Dark Carousel (Dark 26)

Fridrick smirked at Charlie. The vampire heard her heart rate rising fast as well. "Paris was beautiful and very . . . productive." He beckoned with his fingers again, his voice dropping another octave. "Come here to me." There was sure power in his voice now, a compulsion not to be denied.

Genevieve slammed her hands over her ears and shook her head. Charlie regarded the vampire with trepidation, but she didn't move toward him, as he'd commanded; instead she moved another step back, her body colliding with that of her friend, forcing Genevieve to step backward as well.

Tariq drifted closer, nothing but molecules. The air around them was very still and he didn't dare tip the vampire off to his presence.

"You were the one trying to get into our home. I saw you for a moment. And then again, right outside the museum where I was working." Charlie's voice was very soft. It trembled just a little bit, but she disregarded the compulsion in Fridrick's voice. More, it was almost as though she was immune to it.

Genevieve knew the compulsion was there, and she combated it by trying to drown it out. Charlie didn't even blink or shake her head to clear it. Instead, there was a belligerent note added to her accusation.

"That is true. You proved to be very resistant. Your friend was . . . so easy. Unlike you, he didn't put up much resistance."

"You killed Ricard Beaudet." She stated it as a fact.

"Ah yes, your mentor. He was such a little whiner. And that ridiculous little mustache he was so proud of. Weren't you just a little tired of his arrogance? He thought so much of himself."

Tariq recognized the name, Ricard Beaudet. It should have shocked him to know that he'd written to the man and that at that time his lifemate was working for Beaudet. Ricard Beaudet was considered the foremost master of restoring carousel horses in the world, and Tariq collected them. Somehow he wasn't surprised that Charlotte had already been connected to him. Their souls called to each other's.

Charlie's face paled as she watched Fridrick closely, drawing in a deep breath. "Did you kill my brother, too?" When he nodded slowly, still smiling, she went very still. "Why? You were in Paris. Why would you come all the way to the States and kill my brother? What did I do to you that you would want to kill everyone I care about?"

"Not everyone, my dear." Fridrick shook his head. "I left you the child. I knew you would come here to protect the child."

"You killed my brother so we would come to the States?" Clearly his admission was the last thing she expected.

Genevieve caught at the loop in Charlie's jeans and pulled her a step back when it looked as if Tariq's woman might launch herself at Fridrick. Just the way she leaned toward Fridrick instead of away from him told Tariq much about his lifemate. She had a temper. She had courage. She would be a fighter, not one to flee.

"What do you want with us?" Genevieve asked.

Fridrick straightened from the lazy pose he had, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, his handsome, easygoing demeanor changing subtly.

Instantly Tariq solidified, as if he'd come out of the shadows, angling his body so that he was between the women, but slightly facing them as well as Fridrick. He flashed a smile at all of them. "Good evening. How is everyone doing tonight?" He kept his voice friendly and open, the owner of the nightclub greeting his patrons. "Ladies." He bowed slightly toward them, an old-world, courtly gesture, before turning his attention on the undead. "Fridrick. How . . . unexpected to see you here." His tone said the vampire wasn't welcome and had made a very big mistake.

Fridrick smirked, seemingly not in the least bit intimidated. Tariq immediately scanned his surroundings. Fridrick would never, under any circumstances, willingly go into battle with him unless he had no other choice--or the odds were on his side.

"Mr. Asenguard," Charlotte murmured.

Of course she knew his name; everyone did. He was in magazines and, as owner of the club, was often photographed for charity events, but still--Tariq liked that she knew who he was. She put a hand on his arm. Lightly. He felt her touch burning right through the material of his jacket and shirt. Through skin and sinew straight to his bone. Her fingers curled. Exerted subtle pressure. She urged him away from Fridrick. At first he was unsure what she was trying to do, and then it occurred to him that she was trying to protect him.

"Not so unexpected seeing you, Tariq," Fridrick responded, confirming Tariq's fears that Fridrick believed he was in a position to win in an actual battle.

Fridrick had known Tariq was close and it hadn't fazed him a bit. Tariq needed to figure out what he was missing very fast. Making a mistake could be the difference between life and death for his lifemate.

He used the telepathic path he'd forged with his partner. Something is not right here, Maksim. My lifemate and her friend, another potential lifemate, are being threatened. Send out the call for anyone close to come quickly. I do not want to tip him off I have reinforcements in the area. Fridrick is a master vampire and I am certain he has brought others to aid him. Unlike with the undead, there was never ego with hunters. Destroying the vampire was merely a job, something they did in any way possible.

Fridrick's smile faltered as his gaze dropped to Charlie's fingers curled around Tariq's forearm. "It will do you no good to cling to Tariq as if he is your savior, Charlotte. Yes, I know your name." His gaze traveled over Genevieve, his stare insolent. "You are for someone else, so touch the soft little playboy all you want, but, Charlotte, you need to let go of him and come here to me."

"Fridrick, you would not be threatening either of these women, would you?" Tariq kept his tone mild. Even amused. All the while he reached with all his senses to find the true threat. It wasn't Fridrick. In a fair fight, the odds would be somewhat even, a scenario Fridrick would never accept. "Ladies, Fridrick sometimes forgets himself. He likes to think he is capable of far more than he really is."

Charlie's fingers started to slip from his arm. She looked very alarmed. In that moment he realized she would choose to save him and her friend by obeying Fridrick's command. He turned his hand to catch her wrist, slid his palm down until he could thread his fingers through hers. The need to comfort her was a compulsion he couldn't possibly ignore. He drew her closer to him. Fit her under his shoulder. He needed room to fight, but she needed care first.

He arched one eyebrow at Fridrick, allowing a slight smile of amusement to curve his lips. It was important to send the right message. Fridrick got what he was silently saying because his

cocky smirk faltered for just a moment and his gaze shifted first right and then left as if to assure himself he wasn't alone. Of course he wasn't alone. Fridrick was a master vampire. He'd been around for centuries and was skilled in battle, but he would never face a hunter of Tariq's skill without aid.

Tariq caught Charlie's arm and brought it around his waist. To his astonishment, she didn't stiffen or fight him. Her attention was on Fridrick. She didn't seem to notice that she was clinging to Tariq, and he didn't mind in the least. Nothing in his life had ever felt as right as the way her small body tucked so tightly against his did. Her skin burned through his clothes, sank through his pores to scorch her right onto his bones. He'd never felt better in his life or more alive. Perhaps that was the last thing he needed when going into battle with multiple vampires, but he allowed himself that brief moment to feel. To take it in.

3

Charlotte's stomach did a slow somersault. She knew Tariq Asenguard by sight. How could she not? He was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in town. His picture was in magazines and there were numerous articles written about him. He was gorgeous. Rugged, all muscle, wide shoulders, elegant even with his long hair tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. It curled in a long tube of rich, thick chestnut down his back. He wore black trousers and a matching jacket over a blue shirt. His eyes were a vibrant blue, right now so dark they looked nearly black, and his lashes were long.

She knew she shouldn't be noticing the owner of the club when danger was right in front of him--she should be warning him. But what was she supposed to say without looking like a lunatic? The man they faced had ripped out throats and drunk blood? That he'd killed Genevieve's grandmother and boyfriend in Paris? That he'd killed her own mentor there as well? Then he'd drawn them to the States by murdering her brother? She couldn't imagine that the suave, sophisticated owner of the nightclub would believe her. He looked far too elegant to have a clue about serial killers.