Текст книги "Legacy"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER 7

I’M ALMOST AT THE DOOR WHEN ONE OF THE FEMALE weres steps in front of me. It’s not an accident. She looks at me and rumbles a growl, challenging, threatening. A growl rises in my own throat, and a rush of adrenaline burns through my veins. The vampire springs into defensive mode.

The bar is suddenly quiet.

“What do you want?” My voice is harsh, my muscles tense.

The woman stares at me. “Are you Anna Strong?”

She knows my name?

Startled, I take a step back to get a better look. Do I know her? She’s as tall as I am. Brown, close-cropped hair. Dark eyes in a face that would be pleasant if not for the hatred in her expression. She’s wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and a worn leather jacket zipped to her neck. She makes an elaborate show of stripping off her jacket and letting it fall to the floor. She’s wearing a tank top that reveals a right arm decorated with an elaborate multicolored tattoo, something with an eagle and a waving flag. It also reveals well-muscled shoulders and rock-hard biceps that she flexes like a prize-fighter.

I’m damned sure now that I don’t know her, but I can’t help it, the posturing makes me smile. I feel like I’m back in junior high facing a school-yard bully. Swallowing back the urge to laugh, I ask, “Are you calling me out, sunshine?”

It’s not the reaction she’s expecting. A frown tightens the thin lips. “You think this is funny?”

Culebra is suddenly between us. “Stop it.”

Two words, but his tone cuts like a whip. He faces the were. “You are a guest here. Have you forgotten?” He turns toward the crowd at the bar. “Sandra, you gave your word there would be no trouble. Are you abusing my hospitality?”

The were takes a step back and turns toward the bar. I turn, too, though at first I can’t tell who he’s addressing. Then there’s movement as the crowd parts to let someone through. A woman. She separates from the rest. She doesn’t say anything; she looks. At me.

My pulse starts racing. I can’t move. I can’t look away. I don’t want to.

She is stunning. More than beautiful. Tall, lean, dressed in black form-fitting leather. Her dark hair is cut to frame her face, a showcase for eyes that flash blue green in the light of the bar and generously curved, slightly parted lips. Her smooth skin glows with pale undertones, as if even inside, she’s bathed in moonlight.

The effect is at once devastating and unnerving. Every eye in the room is riveted on that perfect face. I’ve never felt anything like it—a sexual vibe so strong it transcends gender and species. I can’t believe I didn’t notice her before.

Only Culebra seems immune. He puts a hand on my arm, tightening his grip to keep me at his side.

“Well?” he barks. “Do I need to ask you to leave, Sandra? Or will you honor your word?”

A smile touches the perfect mouth, lifts the corners of her eyes. “Tamara,” she says in a soft, throaty whisper. “Apologize to the lady.”

The muscle-bound creature in front of me wilts in disappointment, but she doesn’t argue. “Sorry,” she says in a tone that implies she clearly isn’t. She picks up her jacket and moves to stand by the woman at the bar.

Sandra places an arm across Tamara’s shoulders in a gesture as much possessive as defensive. Her eyes are not on Tamara or Culebra, however. They are focused on me.

I shift uneasily. Heat ripples my skin. I’m aroused, physically, embarrassingly, in a way I haven’t been in months.

By a woman. Is it a spell?

Culebra is tugging at my arm, forcing me to turn away from those hypnotic eyes. He’s pulling me toward the door. Dumbly, reluctantly, I allow myself to be led outside.

Only then is the link broken. I round on him. What the hell was that?

His smile is grim. She likes you.

Likes me? We were mind fucking—or didn’t you notice? What kind of magic does she work?

He shrugs. Werewolves emit a powerful sexual energy. It’s what attracts humans. It’s the way they propagate. Human reproduction is not available to them.

Propagate? Hello, I’m not human. Another insignificant detail? We both happen to be women.

She may not know that you are vampire. They do not have psychic abilities except with other pack members. As for sex, werewolves are like vampires in that respect.

It’s all he says. It’s enough. Werewolves must makeother werewolves as vampires do, with an exchange of blood.

What in the hell were you thinking letting a pack of werewolves camp out in your bar?

“There wasn’t any trouble until you showed up. Come to think of it, most of the time there isn’t any trouble until you show up,” he says sharply. He jabs a thumb toward the door. “I think you’re missing an important point. Sandra doesn’t act like that around everyone. It’s as if she was waiting for you. For you. Her pack mate knew your name. Aren’t you the least bit curious why?”

Indignation at the charge that I am to blame for what happened inside suddenly morphs into a pool of uncertainty and rampant curiosity. I realize with a jolt that what Culebra said is true.

