She still had half a day to think.
It was only 10:30 A.M.
She needed to take this opportunity to survey the warehouse, categorize everything she could use as a weapon, figure out how to barricade the bathroom door. She needed to pour every ounce of energy, intelligence, and will into fashioning a plan that could work at a moment’s notice…then wait for that moment to arrive.
At some point, Owen had to feed her, or at least allow her to relieve her bladder.
Something—or someone—would distract him, if only for a second, and Kiera needed to be ready.
Straightening her legs and stiffening her spine, she slowly spun on her heel and headed toward the cursed violin case. Yes, she could play “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”—or “The Devil Went Down to Denver,” as it were—and she could blend into the background while the animals schemed and planned.
And all the while, she’d be plotting as well.
Chapter Twenty-Two
8:00 P.M.
“Marquis, this is Kyla. Kyla, this is Marquis. He’s an Ancient Master Warrior, revered in the house of Jadon.”
Kyla listened carefully to each of Saxson’s introductions, wanting desperately to impress each vampire she met, or at the least, not to set off any warning flags. And holy hell, was this dude ever intimidating. With thick, long black hair and eyes so black they gleamed phantom blue, like the bottomless depths of the ocean, his rock-hard shoulders and enormous, commanding frame were only eclipsed by his stare: This vampire could snap someone’s neck like a pencil, with the mere rotation of his wrist, and he looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. Kyla cleared her throat and extended her hand, willing it not to shake. “Nice to meet you, Marquis.”
He didn’t take her hand. He simply nodded his head—once—in an arrogant dip of his chin and continued to stare right through her.
Kyla gulped, and Saxson placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back. “Don’t let him rattle you,” he said, chuckling. “Marquis is not all that social.”
Kyla forced a confident grin and breathed a sigh of relief as a raven-haired beauty with stunning golden eyes sauntered to Marquis’s side. Her bearing was positively regal. “Is Marquis growling at the guests?” she asked, in an amused, lyrical tone. She brushed her thumb along the warrior’s chiseled jaw in an absent, tactile greeting, and Kyla read a thousand messages in that simple, unobtrusive gesture: deep, abiding love; hot, smoldering passion; and unconcealed reverence—this couple clearly adored each other, in every way imaginable. “I’m Kyla,” she blurted, feeling as clumsy as she sounded.
The beautiful female pretended not to notice. She extended her elegant hand, taking Kyla’s. “Ciopori Demir-Silivasi,” she said with the confidence of a monarch.
“Princess Ciopori,” Marquis corrected, with a barely audible growl in his throat.
Kyla nodded in quick acknowledgment. “So nice to meet you, Princess Ciopori. I take it this warrior is yours.”
Marquis sneered, but Ciopori tossed her head back and laughed. “His bark is worse than his bite,” she whispered, turning to eye him directly. “Marquis…behave.”
The corners of his fearsome mouth turned up, and Kyla immediately got it: This woman held his heart in her hands—hell, her little pinky—and as long as one was respectful of Ciopori, one was probably safe from Marquis.
“That’s a lovely dress,” Ciopori added, glancing at Kyla’s bloodred ensemble: the lacy, flowing skirt fell to mid-thigh; the silk, strapless camisole fit her like a glove; and Kyla was immediately grateful that Saxson had picked it out yesterday, assuring her it was appropriate for the party.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, opening her mouth to comment on Ciopori’s majestic black party dress. She quickly pursed her lips together—there was nothing she could say. The dress fit the princess like a second skin; the low V in the front exposing her perfect assets; the hip-hugging, sequined panel riding her thighs like a lover; the exquisite material accentuating her flawless figure. The woman was beauty personified. “You…you look amazing,” Kyla said, feeling like an ugly duckling by comparison.
Marquis’s powerful arm snaked around Ciopori’s waist, and he tugged her beneath his shoulder.
Alrighty, then, Kyla thought, shifting nervously in place. Despite the fact that she and Saxson had made love—three times since Thursday night—there was no such amorous love-play between them, and she suddenly felt bereft. Squaring her jaw, she stiffened. It really didn’t matter. She wasn’t there to find her happily-ever-after; she was there to complete a mission.
