Secrets in the Shadows by Jenna Black
A memory stirred, blurry and surreal like a dream. Hannah lying beside him on the bed while in the room next door a couple fucked loudly. His nostrils flared with the remembered scent of Hannah’s arousal, and he rose to full mast when he remembered what she’d been doing. His daytime lethargy had been too powerful to overcome, but as hazy as the memory remained, Jules had no doubt it had really happened.
He let out a long, slow breath. If there’d been any doubt in his mind that Hannah was attracted to him, this morning’s little indulgence effectively banished it. And his own current state of painful arousal suggested the attraction wasn’t one-sided.
Propping his head on his elbow, he gazed down at her sleeping form and wondered what it was about her that triggered his desire. She wasn’t at all his type. Sure, she was pretty enough, in a kind of tough-girl, no-nonsense way. But he’d never describe her as “sweet,” or “docile.” Adjectives that would describe practically every other woman he’d been with for the better part of a century. Even before he’d become a vampire, he’d preferred meek women, though perhaps he was merely a product of his times.
Hannah was everything he didn’t want. Bold. Willful. Stubborn. Smart. So why did he seem to have a constant hard-on in her presence? It made no sense whatsoever! Maybe he’d just gone without too long. A little bar-hopping ought to find him a playmate for the night, relieve some of the pressure building within him …
But no. That would be far too awkward with Hannah sharing his room. And of course, awkwardness was the reason he felt so uninterested in his half-baked plan. It had nothing to do with him wanting Hannah in particular, rather than just any warm, willing body.
Irritated with himself, he flung back the covers and slid out of bed, meaning to take advantage of the rare opportunity to have first dibs on the shower. But some unseen force, call it fate, or call it his subconscious, decided it would be better for his foot to get tangled in the covers and for him to take a nosedive. Directly onto Hannah.
Jules caught himself on his arms and twisted to avoid hurting her, but he still bumped her pretty hard.
Hannah came awake with a shriek. Before Jules had a chance to utter an apology, she jerked her knee up in an attempt to unman him. Instinct allowed him to block her knee with his upper thigh, but as he protected his most vulnerable spot, he unknowingly gave Hannah another opening.
With a snarl, she twisted out from under him, the suddenness of her move leaving him even more off balance. Instead of retreating, she proceeded to roll him over onto his back and sit on him, her hand pulled back in a way that suggested a karate chop was on its way.
“Take it easy, Hannah,” he said, though with her sitting on his stomach he was a little short of breath. “It’s just me!”
Her eyes still blazed, and she didn’t lower her hand. But she didn’t hit him, either. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”
He almost allowed himself to answer her anger with anger of his own. Then he remembered that he’d pretty much attacked her last night, so it wasn’t entirely crazy of her to think he was doing the same now.
“I think I was tripping over my own feet and fell,” he said. And suddenly it became too funny for words, so he started laughing.
“Prick!” Hannah said, slapping his chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
She made to hit him again, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. Not that she was really hurting him or anything, but still … For a split second, she struggled against his grip. Then, she relaxed, resting her palm gently against his chest.
After her less-than-flattering assessment of his sleep wear, Jules had decided to forego the pajama top, so her hand lay against the bare skin of his chest. He saw the moment that fact sank in when a flush of rosy color warmed her cheeks. She tried to jerk her hand away, but some devil made him hold on to her wrist. He liked her hand just where it was.
He wasn’t sure if his erection had ever flagged even during their brief struggle, but if it had, it was back with a vengeance. Blood throbbed in his groin. His gums tingled, and he didn’t even try to stop the fangs from descending.
Sitting on him as she was, Hannah couldn’t fail to notice the effect she was having on him. Her eyes darkened and her scent changed to that delicious, womanly musk that was becoming imprinted on his senses.
“I should get off of you now,” she said, her voice husky. She didn’t move.
“That would probably be a good idea,” he agreed, but he didn’t let go of her wrist, instead holding her hand tightly against his chest so she could feel the hammering of his heart.
She cleared her throat and squirmed. He doubted she’d meant to do it, but her squirming landed his cock right in the valley between her legs. He couldn’t help raising his hips, pressing a little harder against her heat. She gasped and her lower lip trembled.
Lust and logic battled for supremacy in his brain. He wanted her. Badly. But sleeping with her would be a major mistake. It wasn’t like he didn’t have enough troubles already without having some kind of weird, complicated relationship with a woman on top of it all. And he doubted very much there would be any such thing as uncomplicated sex with a woman like Hannah.
“This is a really bad idea,” she whispered.
“I know,” he agreed. But he reached up to cup her breasts anyway. She’d slept in an oversized nightshirt that left her looking almost shapeless, but his hands found generous curves beneath, topped with pebbly nipples. He wanted to tear the shirt from her body and take one of those nipples into his mouth. He could almost taste her skin on his tongue.
To hell with all the reasons he should leave well enough alone!
With an embarrassing sense of urgency, he slid his hands down her sides, reaching for the hem of her nightshirt. To his surprise, Hannah pulled away. She practically jumped to her feet and took two hasty steps backward.
