Guild Hunter: Archangel's Shadows Part 16

Janvier shook his head, dislodging several errant flakes of snow that had fallen from the sky. "I cannot imagine you as a tiny sprite in a tutu, but as a long-legged ballerina, yes."

"I fully intended to become a professional dancer." Soaring through the air, free and unchained. "But . . ." She shrugged.

His eyes turned solemn. "A professional ballerina cannot always dance alone and must often be in close contact with her partner."

"Yes." She tightened her fingers on his, deciding that maybe-possibly-she could get used to holding hands. If it was Janvier. Only him. "But it didn't break my heart," she told him with utter honesty. "By the time I accepted that the constant contact would exacerbate my ability, I knew I couldn't be a professional dancer for other reasons. Do you know how much c.r.a.p they take from the ch.o.r.eographers and the directors before they get famous enough to throw tantrums and do what they want?"

"You wouldn't throw a tantrum." Janvier's tone was dead serious, his laugh in his eyes. "You'd just shoot the person who was irritating you."

"I was tempted to do exactly that during my final years aiming for professional," she admitted. "Then I realized I didn't want fame. I only wanted to dance, and I could do that on my own."

"Where do you dance?" Janvier took her down the narrow steps to the man-made cavern that was Hinge.

"That's for me to know." She wasn't ready for him to be her audience-she had no shields when she danced, was naked in a way she wouldn't be even if she took off every st.i.tch of clothing on her body.

"Janvier! Here to make the misere, my friend?"

Looking up at the statement she couldn't quite work out, she found herself facing a solid wall of a man with black hair tightly curled to his skull, his mocha skin pockmarked by acne scars and his eyes a gray-green that caught her attention and would've held it if Janvier hadn't been in her life. This was a man who'd never want for female company.

"I never make trouble, Louis." Janvier grinned and, releasing her hand, exchanged a back-slapping hug with the bouncer.

Ashwini had seen him do the same thing with another man once, back during the Atlanta operation. So she saw the difference. With Callan, it had been for show. This was genuine, affection pulsing off both men.

"This is Ash." Janvier reached back and took her hand when the two broke apart.

"Your Ash?" Smile huge, Louis would've hugged her if Janvier hadn't slid in between and she hadn't stepped back. Instead of being insulted, the other man laughed and said something else in the dialect he shared with Janvier.

Ashwini caught the tone, knew he was ribbing Janvier about being jealous. "I think you're getting ahead of yourself, Louis," she said. "I haven't decided whether to keep him or throw him to the gators yet."

Louis slapped a hand over his heart. "Janvier, mon ami, I am in love. As I see you're not carrying your blades today, I think I can take you."

"I'm not the dangerous one," Janvier drawled, his arm around her waist. "What can you tell us about Hinge?"

"It's a meat market, but safer than Masque." His expression made it clear that didn't mean much. "I can recommend a club with better music."

"We're not here to dance," Janvier told his friend. "We're looking for a girl with a tat on her ankle. Cher?"

Taking out her phone, she held it out to Louis. "Yeah," he said after a couple of seconds, "I think I might've seen her here. Remember the tat because feet are the first thing I see when people come down the steps. Don't know her name or remember much else about her, but one of the regulars might."

"Can you point out the regulars?"

"Sure." Louis glanced at his watch. "I'm on break in ten minutes. I'll come join you."

There was no coat check inside Hinge, so they stripped off their outerwear and placed it on an open bar stool while ordering drinks. Ashwini had no intention of consuming hers, but with Janvier's accelerated ability to process alcohol, that'd be easy enough to cover.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket just as the bartender put the drinks in front of them with a flirtatious flash of his fangs directed at her. Sliding the phone out of her pocket, she read the message and had to bite back a cry of delight. When she looked up, it was to see Janvier looking at his own phone, a grin on his face. "Ransom?" She knew the two men were friends, often went out riding together.