Having met Jocelyn and Nathaniel, Nachari and Deanna, Kagen and Arielle, and now Marquis and Ciopori, Kyla knew one thing for certain: this high-level list of targets was simply, and unequivocally, off-limits. She could not get the best of any of them.
Jocelyn was wily; she was nice, but always watching.
Nathaniel was death with blue-black hair and a deceptively seductive smile.
Nachari was like a floating crystal ball. Despite those stunning green eyes and ungodly good looks, unless Kyla wanted him to read her soul—and extract it with nothing more than an arrogant flick of his pinky—she needed to stay clear of Nachari. Deanna was probably okay, but it would be a mistake to underestimate her, especially when it came to her son, Sebastian.
As for Kagen and Arielle, talk about awaking a sleeping giant—the couple was the most dangerous of all. Kagen’s demeanor was so laid-back and relaxed—he was so welcoming and unassuming—but underneath that placid veneer there was a reservoir of…something…just swirling. And Arielle, she was more cautious, almost demure; but that, too, could be deceiving. Kyla had lived long enough, and hung out with enough rowdy characters, to know a street-fighter when she saw one. That woman could kick some ass if she had to.
That left the sentinels—Santos, Ramsey, and Saber—and Braden and Kristina; Dario, Lily, and Conrad; and the only two children who were there: Sebastian, because he lived there, and Nikolai Jadon, because Marquis and Ciopori couldn’t find a babysitter.
Kyla slipped her hand inside Saxson’s for comfort—and wasn’t that just ironic, considering the nature of what she was thinking. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help it. His brothers were too intimidating. Ramsey—well, there was something just not right with the male—he was all hard lines and rugged edges. He reminded Kyla of a gentle pit bull circling around the company: all cute and well leashed until he locked onto someone’s leg and snapped their tibia like a chicken wing. He hadn’t brought his destiny, Tiffany—apparently, she was with the King and Queen—and that was just fine with Kyla. The last thing she needed was to try to deceive the most powerful living vampire on the planet.
As for Santos and Saber, they were also flying solo. According to Saxson, it was because they were officially “on duty.” And Santos, Saxson’s older brother, well, he was a lot more cerebral by nature. Kyla couldn’t lie—he was handsome and sexy as hell, with that unusual mixture of black-and-blond hair—but he looked like the wheels were always turning, like he was the smartest guy in the valley, and he knew it. According to Saxson, Santos was a guru with electronics, so maybe that explained it. Just the same, Santos had a savage edge hidden behind those crystal-blue eyes, and he watched Kyla and Saxson like a hawk.
Both he and Ramsey did…
And it was more than a little unsettling.
As for Saber Alexiares: Kyla shivered at the thought. The vampire was the closest thing to a Dark One she had ever encountered. They had learned all about the house of Jaegar from the vampire-hunting society, but she had never stood within an arm’s reach of someone who had called the dark community his home. Between Saber’s red-and-black locks, a smile that was really a scowl, and that characteristic swagger that screamed, I don’t give a shit and I’d just as soon drain you as look at you, Kyla had no intentions of going after Saber Alexiares.
Besides, he wasn’t on the list.
She had already narrowed her focus onto two potential victims: Sebastia
n Silivasi and Nikolai Jadon. The former would turn a year old in a week; the latter would be two years old in September, which made him seventeen months old now—their parents couldn’t help but brag. Absently glancing at the contemporary Asian clock above the mantel, Kyla made note of the time: It was already a quarter ’til nine, and that mattered for one very important reason. Keitaro Silivasi would be showing up to the party around ten o’clock, and once he was there, all bets were off—there was no way Kyla was getting near those kids with the patriarch of the family hovering…
As it stood, Sebastian was in his mother’s arms, but Nikolai was sleeping soundly in an upper-floor bedroom, in one of Sebastian’s cribs. Kyla had her cell phone back—a gesture of trust and goodwill from Saxson—and now, all she needed to do was slip away under the guise of using the restroom; remove her five-inch stiletto heel, which could double as a stake; and find that coveted infant. Then she could slip out through the fourth-story terrace, duck into the forest, and call Owen or Travis for an extraction.
