Forever Vampire by Michele Hauf

One

Lyric Santiago stepped into a pair of diamond-encrusted Louboutins. They merely twinkled as if paste jewels when compared to the fabric hugging her body. A sexy gown shimmered over her skin with her movement. It felt like a summer breeze had wafted through the closed bedroom window. Lyric smiled at the unexpected sensation.

That was about the only thing that could make her smile today.

"Gorgeous," Charish, said.

Charish lingered by her daughter's bedroom door, observing. The matriarch of the Santiago clan looked as young as Lyric, but had lived as vampire for over a century. Her blonde hair was pinned up in a nineteen-fifties beehive hairstyle with a tiny pink bow attached front center.

No matter how many centuries she lived, Lyric swore she would never get stuck in a fashion decade.

"I'm so glad you decided to try it on before you leave for the exchange," Charish said.

"How could I resist something that is probably a dream to most?"

Striding before the floor length mirror framed upon the closet door, Lyric gasped at first sight of the gown on her body. It dazzled. She could not see her reflection, but the dress conformed to her shape in an eerie manner she'd become accustomed to when viewing clothing on her body.

The gown had been made and was treasured by Faery's Seelie court. Fashioned from thousands of Faery-mined diamonds, each of them no larger than an ant's head, it had been sewn together with spider silk. The silk was almost invisible, and it looked as though the diamonds lay upon her skin as if droplets of water under the sun, until the skirt swung gracefully about her ankles creating swishy waves of blinding brilliance.

It was rumored to give the wearer unimaginable magic should a faery don the gown. Holes could be torn in the sky to reveal other worlds. Entire faery clans could be leveled. Love (an uncommon sentiment to the fickle sidhe) could be annihilated or made pure.

On Lyric, a vampire, it would grant no such power. Save, the sensual prowess to make men drop their jaws, stumble over their own feet, and profess true lust for one promising wink from her.

She turned sideways and looked down her figure. Slender and toned, thanks to her gymnastics hobby, the gown clung to a taut stomach and conformed to her lean thigh muscles. The bodice slipped along the side of her full breast.

She liked the tease, and yet only wielded it when necessary.

A twist to check her backside showed the gown plunged to just above her derriere. Were the plunge an inch lower it would reveal things even she preferred to keep covered.

The gown, while revealing more than enough, could never keep all her secrets. Tugging her blonde hair forward to cover her left ear, she made sure her mother had not been aware of the move.

"You should take it off now," Charish suggested in her quiet yet demanding tone. "Wouldn't want to muss it."

"Of course. It does feel…powerful."

"That could be the faery dust. Take it off, dear, before you get a contact high. Leo wore gloves when he handled that thing."

The gown had once belonged to the Seelie court, yet had been stored in a security safe by Hawkes Associates, a firm that represented the paranormal nations and acted as a sort of bank and store-all for their assets.

Priceless, the gown was a huge coup her brother Leo had stolen a week ago after her mother had requested he do so. Lyric had been surprised at Leo's easy submission to the one person he complained stifled his freedom. Yet at the same time, Charish Santiago could squeeze a tear out of the most stalwart warrior; she was master of manipulation.

Fact was, the Santiago clan was nearly bankrupt. Charish needed money. Fast. Pity, the domineering fiancé Charish claimed to love couldn't provide financial support. Lyric thought him worthless, but her mom did seem to genuinely love him.

If it would help her mother, Lyric was in for the ride tonight, even with the danger it promised.

Another glance in the mirror stirred up the frustration Lyric had thought long pushed aside. She hadn't seen her reflection in nearly two decades. Sure, she'd seen it until puberty, when bloodborn vampires came into their blood hunger, but her memory was of a tow-headed young waif whose love for summer camp and horses diametrically opposed what stood before the mirror.

She teased a strand of hair over her shoulder. Nothing good had come of that final summer before she'd completely transformed. Tonight brought up memories that she must vanquish once and for all. But would she be successful?

"The demon guards are prepared?" she asked her mother.

"Yes, three of them. Don't worry, Lyric."

"I'm not." Yes, she was.

"The guards will accompany you to the handoff site, and have been instructed not to allow the Lord of Midsummer Dark to take the exchange into Faery. You'll be safe."

Safe? Lyric sighed. If only.

