“It is my truest desire,” Ortega responded, his eyes still locked with Vincent’s.
Vincent nodded, then popped Lana’s black, steel blade open and cut his arm vertically from wrist to forearm. Blood welled immediately, dripping down his arm and coating his hand and fingers.
“Then drink, Richard Ortega, and be mine,” he said and held his wrist out to Ortega, whose eyes closed in something close to ecstasy as he inhaled the coppery fragrance of Vincent’s blood. He seemed to hold his breath for a moment, as if trapping the scent within his sinuses, savoring the rich aroma. Then his eyes flashed open, gleaming redly in the dim light, and he put his mouth to Vincent’s wrist and drank.
Lana had seen the process before, with Jerry and the others, but that had been different somehow. It had been in the midst of a crisis, a battlefield commitment rather than this slow, ritualized ceremony. Even having seen it before, she’d had to bite down on her reaction to Vincent slicing up his own arm that way. Especially when the blood started to flow. She knew how sharp her knife was, how deep it would have cut. But Vincent hadn’t even winced. Another vampire thing, she guessed. Never show pain. Or maybe he’d simply done it so often that the nerves were destroyed. She made a note to ask him later, when the troops weren’t around to hear his answer. There were appearances to be maintained, after all.
She stood by patiently while Ortega finished drinking, and then while Vincent went through the same ritual with Zárate. After that, things moved along swiftly. The SUV was emptied out—Vincent assured her someone would be back for the vehicle later—and everyone piled onto the jet.
The flight to Mexico City was short, just over an hour. Vincent and Michael spent much of that time discussing logistics. Vincent already had allies in Mexico City, vampires who were prepared to swear to him as soon as he landed. Apparently, the more vamps Vincent had behind him when he confronted Enrique, the stronger he’d be, since he could draw power from his supporters as he fought. Some sort of metaphysical vampire magic. Ugh. She groaned inwardly. She didn’t believe in magic, or at least she never had before she met Vincent. But she had to admit that a lot of what went on with vamps couldn’t be explained any other way. At least not by her.
The minute they landed in Mexico City, Vincent’s supporters made themselves known. Five long, black SUVs with the requisite tinted windows were waiting in a private hangar, with a number of vamps lined up in front of them, almost like soldiers standing at attention. And, like soldiers, they were all carrying guns—HK MP5s, with a sidearm thrown in here and there.
Those were the first vampires she’d seen carrying guns. Obviously, something had changed.
Lana disembarked with Vincent, but went to grab her duffel from the pile of luggage, while he crossed directly to his line of supporters and made a point of greeting each of them personally. Lana stood back and watched, half-expecting a mass blood ritual to cement the relationship between Vincent and this new group. She was thankful to see that wouldn’t be the case. At least for now. Maybe they’d do a group bloodletting later, she thought with an inward grimace.
Despite the greeting committee, the vamps didn’t linger at the airport. Vincent’s pilots shut down the jet and, surprisingly, joined the rest of the vamps in piling into the SUVs and speeding off into the night. Lana felt a little like she was in a movie, with the security types all talking into what she guessed were Bluetooth devices, while she and Vincent were hustled into the middle seat of one of the SUVs. A vamp she didn’t know took the wheel, and Michael sat up front in the passenger seat.
Lana didn’t know Mexico City. Most of the fugitives she pursued stuck closer to the U.S. border. So she had no idea which district or suburb of the city they ended up in when the convoy finally pulled to a stop.
She peered out the window curiously while Vincent’s new security people spilled out of the other vehicles and ran around checking things out. They were in front of a four-story residence complex, presumably the condo Vincent had referred to earlier. The building was on a large lot, which permitted a substantial setback from its neighbors. Gardens and trees filled the space, and a curved walkway led to a glass front door. Each of the four levels had a balcony along the side facing the street, and on every balcony were pots and flower boxes overflowing with color under discreetly-placed accent lighting. It was pretty, although it sure didn’t look much like the stereotypical vampire lair. On the other hand, one could easily miss the equally discreet security cameras at every turn. Just as one could mistake for decoration the heavy metal shutters over each door and window, shutters she had no doubt descended daily at sunrise, sealing the vampires in and the humans out.