All she needed to do…
Hell, she may as well have been trying to scale Mount Everest.
She knew Santos and Saber were on the rooftop terrace, and Ramsey was stationed outside the front door. Just the same, she was determined to live—she had no intention of dying in this lavish brownstone, surrounded by predatory creatures.
“Kyla. Kyla. Where are you, sweetheart?” Saxson’s voice interrupted her musings, and she almost flinched. Thank God, Moses, and every Catholic saint she couldn’t think of that the house of Jadon operated by a severe code of honor—so far, no one was reading her thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered nervously.
“Where were you?” Saxson repeated.
She made a whimsical gesture with her fingers. “I was lost in thought, I guess.” She batted her eyelashes at him and squeezed his warm, reassuring palm.
“I’d like you to meet our hosts and the guests of honor,” he said, angling his chin toward five approaching vampires. Kyla already knew two of them, just from Owen’s texts: Braden Bratianu and Kristina Riley-Silivasi, a redhead carrying a fluted wineglass. She assumed the other three were Braden’s parents and his brother.
“Kyla, this is Braden.” Saxson gestured toward a gorgeous six-foot-tall male with hypnotic, burnt-sienna eyes.
“Wassup,” Braden said.
Kyla immediately smiled. “What’s up,” she replied, in a slightly less casual tone.
“And this is his future mate, Kristina.”
The redhead rolled her eyes. “Lay off all that future-mate crap,” she clipped, her satirical attitude preceding her. “I’m just Kristina. Nice to meet you, Kyla.” She held out her free, slender hand, with immaculately painted nails, and a stunning bracelet dangled from her wrist. “One thing you need to know up front: The testosterone levels in the house of Jadon are off the charts, but the women rule the roost. So don’t hesitate to let these guys know it, or they’ll walk all over you.” She winked, and her bright blue eyes practically sparkled with mischief.
Kyla laughed. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” And then she turned her attention to the next hand extended toward her, that of a tall, attractive female with hair the same color as Braden’s and soft greenish brown eyes.
“Hello, Kyla; I’m Lily Bratianu, Braden’s mother.” Her voice was gentle and nurturing, and she immediately turned toward Braden, grasped both of his cheeks between her thumbs and forefingers, and gave them a motherly pinch. “Can you even believe how handsome he is?” she bragged. “And he’s gotten so tall.” She blushed and shook her head. “I know you didn’t know him before, but it’s just so unbelievable—he’s just so incredibly handsome…and tall. My baby is all grown up!”
“Mom…” Braden whined, looking utterly embarrassed as he grasped her wrists and gently lowered them. “Stop. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t care.”
Lily scrunched up her brow. “How could anyone in this valley not know you—or not care?” This time, she cupped his cheeks in her palms and simply gazed at him lovingly before brushing an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder, no doubt as an excuse to touch him. She turned toward Kyla a second time. “Is he not the most handsome thing you have ever seen? Honestly. Tell me the truth.”
Kristina almost spit out her drink, and Braden shut his eyes. “Mom…seriously. Stop.”
“Eh, hem…” A tall, imposing male with dirty-blond hair and pale gray eyes cleared his throat and stepped forward, his left hand resting on the shoulder of a kid maybe twelve or thirteen years-old. “I’m Dario, the handsome thing’s father, and this is his brother, Conrad.”
The kid looked up and smiled, and he was the spitting image of his sire: He had the same dirty-blond hair, only he wore it in neatly groomed spikes, and his eyes were a much darker gray. “Hi,” he said casually.
Kyla waved her hand. “Nice to meet you, Conrad.” She turned her attention back to Dario. “And nice to meet you, too.” And then she smiled for all she was worth at Lily. “And yes, your son is a devastatingly handsome young man.” It was true.
Braden rubbed his brow, and Kristina laughed, causing her bracelet to clink against her glass.