The hand-off site was at a known doorway to Faery. One wrong step and Lyric would never return. But she couldn't express her worries to her mother. She'd kept it a secret for so long, it was best she continue. If things went as planned tonight, it would be the beginning to the end.

"Give me a bit to get changed."

"Certainly. The driver isn't scheduled to leave for another hour, so take your time, dear."

"You going to wait with Connor?" She couldn't summon enthusiasm into that question. If the fiancé would show some initiative toward supporting Charish, she could at least bless her mother's choice.

"I wish you'd give him a chance, Lyric," Charish said. "He loves me. I need someone to take care of me. It's been difficult heading the Santiago clan since your father's death. People rely on me and expect certain rewards and contributions in exchange for an alliance. I can't do it all."

"I wouldn't expect you to mother."

Lyric wished the man her mother had fallen heels over head for wasn't so…devious. She suspected he was at the root of the pilfered Santiago fortune—it had literally run empty over the last year—but couldn't prove it.

Five decades earlier, Charish had married a thief, and a damned good one. John Santiago had not aligned himself with a vampire tribe, and had instead created a sort of Mafioso ring of unaligned vampires across Europe. He had sought power and money, and all the blood a vampire could drink. Lyric wasn't sure exactly what brought money into the family, but it did—or rather, had—flowed generously. Her father had died when Lyric was eight, but not before teaching her older brother Leo the skills of the trade.

Since Leo's leave two years ago, Charish had faltered, taking on the weight of her deceased husband's responsibilities as if a blow to her soul. Until this newest opportunity had presented itself.

Maybe she could convince her mother to keep the reward she'd win from the exchange and ditch the fiancé? The exchange tonight was not for cash, but the return payment, if handled correctly, could prove profitable.

Lyric ran a finger along her ear, tucking her hair behind it, which was a habit she'd developed when she was thirteen. Last year of summer camp…

"I'll see you in a bit, dear." Charish blew her daughter a kiss—actual physical affection was not to the matriarch's arsenal—and backed from the room, her high heels clicking on the tiles as she went in search of her lover.

Another sigh could not be helped. Tonight would decide her fate. Running her palm over the diamonds felt as if she had skimmed a cool stream. The gown fascinated, but much as she adored fashion, Lyric preferred a more subdued look. She didn't like to stand out from a crowd.

Behind her, a glass-on-glass scraping noise cut through the twilight. The floor-to-ceiling bedroom window, secured at each upper corner by a large rubber suction device, popped inside the room.

Lyric backed toward the mirror, slapping her hands to it as two figures in dark clothing stalked toward her. Just as she was about to scream, one of them punched her across the jaw, knocking her out.

Her body wilted in a glitter of priceless faery diamonds. The intruders opened up a black body bag and stuffed the vampiress inside.

The granite colored Maserati GranTurismo convertible squealed around a corner in the tenth arrondissement, clipped the bumper of a parked BMW, yet continued onward at twice the speed limit on the narrow, cobbled street. The driver spied a parking space and swerved, hitting the brakes, which swung around the tail of the vehicle and nestled it between two parked cars. Neither car took damage, which surprised the hell out of the driver.

He was still mastering the mortal means of transportation.

Killing the ignition abruptly cut off Johnny Cash's voice from the CD player. Vaillant tugged a pair of dark sunglasses from the rearview mirror and slipped them on. He checked his reflection, still not used to the fact he could not see his reflection in the mortal realm—sunglasses hovering above a coat collar was just wrong.

Snakeskin boots hitting the tarmac (fake; you gotta respect the wildlife), he stretched to his six foot six inches and nodded at a passing mortal woman who pushed a pink baby stroller. Her blush amused him.

It was rare Vaillant walked the streets before noon. He was a late sleeper. The nights were much cooler here in the summertime, which decided his preference, though his bad vampire self could walk in the day, longer than most due to his heritage.

"Heritage? Ch'yeah," he muttered as he hopped the curb and marched inside the five-story business complex nestled within view of the train station. "Lot of good family blood has served me."

In truth, such blood had only hindered every step he'd ever taken.

Addicted to the sensory marvel of touch, Vail ran his fingertips along the black marble walls leading up to the elevator bays. The iron rings on his fingers clattered. His boots clomped nastily on the marble floor. The unfastened leather buckles on his right thigh swayed like banners.