Lust pounded through his veins, and it was all Jules could do to resist the urge to dive after her. Instead, he propped himself on his elbows and stared at her, his heart still pounding, his cock still throbbing. Hannah held up her hands as if to ward him off.
“This is a really bad idea,” she said again, shaking her head.
He looked pointedly at the bulge in his pajama bottoms. “At this moment, I don’t much care.”
“Yeah, but you will in ten minutes or so.”
He laughed. “Ten minutes? The lady underestimates me. Again.”
She didn’t crack a smile. “I’m serious, Jules. We can’t do this. We’ll both regret it before the night is out.”
Keeping a careful eye on her—she did tend to be jumpy, and he didn’t want her coming to the wrong conclusion and decking him—he rose slowly to his feet. She took another step backward, but didn’t seem to be going on the offensive.
He honestly didn’t know what to say to her right now. Every instinct told him she was right. But his body didn’t seem to give a shit what his instincts said.
“I get this feeling we’re fighting the inevitable,” he said. “And that maybe it’s not worth fighting.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I hate to burst your bubble, Jules, babe, but getting me in your bed is not inevitable.”
He knew he was acting like an arrogant, cocky bastard, but he just couldn’t help it. He looked her over slowly from head to toe, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the darkness of her eyes, the way her nightshirt clung to the contours of her beaded nipples. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. He grinned back.
“You realize, of course, that you just issued me a challenge no red-blooded male could refuse,” he said.
She groaned. “Let it go, Jules. I know you’re probably used to dealing with air-headed floozies who swoon at your feet if you smile at them, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like that.”
“Perhaps that’s part of your charm.”
Hannah stiffened, and he knew he’d put his foot in his mouth big time.
“So that’s what this is all about?” she
“That’s not—”
“Well screw you, buddy! I’m no one’s trophy! Touch me again, and you might lose some body parts you’ll miss.”
She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her. Jules was pleasantly surprised the force of that slam didn’t bring the hotel crumbling down around their ears.
He sat on the edge of the bed, bemused and remorseful. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like she was some kind of trophy he was intent on bagging, but he could see how she’d take his words that way. Once upon a time, he’d thought of himself as something of a smooth-talker, but either he’d been fooling himself or Hannah was immune to his charms.
Of course, both he and Hannah agreed it was better for everyone involved if they didn’t sleep together. So, while he might not be what you’d call thrilled with what had happened, it had no doubt saved both of them a lot of awkwardness and discomfort.
Telling himself repeatedly that it was all for the best, he opened one of his suitcases and picked out the least wrinkled of his shirts to wear for the night.
12
DRAKE HAD THOUGHT HE’ D been reluctant the last time he’d come to Camille’s house. He hadn’t known what reluctant was.
But he couldn’t remain in Baltimore without informing her of his intentions. Not if he wanted to live, that is. He left his hotel at nightfall, reaching out with his senses and hoping not to find any vampires lurking nearby. He was only mildly relieved to find himself the only vampire in the area. His senses could stretch over about a three-block radius, but a vampire as strong as Gabriel could cover three blocks in very little time.
When he neared Camille’s house, another reconnaissance survey revealed two vampires in residence. Was one of them Gabriel? Drake hoped so. It seemed likely Camille was the only person who could control him, so it was best for all involved he stay directly under her nose. Unfortunately, Drake also sensed a total of five mortals in the house. One of them was no doubt the butler, but who were the rest?
He hesitated just short of the doorstep, then decided he had no other choice but to continue on, unless he was going to tuck his tail and run back to Philadelphia. And Eli.
He rang the bell and waited.
Shortly afterward, the butler answered the door and ushered Drake into the opulent living room. Camille sat in the same chair she’d occupied last night, with Gabriel slouched in the armchair. Drake suffered a moment of deja-vu, but although Gabriel wore an outfit almost identical to last night’s, Camille most definitely had a new look. Her glorious blonde hair was piled onto her head in an elegant up-do, and a choker of diamonds circled her neck. A strapless black evening gown clung to her every curve, revealing and concealing in equal measure. Black satin gloves reached over her elbows, and another cluster of diamonds circled one thin wrist.
Her lips, painted a glossy red, curved into a slight smile, and she rose to her feet, turning to give him a view from all sides. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he could understand Eli’s attraction to the woman after all. He offered a courtly bow of appreciation, and Gabriel snorted softly.
“What an unexpected pleasure,” Camille purred. “I’d expected you to get out of town last night. As I think I made quite clear.”
Drake flicked a glance at Gabriel, who was inspecting his fingernails with great concentration. Had the little shit told his mother what he’d been up to last night? Somehow, Drake doubted it. Getting between the two of them seemed like a very bad idea, but Drake wasn’t sure how to avoid it.
“That was my plan. But apparently your son had other ideas.”
Gabriel tore his attention from his manicure and pierced Drake with one of his unnerving stares. “I’d be happy to be rid of you, old son,” he said.
“Then perhaps you should have kept your mouth shut last night.” Out of the corner of his eye, Drake saw the ever-so-slight dip of Camille’s shoulders. So, she hadn’t known.
Gabriel shrugged. “I can’t imagine what you mean.” He wasn’t even trying to sound sincere. Why he bothered with the words, Drake couldn’t guess.