I turn to go back in. This time, if that muscle-bound Tamara tries to stop me, she’s in for a surprise.

Sandra is inside. It’s Sandra I need to see. I feelher tugging at the corners of my mind.

Culebra stops me by grabbing my arm. “Not tonight,” he says. “I don’t want trouble.”

I pause, reading Culebra’s concern. He fears for my—for our—safety. There are two of us and at least forty of them. He’s right. If things go badly, the odds are not in our favor.

“I’ll see what I can find out from the weres and get back to you tomorrow,” he says.

I sigh. There is the matter of Gloria’s indiscretion to take care of. If I’m lucky, maybe Rory O’Sullivan will try something and I can work off some of my aggression by slapping him around.

Culebra is in my head. He frowns, clucking his tongue. “You must find a way to curb your impulses,” he says. “Bully someone like Rory O’Sullivan, and you can be sure he’ll bully right back. Better to follow your first impulse and take a human sex partner. Do it before you meet O’Sullivan, please, not after. Lose your temper with him, and you risk exposure.”

He sounds like a priest. Irritation slithers up and coils in the pit of my stomach. Diffusing that anger in a proper manner was the reason I showed up here.

Culebra releases a long sigh. I know. I am sorry to disappoint you. You put yourself in this position, Anna, over and over. There is an alternative. You know it. Take one partner to satisfy your appetites safely. Settle down. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s the prudent thing to do.

Yadda, yadda, yadda. I’ve heard it before. This time when I stomp down the dusty boardwalk toward my car, no one tries to stop me.

CHAPTER 8

THE ENTIRE DEBACLE AT CULEBRA’S LASTED ONLY an hour. It felt like much longer. The drive through tourist traffic making its slow way back to San Diego gives me time to sort through conflicting emotions.

The first being shock and anger at Max. For obvious reasons. But also a tinge of regret at the way I reacted. In spite of knowing that it never would have worked out between Max and me, seeing him tonight hurt.

Then there’s Sandra. I can’t believe she affected me in such a potent sexual way. A response maybe to seeing Max? To knowing he’d just had sex with someone else?

Confusion. Why in hell would one of her werewolf buddies want to pick a fight with me? As far as I know, I’ve never come in contact with any member of the were family, so I can’t have insulted or harmed one. Not intentionally anyway. My experience with the supernatural community has had its ups and downs, but the only time I’ve killed was in defense of myself or of the human community. I’m certain I’ve never killed a were.

By the time I get back to town, it’s after nine and my head spins from trying to sort it all out. I need a drink, so even though it’s too early to meet Rory, I head for Glory’s.

The bar is more crowded than before. All the tables and booths lining the back wall are occupied. I work my way through the crowd and ask the bartender if by chance Gloria or her partner is in the back. He says no. Gloria left a while ago, and Mr. O’Sullivan isn’t due for another couple of hours. I order a vodka martini, extra dry, hold the olives.

A thirtysomething wearing Armani and a sleazy smile moves off a stool and motions for me to sit. I do. He has the oily good looks of a lawyer, with designer horn-rim glasses and delicate hands. Defense, probably. The suit is too expensive and the hands too soft to belong to a prosecutor. He’s drinking something in a tall glass with a fancy swizzle. He’s definitely a defense attorney. The prosecutors I know wouldn’t be caught dead with a paper-umbrella drink.

Neither would I. It takes more than a raging libido to be tempted by a drink like that, or the type who would order one.

Caught dead. I smile at my own joke. When my drink comes, Umbrella Man flips a twenty onto the bar and steps closer, misinterpreting the smile as an invitation.

I figure one good growl should discourage him.

Careful, Anna. Don’t give yourself away.

Great. The familiar voice is an unwelcome intrusion into my head. I look past Umbrella Man. Williams is sitting at a table in the back. He’s smiling, too, but it’s only lip service. His eyes are veiled and serious.

Williams. What are you doing here?

It’s good to see you, too. What’s it been? Two months? You don’t write. You don’t call.

Very funny.I elbow my way toward him, ignoring the yelp of protest from Umbrella Man when I shove the drink back at him. If you’ll recall, you asked me not to contact you. From what I’ve been reading in the newspapers, you’re not completely out of trouble yet.

Williams moves so I can slide next to him on the bench seat. He knows I’ll want to have the same vantage point he does. Like good cops, or vampires, our backs to the wall, eyes on the crowd.

He’s in civilian clothes, slacks and a polo shirt open at the collar. He’s handsome in a fiftyish, lean, graying kind of way. The gray is an affectation. He’s a vampire, an old vampire, who is also the police chief of the city of San Diego.