Chipped black nail polish from a night he couldn't remember caught the eye of an elderly security guard. Vail didn't usually go in for mortal adornments, but he liked the grungy look of the polish and he wasn't sure how to remove the clingy stuff.

He nodded at the security man, an elderly mortal with a thick crop of gray hair under his official cap. Running fingers through his hair, Vail then stopped before the elevator and punched in the digital code Rhys Hawkes had provided him.

Hawkes Associates was the last place he wanted to visit. He'd been here once, days after arriving in the mortal realm. He'd left with a new bank account, a new car, and a new uncle—but no answers.

Now, three months later, he suspected what Hawkes wanted from him. Vail had no intention of working for his pseudo-step-father who was officially his uncle. But Rhys Hawkes—half vampire, half werewolf—was interesting enough for Vail to give him another chance.

He'd swing in, listen to what the centuries-old half breed had to say, suck down the five-hundred-euro-a-bottle wine Hawkes kept on hand, then breeze off to the Lizard Lounge where he could slake his thirst for faery ichor. It wasn't FaeryTown, but close enough.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a lean young man with shoulder-length red hair, freckles, and muscles that would intimidate a bouncer at a biker bar. The man nodded his head to the tunes blasting through his earbuds. He took one look at Vail and lunged for him, vising his hands about the vampire's neck.

Not about to be taken down, and judging his strength equal to his attacker's, Vail shoved the redhead against the wall. With a glance aside, they were both aware the security guard stood nearby, but the mortal with a pistol secured at his hip belt didn't make a move. Smart guy.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Trystan Hawkes growled. He released his hold on Vail and tugged out the earbuds. The werewolf sneered, and spat, "Longtooth."

"I love you too, brother. Just come from talking to daddy?"

"He's not your father." Tryst set back his shoulders and assumed a modicum of calm, but his adamant sneer told Vail all he wouldn't say. He had already said it all, so why bother again? "You slumming with the normal folk?"

"Your daddy called me here." Vail waggled a brow in a malicious tease. "Maybe he likes me better, eh?"

Tryst chuffed. "In your demented sparkly dreams."

Vail did not sparkle, though the faery ichor he imbibed did seep through his pores and left a sheen on his skin. It had freaked out Tryst the first and only time they'd met right here in this building. Things had gone downhill from there.

"Glad to see there's no love lost," Vail countered. "Wouldn't want my werewolf brother to go all mushy on me."

He wanted to punch the bastard, but a frustrating sliver of need inhabiting his hardened black heart also wanted to pull the creep in for a brotherly hug. What a wib you are, Vail.

"You must be a force, brother," Vail said. "But wait. You don't run with a pack. Just a sad little omega wolf—"
The wolf wielded a sneak-attack high kick. Tryst's hard rubber sole landed on Vail's jaw and ratcheted back his skull on his spine. He saw stars for a few seconds.

Rubbing his jaw, Vail smirked. "Nice one."

"You keep her insane," Tryst said forcefully.

"She's my mother, too. Like it or not," Vail said, but he couldn't get behind the retaliation. Did he keep her insane?

"You." Tryst stabbed Vail in the chest. The wolf reeked of aggression. "Stay away from our family."

"Seems your damned family keeps wanting to pull me in."

"You have no right being here!"

"Yeah?" Vail slammed Tryst against the wall, pushing his anger through his brother's shoulders. "I paid your father's damn blood debt! A debt you should have paid."

Trystan's pale blue eyes went soft. He blinked and looked aside. Vail felt the tension in his brother's muscles slacken under his grasp. He stepped away from the werewolf.

He'd spoken the truth. Neither could deny it. Tryst and Rhys Hawkes, and perhaps even his mother Viviane, owed him more than they could ever give. But Vail knew the blood debt was one bargain for which he'd never know reciprocation.

"Gentleman?"

The security guard knew they were brothers.

"It's cool, Harley," Tryst said to the guard. "All in jest. Brotherly love, and all that crap."

The guard nodded, but his smile didn't touch amusement.

The lanky wolf nodded once, an odd acknowledgement, which either agreed that, indeed, he should have paid the debt himself, or that he didn't care what Vail had suffered.

Vail didn't have to guess at his brother's meaning.

Tryst curtly waved him off and strode toward the entrance, calling, "Stay out of my life, vampire!"

Vail flipped off the werewolf and jumped inside the elevator as the doors closed. Releasing his breath, he then shook out his fists, working his tense muscles loose.