"Yeah." Janvier's grin grew wider as he input a reply. "He finally did it, asked his librarian to marry him."

"And she said yes!" Ashwini sent back a congratulatory message.

Janvier's eyes lingered on her after she returned her phone to her pocket. "What about you?" he murmured, leaning in to be heard over the music, his hand on her lower back and his body heat a languorous caress over her skin. "Will you ever say yes?"

Hanging on to her control by her fingernails, she very deliberately brought her vodka mixer to her lips, forcing distance between them. "I see two women who might be donors." The gla.s.s was icy against her palm, but it did nothing to chill the heat licking over her body. "Faint bite bruise on one."

Janvier wrapped an arm around her front as she went to move past him on her way to the women. He'd pressed a kiss to her cheekbone before she could avoid it. Gritting her teeth against the craving to haul him to her, take that delicious mouth with her own, she instead moved her lips to his ear . . . and bit down hard enough on his earlobe to leave a mark.

He hissed. "You do realize many vampires consider pain foreplay?" Hot breath against her, the muscles in his arm flexing to keep her close.

"You don't." Sliding out of his hold, she strolled over to strike up a conversation with her targets.

The conversation proved a bust, though it appeared Janvier was having some success with the bartender. Louis joined the other two males not long afterward, and she decided to head back.

A vampire shoulder-b.u.mped her on the way, his hand sliding over hers. It should've been nothing, the contact was so fleeting . . . but it set off a deluge of nightmare that swamped her senses, threatened to take her under. Screams, he had screams inside him. Legs shaky and stomach threatening to revolt, she reached out to brace herself against the bar, but instead of the cold, hard edge of stone, she felt a body warm and tensile.

Sliding his arm around her with a lazy grace that belied the tension in his body, Janvier nuzzled at her. "I've got you," he murmured. "Pretend you can't get enough of me, cher."

She wanted to snap off a quick retort, make light of this, but her heart was thumping too hard and her nerves trembling. Wrapping her own arm around Janvier's waist, she held on to the solid strength of him, tucking her head against his neck. Her breath came in jerky bursts, her hand clenching on his T-shirt as he murmured things she couldn't hear through the roar in her ears, but that she knew would make it seem they were indulging in a public display of affection. Sickening but normal.

Her vision eventually cleared to the point that she could see Louis watching them, a smile wreathing his face. The other man was several feet away, where Janvier must've been before he moved to intercept her. Swallowing, she took a deep breath and Janvier's scent filled her lungs: primal, earthy male.

Her chest shuddering, she rubbed her nose against his neck in a moment of weakness before raising her head. "Merci."

He brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid to curl against the side of her face. "No thanks between us, Ashwini. No balance sheet."

The things he said. The things he meant.

Releasing her grip on the cotton of his tee, she slid her hand into his hair, tugged down his head, and kissed him soft and sweet and with every ounce of the heartbreaking emotion inside her. It lasted for a fleeting fragment of time and it changed the world.

22.

Janvier was the one who trembled this time, his arm firming to hold her tight. "Why that vampire?" he asked, voice hoa.r.s.e.

"He's done horrible things." The hairs stood up on her arms at the memory. "I can't tell if it's in the present or an echo of his past, but we need to check him out."

"His name is Khalil, and I know he has darker appet.i.tes." A hard edge to his tone. "I'll put a discreet watch on him. For now, he appears occupied with a blonde barely into her womanhood, so we may go and speak to Louis."

The two of them closed the distance to the bouncer.

"Sorry for the wait." Janvier's insouciant smile invited the other man to laugh and he did.

"Some things take priority. Especially when the priority is so very beautiful."

"I like you, Louis." Ashwini tried to keep her tone playful, despite the fact that she felt sc.r.a.ped raw on the inside.