At least technically.

Two months ago he got in trouble because of a rather unconventional police sting operation. Unconventional because it involved a civilian—me—and because although a bad man was caught, a deputy was killed in the process. It wasn’t Williams’ fault but as chief of police, every good thing he’d done in the ten years of his tenure faded when compared to the harsh reality that he’d lost one of his own. He’s on administrative leave now, defending his actions and his office to every civilian and police review board in existence. He has not yet been reinstated, and now here he is, sitting by himself in Glory’s nursing a beer.

Coincidence?

I think not.

“Why are you here?”

He tips his own glass toward me. “That’s what I like about you, Anna. There’s no bullshit in you. Culebra called me. Told me where you were headed.”

“I just left him. I have a cell phone. Why would he call you instead of me?”

He focuses on the beer in his hand with much more concentration than it merits. He’s also closed off his thoughts. Culebra seemed annoyed when I left but not worried. Why would he send Williams to find me unless . . .

“If this is about getting back on the Watcher team, you can forget it. I told you I don’t want to be a part of that anymore. I’m living as a human now. I intend to as long as I’m able.”

He leans his head close to mine. “Except for inconsequential things. Like drinking blood, right?”

I want to slap that sarcastic smirk off his face. Instead, I take his beer out of his hand and raise it to my own lips, swallowing the “fuck you” response with the beer. It galls me that Williams, who has a mortal wife and holds down a mortal job, is relentless in his attempt to persuade me to abandon myhuman roots to pursue what he mystifyingly calls “my destiny.” A destiny he refuses to define or explain. What I do know, however, is that it involves distancing myself from my family, something I won’t do.

We’ve been doing this dance as long as I’ve known him.

Someone has entered the bar, causing a ripple of excitement to run through the crowd. I look up in time to see Gloria make a grand entrance. She’s stunning in a short dress of gold lamé, her hair piled on top of her head, all traces of this afternoon’s crying jag erased from that radiant face.

She cruises through the crowd, bestowing the favor of her smile on one and all. When she disappears through the door to the office, I scoot to the end of the bench and prepare to follow her.

Williams stops me with a hand on my arm. “Wait. I have something to tell you.”

I shrug it off.

He doesn’t let me go. His grip tightens.

Furious, I whirl on him. “Take your hand off me.”

He releases my arm and holds up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry. You have to hear this. The were Sandra at the bar tonight? She’s looking for you. Culebra said she’ll contact you tomorrow.”

I remember her power and beauty and the control she exerted over her pack. I’m actually excited at the prospect of seeing her again until reason rears its ugly head. “Do you know why?”

“It’s complicated,” he says.

“Isn’t everything? Look, if you know, tell me. Why is she coming to see me?”

His eyes flash in the dim light. “She says she’s Avery’s wife. She wants you to know she’s coming to claim what’s hers.”

CHAPTER 9

I DON’T KNOW WHAT KIND OF REACTION WILLIAMS expects from me. His expression is comical in its intensity. He looks like he’s afraid I’ll throw or hit something.

All I’m feeling is surprise and relief. To be rid of the last vestiges of Avery’s impact on my life is what I’ve dreamed of and fought for since the bastard insinuated himself in my life six months ago. Avery made me believe he loved me, that he wanted to help me adjust to life as a vampire. What he really wanted was control. He destroyed my house, kidnapped David and would have killed him if I hadn’t found him in time. I have no doubt he would have gone after my family next. When I drove a stake into Avery’s heart, I was not only protecting myself but all the humans I love. I’ve never regretted it.

Williams knows that.

I climb to my feet and turn to look down at him. “So. Avery had a wife. Good. Finally, I can be free. Be sure to thank her for me.”

His eyes widen a fraction. Then a slow, tight smile touches the corners of his lips. “Not so easy. Avery’s possessions are yours by vampiric right. She knows this.”

“I don’t care about vampiric rights. Why do we keep having this conversation? She can have every fucking thing Avery left. I don’t want anything. Tell her that. Have Culebra tell her that. If I have to sign something, tell her to send it over. I’ll sign any bloody document she wants. I want to get it over with. I want to be left alone.”

I don’t realize how loud I’m talking until I catch Williams’ look of warning and glance around. The bar has become suspiciously quiet and all eyes are locked on me.

Jesus. For the second time tonight, I’m the center of attention. Exactly what a vampire wants. Only this time, all the eyes and ears focused on me are human. Did they catch the vampiric rights thing, or was that early enough in the tirade to be missed?