The surprise of learning, three months earlier, he'd a brother could never top the innate desire to connect with Tryst. Vail didn't know where that feeling came from, but he'd fight it to the death, if he had to. Tryst hated him without knowing him. Vail had best accept that.

You are unwanted in Faery. You will be unwanted in the mortal realm.

Tough words to hear from his enemy. But not difficult to believe they were true.

Landing the top floor, he assumed calm with a slick back of his hair, and strode into the marble hallway. The place always smelled like leather polish, and that disturbed his respect for nature.

The receptionist, a petite, strawberry blonde with a sexy librarian's penchant for tight, tailored clothing, adjusted her glasses at sight of Vail, and sat straighter behind her desk, offering a bright red cupid's bow smile.

Vail winked at her, and she noticeably swooned.

Mortals. They were too easy.

Hawkes was on the phone, and gestured him inside the sparely furnished, yet large corner office.

Swinging by the bar, Vail nabbed a goblet of the expensive wine and sucked it down. It tasted like fruit warmed by the sun, but could never match any Faery vintage.

He walked to the window that wrapped the two corner walls of the office. Spreading out his arms, he felt the sudden daring desire to jump through the glass, to discover the exaltation of flight. Despite growing up in Faery, the closest he'd come to flying was a raging orgasm. Not to be disregarded on the list of adventures one must constantly pursue.

Yet any attempt at flight would result in a vampire smashed on the tarmac—not dead, but aching and damaged for weeks, surely. He'd save it for desperation.

Rhys Hawkes showed his age with sublime protest. Pushing three centuries, Hawkes had told Vail his hair had once been black with a gray streak striping one side. Now it was gray with threads of black here and there. His harsh European bone structure battled for notice but the man's whiskey eyes were always what garnered observation.

The man was the father of Trystan Hawkes, Vail's brother. Vail and Tryst had the same mother, Viviane LaMourette. He and his brother had been born on the same day; Vail first, then Trystan not two minutes later.

They were not twins.

Vail's father was a vampire who had once been Rhys Hawkes's nemesis—and his brother.

Viviane LaMourette was all vampire—bloodborn in the 16th century—but also insane.

What a twisted web woven through this family's history, Vail thought with a mirthless smirk. Made for interesting coffee table talk, if one owned a coffee table. Well, he did own the coffee maker.

Mortals, and their curious habits.

Vail had never met his father. He would, as soon as he could get Hawkes to cough up information on how to find him. If anyone knew where to find Constantine de Salignac, it had to be his own brother. Yet Rhys had been evasive the first time Vail had begged the information from him.

Vail needed to see the man who had driven his mother insane. To look into his eyes, and to know whether or not his own eyes were the same. And then? Well then.

Hawkes hung up and gestured Vail sit on the other side of the sleek stainless steel desk before him. The man wore a comfortable gray sweater and dark jeans, and a silver wedding band on his left hand. He looked more Aging Rock Star than Vicious Half Breed.

"I'm pleased you've come. It's been months, Vaillant. How are you getting on in the mortal realm?"

Vail slouched onto the chair and propped an ankle across his opposite knee. He shrugged fingers through his hair, liking the scrape of the iron rings he wore on most fingers against his scalp. He noted Hawkes zoomed in on the nail polish.

Cracking a lazy grin, he tilted his head. "I'm assimilating. But it's got nothing on Faery. So what's up, uncle?"

"You feel ready to visit your mother yet?"

Hell, not this scam again. Vail leaned his forearms onto his knees and shook his head.

No, he'd never met his mother. He was too freaked to know she was literally a loony after his father had buried her in a glass coffin underground Paris for over two centuries. Rhys had told him the tale when he'd first visited.

What was even freakier? Thanks to a warlock's spell, Viviane LaMourette had been kept in a stasis for those centuries, alive and aware, yet frozen.

But the freakiest thing yet? She had been pregnant before being buried alive, and the stasis had also affected the embryos in her womb. She'd given birth to Vail and Tryst nine months after Rhys had finally found her in the twenty-first century. Two hundred and twenty-five years after she'd been buried.

Talk about a long gestation period.

He eyed Hawkes's gaze. Did the half breed look hopeful? What was it with the paranormal breeds in this realm? They were all so…emotional.