"If you ever decide against this no-good swamp rat, you know where you can find me." Louis slid his eyes a whisper to the right. "Brown sugar in the sequined green mini-jumpsuit thing, blonde fantasy twins, and the built guy shaved to within an inch of his life. Regular donors here. Tight foursome. High chance they would've crossed paths with your girl."

Ashwini covertly checked out the group, caught them giving Janvier a greedy appraisal. Unsurprising. He might not be dressed in leather or lace or velvet, nor have the honed beauty of the oldest vampires, but Janvier was six feet three inches of pure indulgent s.e.x. He wasn't even trying to project that at this instant-his s.e.xual attractiveness was innate, created by his confidence, the lithe strength of his body, the lazy smile that said he knew every sin and had invented a few new ones.

"Janvier," she said, stepping away from him, the loss of contact bruising, "we're about to have a fight. I'll be storming off with Louis."

A raised eyebrow. "Will it be a pa.s.sionate fight?"

"I could slap you, but I think I'll settle for calling you a cheating b.a.s.t.a.r.d after Louis lets slip the news of your philandering ways."

Sighing, Janvier said, "All four?"

"They think you're delicious." She tried not to find his less than enthusiastic expression adorable and failed. "I'm the impediment."

"Rescue me in fifteen?"

"We'll see."

Louis obligingly said something right then, and she turned on Janvier. "I can't believe you did that!" She shoved at his chest, the warm muscle beneath flexing under her touch. "You cheating piece of vampire slime! I hate you!"

"Bebe." Janvier spread his arms, voice cajoling. "It was nothing, a taste onl-"

"That's it!" She inserted an infuriated high-drama scream in lieu of throwing a drink in his face. "We're done! Go taste someone else, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Janvier watched Ashwini stride away, her hips moving provocatively beneath the snug fit of her jeans. "Take care of her," he said quietly to his friend. "She is my eternity, Louis."

"As you pointed out, she can take care of herself," the other man replied, "but I'll keep an eye on her in case she needs backup." Grabbing Ash's jacket after Janvier slid his eyes to it, Louis went after her.

Turning to the bar, Janvier found the barkeep giving him a sympathetic look. "Women," the younger male said with a shrug. "She was seriously hot, though. The dangerous kind of hot."

Yes, his Ashblade was dangerous.

The dark-haired woman sidling over to him, her body clad in a sparkly green jumpsuit that ended barely south of her a.s.s, was a mewling kitten in comparison.

Pretending not to see her, he nursed his drink. It was a single-malt whiskey, a good one, the flavor rich and textured.

It stood no chance against the intoxicating wildness that was the taste of his hunter.

Her kiss earlier had staggered him, enslaved him. He wasn't surprised at his body's response-he'd known for a long time that Ash owned him and always would. He just had to convince her to claim him, brand him. A public kiss? h.e.l.l, yes, he'd take that as a first step.

"Hi."

Taking his time to respond to the soft greeting, he found himself looking into a pair of uptilted brown eyes made up with glittering green and black kohl, her cheekbones sharp under glowing brown skin and her hair a sheet of ebony. "Hi." He kept his tone deliberately cool, reading her like he would an open book-the kitten, it seemed, wanted to play with a wolf.

Sinking her teeth into her plump lower lip, the gloss she wore a sheen of wet, she slid her hand down his biceps. "I saw your girlfriend leave."

When he didn't shake her off, she stepped close enough that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed into his body, her fingers curving around his upper arm at the same time. "She didn't treat you right."

"She's pa.s.sionate." A woman who loved and fought with her heart and her soul, unrestrained and furiously honest.

"I can be pa.s.sionate." A husky invitation. "And I have friends."

Shifting to face the group toward which she'd nodded, the three others ensconced in an intimate seating area, he found enticing smiles pointed in his direction. "Are your friends accommodating?" He leaned back with his elbows braced on the bar.

"Oh, yes." The kitten brushed her fingers over the pulse in her neck. "Very."