Williams grabs my arm and pulls me back onto the bench. I let him, hoping to diffuse the tension with a meek smile and feeble hand wave to the room. “Sorry, folks. My bad. My father and I had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

Williams’ dark thoughts lash out. Father?

Would you prefer I said lover? All it would take is one of those lawyers at the bar to recognize you.

But I don’t have a daughter.

You don’t have a lover, either. At least not here, not now.

My gaze sweeps the room. People are turning back to their companions and partners, conversation resumes. No eyes linger on us. Disaster averted. Relax.

Relax?He’s practically foaming at the mouth. God, Anna. You are impossible. What the hell were you thinking?

I don’t answer. If I do, I’ll only spark another tirade. Williams and I are never going to see eye to eye on proper vampire conduct. Mostly because I don’t want to be a proper vampire. I slam the door on my thoughts and climb again to my feet.

“See you, Williams. If you won’t help me with Sandra, I’ll find a way to handle it myself. Either way, it will be over. I won’t expect to hear from you again. Thanks for once again reminding me of all the things I don’t want.”

Williams’ expression softens into the last I would have expected. Anger gives way to sadness. He shakes his head. “You’ll never get what you want. No matter how hard you try. I know you don’t believe that.” He looks away, then back at me. “It isn’t real, you know. At least it isn’t your reality.”

And in the next instant, he’s replaying my shopping trip with Trish this afternoon. Like a projected image, I see my face, glowing, expectant, when I look at her.

There’s only one way to accomplish such a thing. Fury threatens to choke me, but I force the words through gritted teeth. “You’re following me?”

He shakes his head. “Not me.”

“Then who?”

“It’s not important. What is important is the role you are destined to play, Anna. Until you accept, fully accept, what you are, you will be under surveillance. It’s not negotiable.”

He flips a ten-dollar bill onto the table and stands up. “So, go, live as a mortal in the limited capacity open to you. Soon enough the futility of it will become clear. You’ll come back to us, Anna, because you’ll have nowhere else to go.”

I stare at him as he walks away. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t have to. His last words hang in the air. It makes me sick to admit that Williams is right. No matter how hard I fight it, playacting can’t change the reality of what I am.

I shuffle myself away from the table and toward the door through which Gloria disappeared a few minutes before.

I never thought I’d prefer Gloria’s presence to well, anyoneelse, but right now, I need to get that last conversation out of my head.

I pause outside Gloria’s office door to compose myself. My insides are quivering with a combination of frustration, aggravation and rage. At Williams. At fate. At myself because I’ve put myself in this ridiculous position of agreeing to help Gloria. Why didn’t I tell her to go to hell this afternoon? If I had, I could be with my folks and Trish right now, pretending to eat Christmas cookies and listening to them laugh. Give Williams’ flunky something to think about. That’s the reality I want.

I glance around the bar, not really expecting to identify my tail. If I didn’t sense a presence before, I won’t now.

I look back at the door. The sooner I get this over with, the better. I don’t bother to knock. I grab the door handle and push.

Gloria is sitting in the same chair, in the same position as I found her this afternoon. This time, though, her eyes aren’t turned toward the window. She’s staring at a piece of paper clutched in a hand that’s shaking.

“What’s that, Gloria? Your cosmetics bill for the month?”

When her attention switches to me, the expression on her face changes from shock to fury. She jumps to her feet, lunges toward me.

“It’s a note from Rory,” she says, waving the paper at me. “That bastard is threatening to file suit against me. For fraud. He says he’ll claim millions in missing profits.”

Wow. I’m almost impressed with the ferocity of her wrath. “Looks like he’s changed his mind about the pussy, huh?”

It’s a crass, bitchy thing to say, but right now crass and bitchy is how I feel. Gloria is so mad at O’Sullivan, she lets my remark go unanswered.

I jab a thumb toward the door. “I guess you don’t really need me to hang around anymore. Obviously, O’Sullivan won’t be showing his face here. I doubt your business partner will want to dilute his claims against you by risking a countercharge of sexual harassment. Which means I don’t need to mitigate anything with David—”

“Mitigate what with David?”

The voice from the doorway makes the words lodge somewhere in the back of my throat. Reluctantly, I turn around.

My partner, David, ex-boyfriend of Gloria, or so I thought, is standing in the doorway. His blue eyes are alive with a spark I haven’t seen in weeks. When I look back at Gloria, she’s smiling at him, and her eyes mirror the same excitement.

A sick hollowness settles in the pit of my stomach.

Fuck. I thought my day was bad before. It’s getting worse.