Vail should have never left Faery. Not that he'd had much choice.

"A visit to my mother is not on my radar."

Rhys tilted his head, nodding with weary acceptance. Vail could smell the man's feral nature, and it reminded of open fields dotted with summer blossoms, edged by verdant forest. And he could see a faint, red, ashy aura surrounding him, which proved there was vampire somewhere inside the man.

"That all you want from me, old man?"

"What's that stuff?" Rhys pointed to Vail's eyes. "You go out to a nightclub last night?"

"I do the clubs every night." Vail smeared a forefinger under his eye, smudging the black ointment he wore like eyeliner. "It's for the faeries. I need to be able to see them."

"Hmm." Hawkes nodded. "I suppose." But he could never understand why.

When a mortal wanted to see a faery they smeared an herbal ointment around their eyes. When a vampire wanted to see one in the mortal realm, he did the same. The magical, yet mythical, elixir never worked for mortals. It worked for Vail because he'd come from Faery and knew the right ointment to use—the ingredients could only be obtained from a sidhe healer.

"Makes you look like a rock star with a heroine addiction," Rhys commented.

"I have no addictions," Vail said, but was ashamed his voice faltered on the word addiction.

"Right." Rhys leaned back in his chair, assessing Vail to the very marrow. A certain faery, Mistress of Winter's Edge, had utilized the same assessing gaze on Vail. He had never liked that look, and so openly defied the man by stretching back his shoulders and looking down his nose at him.

"I need you to come to work for me," Rhys repeated the same thing he'd said the last three times he'd phoned Vail.

"Not this again—"

"This time it's different," he rushed out. "No office work. No pickups. This is a recovery mission. Actually, it's a private investigation thing."

Vail lifted a brow. He had no such skills. "You lose something?"

He glanced to the wall where a large safe door hung open. The firm stored smaller items here in Rhys's office, with a massive storage area in the basement of this building, which was entirely owned by Hawkes.

Inside the safe were priceless artifacts, totems, magical objects, currency in all denominations (and from all centuries), and other collectibles. Hawkes Associates was a security house for the paranormal nations, and took in objects of value and stored them for as little as a week or as long as centuries. If you were an immortal, it was a good thing to have a storage facility that would be there as you walked through the centuries. This Paris office was one of about half a dozen locations all over the world.

"As a matter of fact, something was stolen from us about a week ago. But that's not the assignment. Well, it is, but not."

"Don't have time for this, old man, just spit it out."

"Charish Santiago, kingpin for a splinter group of vampires unaligned with any tribe, wants me to find her daughter. She's been kidnapped."

"You want me to track a missing vampiress?" Vail thumbed his chin. "You know I don't do vampires."

"Yes, you can't stand them. And yet you are one. How does that work again?"

"They disgust me." Vail leaned forward and toyed with the circlet of May bells wound around his wrist like a bracelet. "They are weak, reek of mortal blood, and are unworthy of my regard."

Rhys sighed heavily and tapped his fingers on the desk. They'd had this conversation before. Vail didn't need to convince the man of his prejudices. Hell, he knew it was a ridiculous prejudice. But when a vampire was raised in Faery, he developed certain dislikes, and vampires were one of them.

"What if I told you this mission isn't going to benefit the vampires, but rather Faery?"

"I don't get it."

"A valuable Seelie court gown was also taken, along with the vampiress. Her name is Lyric Santiago. Seems she was wearing the gown at the time because she was about to hand it over to the Unseelie prince, or some dark lord—I don't recall his title."

"Lord of Midsummer Dark?"

"Yes, that's him. I believe Zett is his name. You know him?"

The muscles strapping Vail's jaw tightened. Zett had been his nemesis since childhood. But Vail had had the last laugh before being banished from Faery months earlier. Zett had been outraged. Heh.

"Ever wonder where the title Vail the Unwanted came from?" he tossed out.

Rhys nodded. "I see. So you don't like the guy."

Vail blurt out a huffing chuckle. "To put it mildly."

"More reason to help me recover the gown."

"And the vampiress?"

"Yes, her too. But it's the gown I'm focused on. Up until ten days ago, that gown was in the safe here in the office. We'd taken it in from the Seelie court as a means to cleanse it of some dark sidhe vibes. Something like that. I don't understand it, only that it needed to be in the mortal realm a fortnight. They intend to reclaim it after that fortnight. Which is marked four days from now. Someone stole it from me, and I'll give you one guess who that someone was."

