“I guessed as much. Anthony had us chasing him all the way down near Cancun. I don’t know who the sacrificial lamb was that they sent in his place, but he never had a chance.”
“That seems to be a theme with Anthony and his friends,” Christian said calmly. He was still waiting for Vincent to demand answers about what he’d seen him do to Hubert, but, surprisingly, he didn’t seem to care anymore. That might change once he reported to Raphael, as Christian had no doubt that he would. But that worry was for the future. Right now, he had more important things to think about, like getting Marc away from here, and killing that fucker Anthony.
“My apologies, Lord Vincent,” he said politely. “But time is short, and Anthony is still at large.” A helicopter sounded in the distance, and Christian glanced back at Cibor, who nodded. He’d called in their transport. “That will be my pilot. We should talk another time. Once the dust settles.”
Vincent laughed. “Is that any way to talk about Anthony?” he asked cheerfully, but then, his mood changed in an instant. “Don’t worry. If you don’t kill the asshole, I will. No one fucks with me like that.”
Christian nodded. “Very kind, but I doubt your services will be necessary.”
As quickly as Vincent’s mood had changed before, it shifted again as an attractive, dark-haired woman walked up to him, and he slung an arm around her shoulders. “My fiancée, Lana,” he said. “Querida, this is Christian Duvall, our new neighbor.” He shifted his attention to Christian again. “You should come to our wedding. Bring your woman, if you have one. I’ll send you an invite.”
Christian blinked, not knowing what to say. First, vampire lords did not get married, they mated. And secondly, he barely knew the couple. But what the hell?
“I look forward to it,” he said, then shook hands with Vincent once again, before the Mexican vampire lord signaled his people, and they all climbed back into the waiting SUVs.
Christian waited until the three big vehicles had disappeared back into Mexico, then glanced over at Marc who was standing next to him, one arm banded protectively over his gut. Christian pulled him into an embrace, using the contact to share some of Hubert’s power and speed his healing.
Marc strengthened almost at once. Christian drew back, but kept a hand on his shoulder. “He invited us to his wedding,” he said, still puzzled by the encounter.
“I heard. You going to go?”
Christian thought about it. “I think I will. I’ll take Natalie, and you, too.”
“Should be interesting.” Marc turned as the helicopter settled to the ground. “Are we going after Anthony tonight?”
“Hell, yes. I need to find whatever hole that bastard crawled into, and then I need to kill him. By the time the next sun rises, I’ll be Lord of the South.”
Cibor helped load the badly injured Scoville into the helicopter, then climbed in after him. Another shot of Christian’s blood would have helped him heal, but he was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way this time. Christian had no blood to spare. A gnawing certainty was telling him that this battle wasn’t over yet. Something else had happened. Something they hadn’t anticipated.
He glanced over and saw Cibor on the phone. It was nearly impossible to have a conversation with the helicopter noise, but maybe he was texting, or checking messages. Which reminded him . . . he pulled out his own phone, and saw there were multiple calls from Natalie. He listened to the most recent one, and heard her warning him about Anthony, and that Vincent wouldn’t be coming. He experienced an unexpected warmth, pride for what she’d accomplished with her stolen files. Without her discovery, Cibor wouldn’t have shown up at the critical moment, and his presence had made a huge difference. Plus, Christian’s encounter with Vincent might have turned out very differently, if he hadn’t already known that Anthony had misdirected him.
Speaking of Cibor, however, he noticed the vamp scowling at his cell phone as if he was thinking about chucking it out the door. Clicking on the comm channel, he gestured to get Cibor’s attention, and pointed at his headset. Cibor reached up and clicked his on.
“Something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Cibor said, obviously troubled. “I have a really bad feeling, and I can’t reach Jaclyn.”
“Bad cell connection?” Christian asked, hating the coincidence, and sensing his own bad feeling growing ominously.
“No. It goes right to her voicemail. And she never does that with me.”
“Could she be in a meeting?”
Cibor shook his head. “She was going to stay at the house with Natalie.”
At the mention of Natalie’s name, Christian’s fear solidified into knowledge. Something was wrong. He switched over to the pilot’s channel and asked him to speed it up. Whatever the cost, he’d pay it. He needed to get back to Houston.
Houston, TX
NATALIE DIDN’T protest all the way back to Anthony’s estate. She was a little surprised that was where they took her, but apparently Anthony was so confident in his scheme to kill Christian that he thought the house was safe for him again.
The vamps dragged her out of the Suburban, although dragged was probably too harsh a word. They were being very careful, for all that she was a prisoner. Probably more of Anthony’s orders. He had this image of her as a delicate flower who would bruise if you touched her too hard, and she wasn’t about to enlighten him.
The only real surprise was when they herded her to the stairs down to the basement, instead of up to the office. She’d never been down here. At least, not to the part that was occupied. Like everyone else, she’d seen the half of the basement that was empty—big spaces and white walls. Not much to see.
But that wasn’t where her captors were taking her. They turned right at the bottom of the stairs, passing through a set of doors that looked like normal heavy wood. But if you looked closely—as Natalie did because she was thinking of her escape—you could see the panels had a thick metal core. They were open now, but would probably close before sunrise just like Christian’s shutters. Natalie didn’t plan on being here that long.
A short walk, and they hit a branching. To the left was a long hallway with multiple rooms on both sides. But they went right, down a short passage with a single room at the end. Natalie guessed this led to Anthony’s private quarters. At least she hoped so, because it would be much easier to break out of that than a prison cell. She could deal with a wooden door, but not a set of iron bars. Lock picking was not something they’d covered in her finance classes.