In the background, Ciopori whispered something to Marquis, something about checking on Nikolai, and Kyla saw her chance…
“You know what?” she spoke in a whisper. “I think the drink I had earlier went right through me.” She sheepishly shrugged her shoulder. “Maybe it’s a human thing.” She glanced at Ciopori and smiled. “I don’t mind checking on your little one—I absolutely love kids. Either way, I’m afraid I need to excuse myself for a moment.”
Ciopori glanced at Marquis, then Saxson, each of the warriors in turn. “Are you sure?” she asked Kyla.
“Oh, absolutely,” Kyla answered. “If someone would just point me in the right direction—to the bathroom and the baby—I’d be happy to peek in on his room.” She raised her eyebrows in question. “If he’s awake, do you want me to bring him down?”
Ciopori hesitated, but only for a moment. She glanced at Kyla’s inner left wrist, the markings of Saxson’s constellation, and she immediately relaxed. “He should be sleeping soundly, but if he is awake, just come back and get me.”
Kyla nodded graciously, and Braden Bratianu chimed in: “Take the staircase at the end of the hall to the upper level, last room on the left. The first door on the right is the bathroom.”
“Thank you,” Kyla said warmly.
She could feel Ciopori’s gaze on her back as she walked away, and then Lily—ever the proud mother—redirected the conversation. “Has my son told you about this gorgeous jewel? What a thoughtful gesture it was?” She was obviously referring to the ruby-and-onyx bling dangling from Kristina’s narrow wrist, and her voice radiated warmth. “Kristina, tell everyone about Braden’s gift.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, but the words could still be heard. “Of course, you can leave out whatever the secret is.” She must have addressed the group as a whole because she coyly added, “Apparently, it has some special, private meaning, but she can tell us about the stones…how Braden made them himself at the mineral plant.”
Kyla heard Kristina laugh, and she immediately tuned her out.
Time was of the essence, and Kyla needed to be smart, swift, and focused.
In and out of the bathroom, to turn on some running water—these vampires could all hear like bats—then onto Nikolai’s crib, tiptoeing all the way.
Everything she had learned; every sacrifice she had ever made; every grueling hour of preparation was now coming into play.
Kyla would not disappoint her colleagues.
She would make Xavier Matista proud.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Put your violin away, Kiera, then change into your robe.”
Owen’s heartless command snaked through Kiera’s veins like ice-water flowing through an old rusted pipe, making the vessel contract and groan. As her throat constricted, she stared at Travis Landin, standing at the
edge of the living room, holding out the robe.
So they expected her to change right there…in public…in front of everyone?
She gulped, turned her back on Owen, and padded slowly toward the violin case.
The guests had arrived promptly at eight: a short, skinny, bald kid who Owen called Jon; two dark-haired muscle-heads who looked like brothers—Travis had greeted them as Mike and Nick—and a short, robust woman who dressed like a biker chick. The others referred to her as Rachel.
Four new guests, plus Owen and Travis.
Xavier was nowhere in sight.
As the vampire-hunters had entered the warehouse, Kiera had played her violin while Owen dimmed all the lights. Travis had followed behind him, lighting a stream of garish black candles, and carrying a bowl of putrid-smelling incense. And then the guests had changed their clothes, donning insane-looking, dark-hooded robes.
It had been like a scene from a horror novel.
The room had been cold. The air had been electric. And the hum of Kiera’s violin, playing one fiddling song after another, had grated like fingernails on a chalkboard: scratchy, discordant, and ominous.
And now, they just expected her to go along with this gruesome, insane, godless sacrifice.
Well, they would see about that.
Kiera tucked the violin away in its case, retrieved the tuning fork in the palm of her hand, and then slowly stood up and began to shuffle backward, heading toward the bedroom door…pretending to be too frightened to obey.
She didn’t have to pretend.
“Stop!” Owen barked. Then he nodded at Travis, and as expected, Travis strolled forward with the white terrycloth robe brandished in his tattooed right hand. The bloodred eyes of a boa constrictor, tattooed around his neck, seemed to stare right at her as the asshole approached.
Kiera sidestepped toward the decorative pedestal table and the statue of a hunter resting on top. She bowed her head in submission, and her muscles began to twitch in barely concealed anticipation.