"The Santiago clan?"

Vail had heard the name muttered in the dark nightclubs as a connection to deeds even he could not fathom. The Santiagos were old school vampire mafia, a self-styled tribe that followed none of the legitimate tribes' ways. Thieves, cutthroats and murderers populated their ranks.

Vail avoided tribes—he didn't require any modicum of family, no matter the form—but most especially he avoided the vampires.

"So why steal the thing, then put it on her daughter and hand her off to the Unseelie lord?"
"I'm told she was merely trying it on, and had intended to take it off before the exchange. I'm guessing the gown was leverage for something."

"Not the daughter? What, is she ugly and have a snaggle-fang?" Vail chuckled to imagine a vampiress with such an affliction.

"She's known as the ice princess, and I'm told, is stunning. Well, I've a picture here." Rhys thumbed through a row of files in his bottom desk drawer and tossed a photo across the desktop to Vail. "I'm not sure what sort of deal was made between Santiago and the Midsummer darkness—"

"Lord of Midsummer Dark."

"Yes, whatever. All I know is I need to get that gown back before the Seelie representative returns for it. The sidhe are the last nation on this earth I want to piss off."

"You are not a wib, old man."

"I don't know Faery speak."

"It means you're not stupid."

Vail leaned forward to glance at the photo. He wasn't about to touch it—that would show too much interest—but then he did. Bright white teeth. Brilliant whites surrounding blue eyes. And long ribbons of white blonde hair. She was a stunner. And he could appreciate a gorgeous woman.

But not a vampire.

"So how is this not helping the vampires?"

"You find the woman and retrieve the gown," Rhys explained. "We give the woman back to her mother, but—oops, we couldn’t retrieve the gown. The mother is happy to have her daughter back. And I have the gown in hand, ensuring the Seelie court is pleased with my work."

"And Zett is left empty handed."

"Exactly."
Vail thought about it. Why would a Faery lord make a bargain with a vampire? Vampires stayed away from faeries because their ichor was addictive, and faeries generally regarded bloodsuckers as unclean and not worth a glance.

Something didn't figure.

"You in?" Hawkes prompted.

"No."

Vail stood and shoved a hand in his pants pocket. The pants were soft and well worn; his favorite pair he kept buckled here and there (though most of the unbuckling had been done by random women). So he was still wearing last night's clothes. Sue him.

And yeah, he probably did look like some drug-addicted rocker, but he couldn't deal with how vamps in this realm tried to appear similar to mortals just to fit in. Had to be exhausting.

"Vail."

"I know the drill," he rambled off quickly. "You need to do something with your life, Vaillant. You can't walk about pissed at the world because you didn't grow up with a mother and father. When will you claim your rightful power? You're bloodborn! You could be so powerful in the vampire community! Did I get all that right, Hawkes?"

The man nodded.

"What power?" Vail challenged. "You say both my mother and father are bloodborn? Well, where is he? How am I to win this power without challenging him to what you say is mine?"

"Vail, Constantine is—"

"I know. A vicious old vampire who harmed you irreparably and drove my mother insane. Why didn't you kill him when you had the chance?"

Hawkes lifted his chin, his lips compressing. After a moment's heavy silence, he said, "He is my brother."

"Right. Blood being thicker than water, and all that crap. Tell that to your son, who likes to slam me around every time he sees me. Blood means nothing. I know you think keeping my father's whereabouts a secret from me is a means to protect me, but it's not, Rhys."

"I don't know where he is!"

"How can you not?"

"It's a long story."

"Well, find him. I need to face him. I need to see where I came from."

"The son is not a product of his father, Vail. You are what you were raised to be."

"A fucked up vampire who inhales faery dust like cocaine and wouldn't touch one of his own kind if you paid him?"

"You still do dust?"

"No, just ichor." It kept him alive. Mostly. "It is my breath. Without it I die."

"It keeps you in a haze, Vail. You've never taken mortal blood. How do you know you will not like it? It would clear you. Only then will you see what you can become. Only then, can you claim the strength that is yours."

Vail snorted. "I think I saw that movie. Use the force, Luke!" He shook his head and stomped toward the door. He'd known this visit would result in more of the same bullshit.