Vincent’s vamps surrounded them as they exited the SUV, and Vincent held her hand as they were escorted directly into the building. She saw the entrance to an underground parking garage to one side and wondered why they hadn’t entered that way—it would seem to offer more coverage, and hence more security. But then she saw a whole new greeting committee waiting for them in the lobby, and she understood. One didn’t make a grand entrance via the garage door.
Once inside, Vincent was drawn away to greet his supporters, which left Lana with plenty of time to look around. She was surprised to see that the lobby looked like it belonged in an office building rather than a condo. She also noted that no one seemed to be around except vampires. Where were the other tenants? What did they think about having a vampire setting up headquarters in their building, about his security taking over the way they did?
“I own the building,” Vincent said in her ear. She spun around, happier than she should have been to find him next to her. It was a little disconcerting to be the only human in the crowd. “The penthouse is mine alone,” he continued, “but there are eight other units all occupied by my people.” He held her arm as they entered the elevator, pulling her against his side while Michael and two other vamps she’d never met piled in after them forming a solid wall of muscle in front of the door.
“Eight units?” she repeated. “Four to a floor?”
Vincent nodded. “There aren’t any units on the ground floor, but there’s a pool and a complete gym, as well as the building’s offices.”
“Do you come here often?” she asked. She’d gotten the impression that he avoided Mexico City, and yet here was this very expensive building and a whole bunch of vampires who seemed to have been just waiting for his arrival.
“It was necessary from time to time. I have duties as Enrique’s lieutenant.”
“There’s more to it than that, though,” she commented.
Vincent hugged her close and put his lips to her ear. “There is, but not here.”
Lana nodded. One didn’t discuss plans for a coup while standing in the elevator, no matter who owned the building.
The penthouse floor turned out to be half residence and half strategy center. To the right, as they exited the elevator, were a couple of nice office desks, fitted with phones and computers. Beyond that was an open seating area complete with a big wall-mounted flat screen TV that was muted and tuned to—what else?—CNN. A pair of open doors off the seating area revealed a big, empty conference room, with a wooden table and leather chairs in front of a wall of windows.
Everything was supersized. Big spaces, big furniture, big screen TV. But what struck Lana more than anything else was the utter lack of noise. It was as if they’d entered an acoustic chamber where no sound penetrated from the outside, while everyone inside was afraid to disturb the silence. Except there was nobody here. She figured that would change once the gang from downstairs made their way up. But for now, it was almost eerie—an empty space waiting to be filled.
Vincent pulled her attention away from the office area, taking her hand and leading her to the left, their footsteps making no sound on the deep pile carpet as they made their way to a second set of double doors. Like those guarding the conference room, they were nearly floor to ceiling, around ten feet tall, and lacquered a uniform black with no embellishment other than the burnished steel hardware. The difference was that these doors were secured by a digital keypad which sat to the right of the doors and included a biometric lock with a scanner. Vincent entered an eight digit code, pressed his thumb on the scanner, and the doors popped open.
“We’ll scan you into the system tonight,” Vincent commented. “No one but the two of us and Michael will have access to this suite.”
Lana nodded, secretly relieved. With the sudden appearance of so many strange vampires whose only job seemed to be keeping Vincent safe, she’d been a little concerned. She knew some people lived with a constant security presence and eventually forgot the guards were there, but she’d never wanted to be one of them. She liked her privacy too much.
Once they entered Vincent’s condo, however, all worries about privacy and too many guards fled her thoughts, replaced by a single certainty . . . she didn’t belong here.
The room was breathtaking—high ceilings and an entire wall of glass with a view that felt like it went on forever. She knew there were many days in Mexico City where the air quality was crap and the haze closed in, but tonight, with clear skies and the waning half-moon high in the sky, the lights of the city lit up the valley floor in a way that told her they were on a rising edge of the basin.
This was expensive real estate. Really expensive. And Vincent owned the entire damn building. Even if he hadn’t been handsome and charming, he was rich enough to get any woman he wanted. So what was he doing with her? Maybe when he’d tried to persuade her to stay behind earlier, he’d actually wanted her to stay behind, rather than being concerned for her safety.