The countenance Camille turned on her son would have scared Attila the Hun. Certainly it wiped the smugness from Gabriel’s face, He rose slowly, eyes fixed on Camille as though she might strike if he looked away for an instant. Maybe she would have.
Power crackled in the air, raising the fine hairs on Drake’s arms. Instinct screamed at him to get the hell out before something exploded, but he fought against it and stayed put.
It was rare indeed to find a master vampire who would allow a fledgling not her own to be part of her “family.” The tie between mother and son was based on affection, duty, and respect—all of which could be denied. The tie between a master and her fledgling was based on pure power, which could not.
Camille was older than Gabriel, so she could probably take him in a fight, but it would be a fair fight. The kind of fight no master vampire would willingly engage in. It seemed with strength came an inherent affinity for bullying.
Camille bared her fangs in silent threat. For a long, tense moment, Gabriel met her gaze head on. The temperature in the room dropped sharply, the chill deeper than anything Drake had experienced in Eli’s presence. Drake actually shivered in the cold.
Finally, Gabriel broke the eye contact, his gaze dropping to the ground. Anger and rebellion still sparked in his eyes. He was backing down, but not gracefully. Did he know he was one false step away from being killed by his own mother?
“Don’t disobey me again,” Camille said.
The rebellion flared higher in Gabriel’s eyes, but he kept his gaze focused downward.
“Go now,” Camille continued. “Come back to me when you are ready to take your discipline.”
Gabriel gave a curt bow, then whirled toward the door, striding out with anger riding in his wake. The room still had not warmed, and Drake was not overly pleased to have Camille’s attention turn to him. She seemed very much the type to make a habit of killing the messenger.
“Once again, you and your friends have proven to have an unwholesome influence,” she said. Her face had gone still and inhuman, an expression reminiscent of Eli’s, except for the rage that brewed behind her eyes.
“Gabriel’s hatred isn’t our fault.”
“I could kill you with little more than a thought.”
Yes, she could. But would she? Drake remained silent. What could he possibly say?
She shook her head. “But I promised Eli I wouldn’t. Not without provocation.” She smiled, an expression both beautiful and icy. “It takes little to provoke me, however. And as Ian failed to return to me last night as I’d ordered, I could assume that your friends have killed him. Even Eli wouldn’t intervene on your behalf if they have.”
Drake’s stomach dropped. Surely Jules wasn’t that stupid. He knew that Hannah would suffer if he killed Squires. Besides, Squires was more than he could handle.
“I highly doubt that they’ve gone after Ian,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “And even if they have, surely they wouldn’t have caught him and managed to kill him in so little time. Squires is Jules’s maker.”
Camille looked vaguely disappointed. “True. Perhaps there is some other explanation. But I will require you to remain as my … guest until I can discover my fledgling’s fate.”
He should have just left town. To hell with Jules, and even Hannah. No one was forcing them to stay here, in danger.
“I won’t have much success hunting down Jules and Hannah if I’m serving as your hostage,” he pointed out, without much hope of success.
Camille smiled that cold smile again. “I said you would be my guest, not my hostage. I don’t as a general rule keep my guests confined to my house.”
An ornate grandfather clock chimed the hour. Camille pursed her lips. “This has all been most inconvenient timing,” she said. “I had plans for dinner and the opera this eve
Drake had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid. He paused just long enough to get his distaste under control, then said, “I had best be off, then. I’ll get Jules and Hannah out of your hair as soon as I can.”
“I didn’t mean to rush you,” Camille said, and there was something ugly about her voice despite the blandness of her words. “Please, stay for dinner.”
His stomach turned. “Kind of you to offer, but I’m not hungry.” He could go about ten days without feeding, so he had a full week left before the need would be upon him.
“Perhaps I can tempt you into indulgence.” She picked up a delicate brass bell and rang it, the sound incongruously sweet and cheerful.
“I expect our tastes run in opposite directions,” Drake said, wishing he could get out of this room immediately. Better to know Camille was killing some innocent victim than to see it. Or be forced to participate.
One of the side doors opened and a cluster of mortals stepped into the room. Three men, dressed in tuxedos, and one lone woman. A girl, really, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old. A gag had been stuffed in her mouth, and tears streamed from her terrified eyes. Drake’s nose wrinkled as he scented her fear. His temper stirred when he picked out another scent. The girl had been raped, no doubt by one or more of the tuxedo-clad men. Drake clenched his fists against a swell of impotent fury. There was nothing he could do for this poor girl, not with Camille determined to hurt her.
Camille smiled at him and licked her full lips. “Are you sure you’re not tempted?”
Oh, he was tempted all right. Just not in the way she thought. Had she not been in the room, he would have happily fed—on the mortal men who seemed to be so enjoying the girl’s pointless struggles.
Camille turned to the girl and bared her fangs. A muffled scream rose in the girl’s throat, but the gag wouldn’t let her give full voice to it. Camille glided closer, eyes aglow with anticipation. She didn’t even use her glamour. The girl was fully conscious and terrified. Drake could hear the frantic hammering of her heart from across the room.