Janvier found her attempts at manipulation amusing; she clearly had no idea of exactly how big a wolf she'd approached. "I don't move on the claimed."

"We aren't with anyone." A hair flip, both hands now holding on to one of his biceps. "We like our freedom."

Translated, they liked the high of fangs at the vein but didn't actually want to get into a relationship with a near-immortal. Allowing his lips to curve into a slightly predatory smile that made the woman's breath catch, her pupils dilate, he straightened and, drink in one hand, walked with her to her friends.

They'd left a spot for him in between Louis's fantasy twins. He should've taken the invitation, but he didn't. He didn't want anyone pawing him, male or female. The deception he was playing didn't alter the truth of his nature-Janvier had given himself to Ash and that was it. Playing hard to get, he sprawled in an armchair across from the twins, the male donor to his right. Green Jumpsuit perched herself on the arm of his seat, silky thighs within effortless reach.

He didn't reach, didn't stroke, but his cool att.i.tude seemed to make the foursome even more eager to please. Before long, the entire group was cl.u.s.tered around him, breathless and excited and ready to go with him into one of the private booths in the back. "Unless you want to feed here," the blonde on the left said in a sultry tone. "That's okay, too."

"Only they don't allow nudity on the main floor," the other blonde added, her palm on her chest, above the low-cut neckline of a bustier of incongruously innocent white lace. "We'd like to please you in every way."

The male's pale white skin filled with a flush of color when Janvier glanced at him. "Are you as compliant and eager?"

An immediate nod. "Anything you want."

Putting down his gla.s.s, Janvier forced himself to place his hand on the thigh displayed to him, though he felt more like telling the group to get the f.u.c.k out of this life they were in. It wasn't the random fang-and-f.u.c.k lifestyle that worried him-it was the fact that a strong vampire could incapacitate all four within seconds. Janvier could do it before a scream escaped even one throat. He didn't think they understood that, believing themselves safe in a group.

It was an ignorance he'd rectify before he left, especially given how many vampires he'd noted in the room whose tendencies echoed Khalil's. Louis's meat market was becoming more deadly with each pa.s.sing minute, the hum of bloodl.u.s.t below the surface troubling.

"Yes." Throaty seductiveness from the girl beside him. "We're ready to be your toys. Shall I ask the bartender for a booth key?"

"I think no one has taught you the value of patience," he said in a deep purr of a tone that had the blondes squirming and the male erect beneath his tight-fitting pants. "Has no one ever spent hours with you? Taking a sip at a time, drawing out the pleasure until it is part insanity, part pain?"

"No," the blondes breathed.

"We . . . we could go to a hotel if you want." Flushing, the green-jumpsuited girl put her hand over his and rubbed her thumb gently across the back of his knuckles.

Janvier battled the violent urge to wrench it back-he didn't want to be known as available. He wasn't available, hadn't been since the day he'd met Ash, and he wanted the entire world to know that. But he was also loyal to the Tower and to Raphael, and this crime threatened the stability of the city. More, he knew his hunter would not rest easy until they gave their victim the dignity of a name.

So he played the game, eased the conversation toward the victim without alerting the four donors of his intent. He made them believe she'd fed him the last time he'd been in this club, that he couldn't quite remember her name, intimated they'd been too involved in other things to bother with exchanging such mundane information.

It was the male who said, "I think you mean Felicity." He went to his knees beside Janvier's armchair, put his hand on Janvier's own knee. "I was with her when she got her tat a couple of years ago. I got one, too. See?" He pumped up a muscle to show it off.

"It is excellent work." Janvier examined the blue-green dragon, to the boy's pleasure. The male didn't go back to his seat afterward, leaning instead against Janvier's leg like an affectionate pet.

Some old vamps treated donors as exactly that. Giorgio, Janvier thought, likely enjoyed having his women paying homage at his feet. Unfortunately for this group, Janvier had never been comfortable with such subservience, found no pleasure in the weak-though he felt nothing against them.