for a while. He knew the Mexican lord didn’t trust him, but he wouldn’t be able to ignore the possibility that the intel was right, either. He’d have to check it out, maybe try to contact someone in Patrizia. But no one would answer. Anthony’s allies had seen to that. And they’d also arranged a very nice welcoming party for Vincent when he raced to the rescue. Which he would. He’d have no choice.
Vincent would be out of the picture, and Duvall would be on his own. Now, if Scoville could just find his balls long enough to do his fucking job, the tide would turn, and Christian Duvall would be the one drowning.
CHRISTIAN LEANED back on the pillows piled against the headboard of his oversized bed. One arm was wrapped around Alon, holding the new vampire back-to-chest in front of him, while his other arm was against Alon’s mouth, held there by the fangs dug deep into his vein. He closed his eyes, feeling every tug as Alon sucked down the rich bounty of his blood. The new vampire probably wouldn’t remember much of this night, might even be embarrassed if he did. Taking blood was inherently sexual, even between vampires. The euphoric didn’t hit them the way it did humans, but it was still a deeply sensual act.
It was also exhausting. Both for the new vampire, whose body was still undergoing massive changes, courtesy of the vampire symbiote, and for Christian who had to give far more blood than would normally be the case. In the coming days, after he’d become Lord of the South, he’d undergo a similar ritual many times as vampires in his new territory swore allegiance. But while the mechanics were the same, the amount of blood required was far less than that required to create a new vampire. His new vampire subjects would take only a little of his blood, in order to bind their lives to his. And not every vampire would have to do so, only the stronger ones whose loyalty Christian would need to be sure of.
But while it was fatiguing to create a new vampire, Christian didn’t regret it. He couldn’t. The link between Sire and child was too powerful. It didn’t allow for regrets. Alon was already his, and Christian would throw down his life to save him.
The door opened quietly, and Marc stood there, cell phone in hand and a very troubled look on his face.
“What is it?” Christian asked softly, a sinking sense of inevitability nearly swamping him. Whatever it was wouldn’t be good.
Marc lifted the phone. “Scoville just called. I told him you couldn’t be interrupted.”
Christian was too tired to deal with any more of Anthony’s half-assed challengers. “What the fuck did he want?”
“He’ll only talk to you, but . . . no bullshit, Christian, he sounded panicked. I think you should call him back.”
Christian glanced down at Alon, whose sucking was falling off rapidly. He’d sleep for several more hours now, through the rest of this night and right into tomorrow’s daylight sleep. Tomorrow night would be his first true awakening, and then they’d discover exactly what sort of vampire he would be. But for tonight, he was dead to the world.
He maneuvered Alon’s sleep-heavy body to the bed, then stood and walked over to join Marc. Taking the phone from him, he hit the Call Back button and waited.
“Christian, thank God.”
Marc was right, Scoville was panicked. Hell, he sounded scared shitless. And from the noises behind him, he might have a good reason.
“We’re under fucking attack, man. We need help, or this place will be overrun.”
“Where are you? What the fuck is going on?”
“We can’t fight these things. We’re all going to die if—”
“Snap out of it,” Christian yelled. “I need information. Facts. How many of you are there?”
“We started with twenty-five.” Scoville’s voice was quieter, but there was a hitch in his voice, like he was fighting the urge to cry. “Twenty-five,” he repeated in a whisper. “Now? They’re killing us. Swarming like bugs. They don’t feel pain, nothing stops them.”
Christian was moving, the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, while he started pulling things out of his closet. He turned and his eyes met Marc’s questioning look. He nodded in response to the unvoiced question, “Are we going?”
Marc immediately spun away, racing down the hall. He’d be making arrangements, lining up transport, but to where?
“Damn it, Scoville, calm the fuck down.” Merde! This guy had wanted to be Lord of the South? “Tell me where you are.”
“Laredo,” he said dully. “Anthony put me in command down here. It was my punishment for not killing you.” He laughed bitterly. “Or for not dying while trying to kill you.”
“Laredo,” Christian repeated for Marc’s benefit. “Did you call Anthony?” he asked, switching back to Scoville.
“He’s not answering. I don’t even know where he is, or whether he’d even come if I found him.”
“What about his fighters? You must be able to get some of them moving.”