Part 1 (1/2)
DEEP RED.
KATE HILL.
Chronicler's Note.
The following story has been permanently filed in the Network archive. For security purposes, the names of certain locations/persons have been changed or omitted. Otherwise, after interviewing the four main parties involved as well as observing the Jury meetings connected to the case known as Deep Red, this record is, to my knowledge, true. The opinions expressed in this compilation do not reflect those of the Network or this chronicler, but belong solely to the individuals noted.
-Mara Lindsay, New York.
Chapter One.
Sir Edward Race's Mansion The Mojave Desert, California.
He stared into the ornate gold mirror and wondered who he was. After so many lives and so many names, he wasn't sure he knew. All he understood was his purpose. He always needed a purpose, otherwise what was the point of living?
His eyes wandered over his own form. A black silk s.h.i.+rt tucked into black slacks draped his tall, sinewy body. Loose curls of thick black hair hung almost to his shoulders. His features were strong, but not particularly outstanding, except for his eyes. Pale green and almond shaped, he used them to advantage, knowing one of his strengths was the ability to stare down a starving tiger. Though he'd never considered himself a particularly handsome man, he'd never lacked for women's attention-either mortal or vampire. They actually seemed to flock to him, as if he emanated pheromones that ensnared both species.
Most men would have regarded such presence as a gift. To Seraphim, it was a curse, for his deepest desire and his deepest fear were one in the same: to be loved.
The clock on the mantle said five minutes to one. He would be just in time for dinner. As he stepped into the corridor, two maids dressed in black uniforms cast discreet glances his way. One of them flashed her tiny hybrid fangs with her smile. He returned the gesture, though he kept his teeth sheathed, so as not to give her any ideas. Hybrids didn't have the option of hiding their fangs, but an Immaculate vampire revealing his incisors meant one of two things: anger or l.u.s.t. At that moment, Seraphim wanted nothing more than dinner. The excess of physical love at Sir Edward's mansion challenged even his considerable appet.i.te.
On the stairwell, he met two other guests-a Princess of some southwestern isle and her consort. He'd already spent the night with her several times while her consort enjoyed one of the mortal housekeepers. Sir Edward's staff included both mortals and hybrids, ensuring plenty of nouris.h.i.+ng entertainment for hybrid and Immaculate guests alike. Seraphim was glad of that. Though only the blood of another vampire could nourish Immaculates, his preferred bedmates were undeniably mortal.
”I don't know how you can stand those puny human girls,” the Princess had told him just two nights ago after he'd nearly knocked her through the floor during their lovemaking. His back had taken several hours to heal after the ruts her claws left. ”How do you manage to restrain yourself? Or do you enjoy killing them?”
Seraphim had offered her a smile that told her nothing. He'd learned it was often far better to let people think the worst of you. In truth, f.u.c.king another vampire was a necessary release every now and then, but he found mortal fragility endearing. Their const.i.tution forced him to touch them tenderly, and he could tell himself his gentleness was necessity, not affection. And he could remember her-and the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd helped him destroy her. By joining the Network, he'd called a truce with a man he ached to kill. A man who, gratefully, was a million miles away.
He and the Princess' consort paused outside the dining room door, allowing her to pa.s.s.
”Please.” The consort gestured for Seraphim to enter ahead of him. Seraphim strode inside. The consort hadn't a breath of dominance in him. Instinctive rank was important among their kind-far more important than t.i.tle or blood. Dominance was inborn, part of one's soul. When two Alpha male vampires fought, it was usually to the death. Good for the consort that he knew his place.
”Seraphim!” Sir Edward-a slim hybrid with piercing gray eyes-smiled from his place at the head of the table. In spite of his shoulder-length silver hair, his face bore only a few fine lines by his eyes and mouth. He was impeccably groomed in a casual buff-colored suit. ”We thought you might miss dinner again. Come. Sit beside me. I have a new mortal performing for us later, and I'd like your opinion of her.”
”We know how you adore mortals,” the Princess said. ”Heaven-or perhaps h.e.l.l-knows why.”
The b.i.t.c.h was obviously still offended by his rejection of her the previous night. His last bedroom bout with her had been more than enough.
Several other female guests seated at the table glanced at Seraphim, one or two murmuring in agreement with the Princess.
” I couldn't waste my time with mortals,” said David Ridge, a wealthy American entrepreneur. He was a tall man with a burly chest, st.u.r.dy legs, and thick blond hair brushed back from a ruggedly handsome face. The man reeked of Alpha power. ”Too weak for me. They don't even begin to challenge my stamina.”
”So true.” The Princess turned her smile to him, and David's wife flung her a hateful look.
Seraphim took a sip from the crystal gla.s.s of blood red wine set in front of him. His eyes fixed on David's. ”The restraint necessary to pleasure such fragility can be the most difficult test of stamina. What better way to learn control enough to pleasure one of our females to the limits of her endurance than to explore mortal love? We know the man who walks the tightrope is so much more balanced when his feet grace a marble floor.”
