Blood Bond (An Anna Strong, Vampire Novel)(23)

He pauses, catches the eye of a server and motions him to come to us. He chooses blood from the tray, Frey and I champagne. We tip glasses and drink and he continues.

When your family showed up to claim Avery's estate, the question was raised again. Did you have the right to dispose of his property? He had never aligned himself with us, choosing an American affiliation, but his roots were here in Europe. We are rather a closed group, steeped in tradition. But just as we have our ways, we respect those of others. When you were declared the Chosen One, it was decided to forever forego any act of retribution on Avery's behalf.

Another pause, another long pull at his glass. He wipes his lips with a silk handkerchief. The handkerchief comes away with a faint red smudge.

I watch his eyes as he speaks. What is your point, Steffan? Are you asking that I respect you and stay out of European politics?

A shiver runs up my spine at the moment I finish speaking. I look around quickly, senses alert. It's as if someone reached out a hand to run an icy finger up my backbone. Cold, first, then hot as the path of that finger turns to fire. The feeling unnerves me, as real and visceral as a passionate kiss. It awakens something deep and primitive in the pit of my stomach. Not fear. Not anger.

Lust.

My eyes scan the crowd. If Steffan is speaking, I don't hear. I've closed the conduit between us and to any other prying mind. I'm open only to whoever is causing this stirring in my gut. It's like nothing I've ever felt.

And in an instant, it's gone.

No one looks up from the crowd to catch my eye. No one winks or nods or grins a "gotcha" grin.

I drain my champagne glass, motion to the server for another. When I can focus again, Frey and Steffan are both looking at me with puzzled frowns.

Frey speaks first. "Anna? Are you all right?"

"Yes." I put a hand on his arm. "I felt dizzy for a moment. But I'm fine now." Switching my gaze to Steffan, I add, "I'm sorry. What was I saying?"

Steffan laughs. I think you were about to put me in my place.

His laughter is contagious. My own face splits into a grin. Nothing so overt. Perhaps I merely wanted to remind you that there is more to the world than Europe. And if you act precipitously, we are all affected.

Well said, Anna Strong.

My shoulders jump.

The unexpected voice comes from right behind me but I neither heard nor sensed an approach. The same gut tingling sensation as before spreads through my body, ice and fire. I know without looking that whoever just spoke is dark and dangerous.

And a threat.                       
       
           



       CHAPTER 22




MY FINGERS CLOSE AROUND THE CHAMPAGNE glass and with a crack, the fragile crystal shatters. Champagne sprays, my palm convulses and a shard of glass slices into my skin. Blood mixes with the bubbles spilling onto the polished hardwood floor. Both Frey and Steffan leap to my aid.

But not quickly enough.

Someone steps between us, taking my hand gently in his own. He pulls the sliver of glass free and brings my palm to his lips. His face is half-hidden by a veil of long, dark hair but instinctively, I know he's the stranger whose voice I heard before. Where his lips touch my palm, a tingling begins. It travels up my arm, warms my face and neck, makes my nipples harden. I close my eyes, wanting to moan with pleasure.

Another's hand is pushing the stranger away. When I open my eyes, Frey's face is red with fury. He puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me to a bench along the wall. I let him. Not looking back. Not wanting to see who it is that has such power over me.

Frey examines my hand. "It's healed."

There's nothing remarkable or magical in that. Vampires have the ability to heal. But it's the way Frey is looking at me, as if he knew I was feeling more than the healing process. I remember wanting to moan in pleasure-sexual pleasure.

Could I have actually done it? Moaned out loud at a stranger's touch?

Anger shakes me back to reality. "What the fuck?" I look into Frey's eyes.

Relief softens his face. "There you are. What the hell happened?"

I look past him to Steffan. He is talking with the stranger who has his back to me but Steffan's body is rigid, his face a mask of surprise and anger. All I see of the stranger is a long black duster that stands out in stark contrast to the formal dress of everyone else in the room. The coat brushes the tops of leather riding boots much as his long dark hair brushes the upturned collar of his coat. Even with my ability to penetrate most vampires' thoughts, this one is completely closed to me.

