Something moved in the shadows. One of the attackers, his fingers curling.
Tightening his grasp on the unconscious woman, he stepped closer to the man, and with eyes used to the night, caught movement behind the man’s eyelids.
He was awake.
Soren pulled his gun and sent the man back into blackness with a single shot.
He had to find out who or what these men were. Nothing should have come back that fast after tangling with him. Nothing ever had. He didn’t like this, not at all, and cursing under his breath, pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed an all too familiar number. Only Gustav could sort out this mess and provide answers.
* * * *
This was his corner of the small, smoky room. With a glass of cheap merlot in one hand, and a cigarette in the other, Gustav sat in the middle of pure bliss. Not a large crowd tonight, but it didn’t matter. The rhythmic, heavy drumming of the music filled in the spaces.
As he took a long, soothing pull on his cigarette, an orange glow lit his face. He surveyed this hidden hotspot. Two men much larger than him guarded the doors, though their presence wasn’t warranted. This place didn’t have a name, which made it hard to find. Not that he was hiding, just indulging in his Friday night routine.
Friday was fight night here. And inside the cage, the house champion leaned lazily against the metal links. A tall man, even without the extra three inches of spiked black hair. He didn’t speak as he looked through those gathered around, waiting for anyone stupid enough to step inside with him.
And there was Stupid, surrounded by his buddies, being slapped on the back by one and having his shoulder shaken by the other. Clearly, pumping up the challenger’s ego. Nineteen, twenty at the most, the boy strutted inside that cage like he’d already won.
How wonderful, that brief moment when the champion took his first real shot and the challenger realized how badly he’d screwed up.
A muffled ring reached his ears as his pocket vibrated. Gustav took the phone out and flipped it open without looking at the caller ID. There were only two people in the world who called him.
“Yeah.”
“You have a mess to clean up, my friend. I’m on Rue Daru,” the man on the other end said, followed by a disconnecting click.
Gustav tossed the phone on the table and rubbed his hand over his face, smoothing his goatee. In the cage, the boy lay flat on his back, and the champion back against the links. He’d waited a week for this, and missed the moment that made him remember who he was and why he was here. He snagged his glass from the table and drank the contents down quickly, needing the wine to keep him warm tonight.
Gustav left, walking through the rain. He hadn’t been far from Rue Daru, a short street smack between Parc Monceau and the Arc de Triomphe. He’d known something was wrong the moment his weekly happy time had been shattered. Soren rarely came into Paris, and never called for help. This could be interesting.
* * * *
Soren picked up the purse, a bit tricky to do as he held her limp body, but he refused to set her down, to let go of her. Besides, the only place to put her was in a puddle.
She didn’t have much in her purse. He fished through the little thing, ignoring the English to French phrasebook, the lipgloss, and a small book entitled City Walks: Paris—50 Adventures on Foot. Opening her wallet, he removed her license. The outdated picture showed her hair at an odd, short length.
Faith. Her name was Faith. How very simple, demure. Human.
She was still unconscious, but beautiful. No specific feature drew him. He just couldn’t describe her any other way. And that alone made no sense.
Soren pulled stray pieces of her wet hair away from her face, smoothed it back with the rest. After he found the knot on her head, relief filled him. It did not bleed. She’d have a terrible headache, but would be fine.
He cursed himself. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not to him. How could he have been so stupid? He hadn’t meant to frighten her. Should have taken the time to seduce her, to draw her in with sweet words and a gentle touch, making him easier to forget. He should be a distant memory, or at most, a story of a romantic encounter. But he’d craved a taste of her so badly he hadn’t attempted to soothe her fears. Fear heightened the senses. She was likely aware she’d been bitten. And that was impossible to explain away.
Not in all the centuries he’d walked the earth had he ever lost control.
“Lurking in alleyways, Soren?” Gustav scolded from the shadows, his off-kilter French accent bending his words.
“Gustav. What took you so long?”
“When all you give me is the name of the street, you’re damn lucky I’m here at all,” Gustav said, stepping into the alley. His goatee hid his face, keeping him blended well with the darkness. “Open your eyes and throw me a number next time.”
Gustav halted before the two bodies splayed across the cobblestones.
“Soren,” he said expectantly. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know. Both attacked her.”
Gustav turned his piercing gaze to him, and the woman he held. “I can see why. I would. So what’s the problem?”
“They’re dead. That might be a problem.” Growling his frustration, he tried to shield the woman from Gustav’s unhurried perusal.
“All right, then. Let’s see what we have.” Gustav lowered himself to the ground in a quick, fluid motion, balancing on the balls of his feet as he examined the two men. The first man’s face was bloodied and smashed. If he’d lived, it hadn’t been for long. But the second... “You shot him?”
Gustav had every right to question him. Not only was this out of character for him, but the entire vampire race firmly disagreed with taking a life.
“That one started moving not long after he hit the wall.” His tone was dark, accusing.
Gustav’s focus shifted sharply to the men on the ground. With the injuries sustained, neither man should have been able to wake. He pulled up the first man’s top lip. Fangs protruded, gleaming white. The man with the bloodied face was the same. Gustav touched the first man’s cheek with the back of his hand, then the second.
“Both are very warm to the touch, even with the chilled rain working hard to cool their bodies,” Gustav mumbled, talking more to himself than to Soren.
The heat should not be there. He silently prayed as Gustav lifted an eyelid on each man, checking the color of the iris.
Gustav shot to his feet, drawing out a short sword tucked under the folds of his coat. “Not in my city,” he snarled with teeth clenched. And with the accuracy of one familiar with killing, he stabbed both men through the heart.
“They were…”
“Yes.” Gustav wiped the thick, dark blood from his sword onto the shirt of one of the corpses. “It’s been two decades since I’ve seen more than one in the same place, and nearly a decade since I’ve seen any of those red-eyed devils.”
“I assumed they were vampire. They look like us. Strange.”
Gustav agreed with a nod. “They can appear either human or ghoulish, but the red eyes don’t lie,” he said as he searched the pockets of the fallen demons. Finding nothing more than cash, cigarettes, and a lighter, he stopped.
Soren was shaken, and though he tried to present a calm demeanor, his short answers and expression would be enough to alert his friend that he had sunk very deep in thought because of the demons, or the woman in his arms.
“And