”Well said.” Sir Edward grinned.
David scoffed. ”You talk a good show, Seraphim.”
”I a.s.sure you he does far more than talk.” Another female guest, an owner of a worldwide chain of fine jewelry shops, ran the tip of her tongue over her red painted lips. Some might consider the blond-haired Immaculate female beautiful. Seraphim preferred more cla.s.sic looks to her garishness. If his a.s.signment hadn't been to blend in with the guests at Sir Edward's, he never would have slept with her even once. But speaking of stamina, she had been quite a challenge.
The conversation lagged as dinner was served and everyone focused their attention on the rare steak and tender baby vegetables set before them. Sir Edward spared no expense for his guests, which was part of the reason they paid so well and so often for the use of his desert playground. The rest was due to his discretion. Sir Edward's was no Casa Rosa-a nasty place Seraphim had once tracked his old enemy to. That place had carried the stench of raw debauchery. At least Sir Edward's was buffered by finery, and the male and female entertainers hand picked for their beauty, talents, and cleanliness. In spite of such easy access to pleasure, Seraphim preferred the hunt. Discovering the female whose blood called to him, tracking her, and seducing her were one of life's greatest pleasures. When he found such a female, he could close his eyes and pretend to love.
As the meal ended, Sir Edward tapped his spoon against his wine gla.s.s to silence the chatting guests. ”Now, ladies and gentlemen, a mortal beauty who-I believe-has captured the essence of a more sensual time. I regret I am not old enough to have seen ancient Egypt firsthand, but perhaps those of you who were there can tell me if she would not have befitted Cleopatra herself.”
Sir Edward waved his hand and a group of five musicians stepped into the room. Two played hand drums, two stringed instruments, and the third a flute. At the first note of their song, a woman dressed in sheer olive green harem clothes, a gold belt about her hips, danced into the room. Her face was covered in an olive veil, revealing only her large green eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes. Her heartbeat thundered across the room, her fear and apprehension apparent to vampiric senses.
Seraphim's own pulse quickened, as her performance reminded him of a time when he'd been most content-a time that had driven an emotional stake through his heart and stolen part of his sanity.
The woman danced closer, and when she paused, her eyes met Seraphim's. They were desperate eyes, yet powerful. He sensed her resilience, even trapped among creatures seeking to feast on her thin, sweet, mortal blood.
The music ended with the dancer poised in the center of the floor. Seraphim watched the swell of her belly as she breathed and noticed the firm plumpness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s straining above a bra of gold and green beads.
”Pleasant,” one of the male guests said, a smile in his voice. ”She does capture a bit of the ancient.”
”I wonder if she tastes as good as she smells,” said someone else-female this time. Seraphim felt Sir Edward's eyes on him and tore his gaze from the dancer. ”Well?” Sir Edward asked, his voice scarcely a whisper. ”Another dance, perhaps?” Seraphim said.
Sir Edward motioned for the performance to continue. This time the dance was slow and sensual. She spun, removing the veil from her face and twirling it around her.
Though not beautiful, she had good features, a straight nose and pretty lips. Her eyes were stunning, however. Their expression was as deep as an endless pool of rich blood. Her body, while not too plump, was gently rounded, her belly, hips, and arms curved. Seraphim imagined resting his cheek against her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, of feeling the heat of her soft, mortal body against his.
”I'd like her today,” he said to Sir Edward, staking his claim before any of the hybrid sc.u.m could ask for her.
Sir Edward smiled. ”Of course.”
”I'll take her,” the Princess1 consort said when the music ended. ”It might be diverting.”
”I am sorry to any gentlemen who wanted her company tonight,” Sir Edward said. ”She's already been spoken for.”
”I wonder by whom?” David chuckled, glancing at Seraphim. ”I, for one, am not in the mood to walk a tightrope tonight.” He reached for a hybrid maid who was cleaning off the table. His hand slid up the woman's skirt, fondling her until the scent of her arousal floated on the air.
Some of the guests lingered at the table while others disbursed. Seraphim wandered to an indoor courtyard filled with exotic trees and flowers, the likes of which would never be found on the barren land outside. While in the mansion, it was difficult to believe miles of desert waited just beyond the stone walls. Seraphim extended the claw of his right forefinger and traced the shape of a thorn sprouting from one of the rosebushes. He caught her scent before she reached the garden. Two hybrid males- other household servants-accompanied her.
So, Seraphim's lips curved into a humorless smile, she has been forced after all. He'd thought he sensed it from her, but hadn't been certain.
Her footsteps quickened as she struggled to keep her balance after one of the hybrids shoved her inside. The door closed and the scent of the hybrids faded.
The echo of her heartbeat and the aroma of her flesh filled the room. Seraphim closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. ”What's your name?”
She didn't reply, and he turned to her, lifting an eyebrow in question.
He found himself gazing into those wide green eyes and resisted the urge to s.h.i.+ver.
”Hannah,” she said.