"Who is that with Steffan?" Not the question I really want to ask. But asking if this powerful vampire could be Vlad Dracul sounds like something out of a bad Goth novel even if it is what is going through my head.

Frey glances over his shoulder. "I don't know. Listen, maybe we should get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

Frey stands up and extends a hand. I take it and get to my feet. "I'm ready but where's Chael? We should tell him we're leaving."

Frey looks over the crowd. "I'll find him." Then his eyes focus on my face. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes. Go."

"Okay. I won't be long."

I turn my back on Steffan and his mysterious guest and watch Frey work his way through the crowd. In a moment he's lost from view. I try to pick up Chael through mind links, but there are so many conversations going on, it's like trying to distinguish a single drop in a bucket of water. When I do focus on an exchange, all I get are snippets. Local gossip, some of it about me and my family; who's been turned recently; who's met with the second death. I pick up nothing about a take-over plan or a hint of dissension or unhappiness with Steffan.

Of course, we are in Steffan's house.

Anna?

Damn. Steffan is in my head. I don't want to turn around. I don't sense anyone with him but I didn't sense the creepy stranger before he grabbed my hand, either.

Creepy stranger? Over the centuries I've been called a lot of things but I do believe that's a first.

My shoulders bunch. I know I had shielded my thoughts. How was he able to hear?

Reluctantly, I force myself to turn. Slowly. And find myself staring up into a face that could have been sculpted from granite. Sharp angles at the jaw and chin, high cheekbones, a thin Roman nose that seems a physical trait of every European royal family. Only his eyes are soft. Deep brown with flecks of gold. They give character and compassion to an otherwise stern visage. There is too much steel in his bearing to call him handsome. His hair is too unruly to be stylish; his clothes under the coat not fashionable or couture.

But there is something. He has presence. What the old ones might call gravitas.

Even so, I find myself wondering if this could possibly have been the man who affected me so dramatically a moment or so ago. In spite of it all, standing before me so solemn and serious, he seems-ordinary.

Steffan pulls me back, frowning in concern. "Are you feeling better?"

Shit. It's the second time I've shown weakness and both times it was because of the vampire standing beside Steffan. I drag my eyes to Steffan's face at the same time the stranger says to him, You may leave us.

Steffan moves off without another word, crossing the floor into the great room and disappearing into the crowd. It's unnerving.

Then the stranger turns back to me, extends a hand. Vlad Dracul, former prince of Wallachia. Ordinary? First creepy, then ordinary? I must be losing my touch.

Embarrassed, I force myself to take his hand. The smile on his face sends blood rushing to mine. He knows everything I'm thinking-everything I'd been thinking since he approached. It overcomes my sense of astonishment that I am face-to-face with the legend.

As our hands touch, I steel myself for another thunderbolt of sexual heat, determined not to react this time.

Nothing happens. We shake briefly, then both step back. I want to laugh with relief. And he grins. Shit. He's done it again. Gritting my teeth, I snarl, I'd appreciate it if you'd get out of my head.

Sorry, he says. Force of habit.

You can read anyone?

Anyone, anytime.

Is there anyway to turn you off?

Only if I wish it.

Great. How do I get him to wish it?

I doubt you could.

This time my skin flushes with anger instead of embarrassment. I turn away to scan the crowd again for Frey. The sooner we get out of here the better.

He will return in a short while.

The simple pronouncement raises goose bumps on my skin.

Where is Frey? What have you done with him?

He holds up his hands. Nothing. Please don't alarm yourself. He is with friends. Fellow shifters, in fact. They are having a very pleasant conversation.

But he was coming right back. He is not the kind to be easily distracted.

He taps a finger against his forehead. He has many admirable qualities, but he can be controlled. I'm sure you know that.

The next instant, it's as if he's linked directly into my brain and is replaying a scene from the car ride on a screen that only he and I are privy to. It's the standoff between Frey and Chael.

My temper flares at the intrusion. I don't control Frey. Chael is a nuisance not worthy of his wrath.

I agree. But all the same, it is because of you he backed down.

No. It's because he was smart enough to realize the time wasn't right.

As you wish.

His smugness pushes me over the edge. Is this what you do, Vlad? After hundreds of years on this earth the only way you can get off is playing little mind games? You're not much better than a common Peeping Tom.