It was Harry Stanford, the manager of Hallowed Ground and the vampire who wanted me to kill Hunter.
Chapter 8
Fury swept through me and the plane responded instantly; shadows crowded close and the very air began to vibrate ominously.
I flexed imaginary fingers and tried to calm down. Getting angry in a place that reacted to your every thought and emotion was damnably dangerous.
What the fuck are you playing at, Markel? I glared at him. So much for attempting to calm down. If you were following me the day I went to Hallowed Ground, you know full well I want nothing to do with this man’s schemes.
I said as much to Harry, Markel replied, voice even and expression unperturbed. But he insisted.
“Harry,” not “Stanford.” Suggesting he and Stanford were, at the very least, well known to each other.
I snorted. And a Cazador has no other choice but to give in to a nightclub manager?
When that manager is not only a trusted friend, but a former Cazador himself, then yes, I do.
My gaze shot to Stanford, who was regarding me neutrally. He was a dark-haired, dark-skinned man of indefinable age, with incandescent green eyes that glowed with an unearthly fire here on the astral plane. That he was a former Cazador certainly explained the sense of danger I’d gotten the last time I’d been in his presence.
If you’re a damn Cazador, I hardly think you’d need my help to take the bitch out.
A smiled teased the corners of his lips, but barely reached his bright eyes. You’ve now seen what Hunter is capable of. Do you really think one lone Cazador is capable of beating her?
The only way he could know I’d witnessed Hunter’s full capabilities was if Markel had told him. And that meant Markel was more than just a messenger.
But you’re not one lone Cazador, are you? I waved a hand in Markel’s direction. That he’s here very much suggests he’s on your side.
Harry definitely isn’t alone in his desire to rid the council of the stain that is Hunter. Markel’s mind voice held a touch of grimness. But she is also by no means alone. Too many vampires fear her, and will never risk going up against her.
So, I commented, the majority of council members – many of whom are hundreds of years old and very dangerous in their own right – fear to cross Hunter. And yet you’re expecting me to?
Brought down to basics, that’s precisely what we’re expecting, Stanford said. She’s now killed a former lover of yours. How many more of your loved ones will have to die before you realize she will never get her hooks out of you? She owns you, Risa, for as long as you have people you care about.
She won’t kill any more of my friends. She’s not that stupid.
If you honestly believe that, Markel commented, then you are the one who is stupid.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew it was more than a possibility, but it was one I wasn’t about to admit to in front of these two men. If I acknowledged their point, it would somehow feel like I was giving ground. And are the Cazadors behind this coup attempt?
Again he hesitated. No. Not all of them.
What about the other two who follow me about? Do they side with you, or with Hunter? Or are they the reason we’re meeting here?>He accepted the cash with a nod, then walked over to one of the broken windows and assumed his “soldier on guard” position – hands behind his back and feet slightly apart. The occasional ripple of blue running down Valdis’s length showed she was as alert as her master.
I headed for my bathroom, stripping off my dress and kicking off my shoes along the way. The light came on as I entered, and the black slate was warm under my feet, meaning neither the fire nor the water had damaged any of the electrical or heating circuits in this part of the house. Tao’s insistence on having separate circuits for the various sections of the warehouse had finally paid off. I dumped the dress into the laundry chute, then stepped into the shower. The water came on automatically at just the right temperature, the sharp spray like needles against my skin. For several moments I did nothing more than stand there, lifting my face to the spray and allowing the water to run down my body. And wished it could wash away the grief and tiredness as easily as it washed away the grime.
After several minutes, I sighed and got down to the business of washing. I didn’t have time to waste, and as much as I would have liked to stay there, letting the jets of hot water massage and soothe, there was too much to be done.
Once dry and dressed – this time in more sensible jeans, a sweater, socks, and boots – I headed for the living room, only to stop when I saw an envelope sitting near the end of my bed.
Trepidation raced through me. In the past, an envelope or parcel arriving on my bed had generally heralded a change of events or circumstances, and not always for the better.
But standing here staring at it wasn’t going to make it go away. Nor would it uncover what delights it had in store for me this time.
Azriel appeared as I somewhat tentatively picked it up, his shoulder lightly touching mine. Warmth flowed between us, but it failed to ease the rising sense of dread. Obviously, my psychic senses had already decided this note held nothing good.
But this time it wasn’t from my father. Not only was the paper quality more everyday than upmarket, but the writing on the front was very different. It simply said Urgent in what I’d term bold and masculine handwriting.
Mouth dry, not knowing what to expect or who it was from, I slid a fingernail under the flap and opened it up. Inside was a single white sheet of paper. The message was short – It is imperative we meet, but we can only do so on the astral plane. I will be where we first met at one. Markel. 12:05 a.m.