"All right!" Rhys called. "If you find the Santiago woman and return the gown safely to Hawkes Associates, I'll tell you everything you want to know about your father."

Vail paused before the glass door and pressed the silver toe of his boot against it, testing its strength until he heard the glass creak in the hinges. "All I want is an address," he said.

"Done," Rhys offered. "I'll start looking for him immediately."

Vail looked over his shoulder and met the man's tired gaze. Constantine de Salignac was Rhys Hawkes' half brother. They too, shared the same mother, but different fathers, though Rhys had been born ten years after his vampire brother. Rhys didn't know where he was?

The man had lived what Vail was now living. He knew what could hurt, harm, and irreparably change Vail. Rhys just wanted to keep him safe.

Screw safety.

Vail wanted one moment with Constantine de Salignac. That was all he required to shove a stake through the bastard's heart.

"Deal," Vail said.

Two

Vail examined the cleanly cut edge of the glass window. Charish Santiago stood behind him at the door, quietly observing. Her presence echoed louder than her voice. The bold red flower in her oddly poufed hair, the bright red nails and lips, and that short flounced white skirt screamed slutty vampire.

Slutty vampire who headed an evil clan of thieves and murderers, Vail corrected his thoughts. So not going to give her another glance.

Something more precise than a glass cutter had been used on this window, but he guessed the device had been silent, allowing the woman who had been in the room little time to realize what was happening after the window was pushed inside.

But shouldn't a vampire have sensed the intrusion? Heartbeats? Breaths? A scent?

He sniffed. Expensive chick perfume tinted the air. And it wasn't cheap cologne because he didn't pick up the note of alcohol, but instead a deep, ripe cherry infused with jasmine petals. If he passed by a woman smelling like this any time soon, he'd know it was the missing vampiress, Lyric Santiago.

"The meeting was scheduled for six," Charish explained. "We checked her room at 5:15 and found her missing. I had talked to her a half an hour earlier."

No footprints out on the balcony, or the manicured lawn edged with hawthorn shrubs. Vail had walked the perimeter before coming inside. Whoever had jumped the viciously thorned shrubs, had to have bled. Which meant nothing. All sorts of paranormal breeds could lighten their steps, or jump or even fly, depending on what had taken the woman.

Assuming the kidnappers had not been mortal. No, a mortal kidnapping a vampire made little sense. On the other hand, Vail knew little about The Order of the Stake. They were always a possibility.

"What makes you think the Unseelie lord didn't take her?" he ventured, his attention on the glass, because he didn't want to look at Santiago's red highlights.

"The faery? Why would he kidnap my daughter when I was going to hand the gown over freely to him?"
"Maybe he wanted her, too."

"But we had a—"

Vail swung an inquiring lift of brow on the vampiress. A deal. They had a deal. So why hadn't mommy dearest delivered the gown? Had she been afraid to make the hand off, so had sent her daughter in her stead? What had made her believe her daughter would be in no danger?

"Maybe Zett didn't like the terms of your deal," he ventured, "and decided to cut out the middle man, and any reason for him to pay his portion of said deal? Take the girl, get the gown, and extort more money out of the Santiago clan in return for the daughter. Sounds far-fetched," he perused the idea out loud. "The sidhe have no need for mortal money. What more could Zett want beyond the priceless gown?"

The vampiress tightened her jaw. "Nothing. I expected my daughter would return safely."

Shoving both hands in his pants pockets, Vail strode along the wall where a full-length mirror was hung. The vampiress must have stood here admiring herself in the gown, perhaps while the kidnappers had cut through the window.

No, that couldn't be right. He doubted the vampiress could see her reflection any more than he could see his. He hated seeing the body-less clothing in mirrors, so did not keep them in his home, and avoided them, going so far as to take out the side mirrors on the Maserati. A rearview mirror served to see who was behind him. But seriously? Other drivers should watch out for him.

Charish's bright red toenails were visible when Vail looked down, scanning the floor for debris. Man, she stood too close, and her perfume reeked of a more masculine scent that startled his expectations.

"We've already gone over the room," she offered. "There are no clues here."

"That you can see." He scanned the carpeting, seeking one small glint of faery dust that would prove his theory correct. Nothing. Not even a twinkle. "There were no faeries here."

"Exactly." Santiago pressed her hand high along the door frame. The position boosted her breasts higher and he wondered if she were trying to flirt with him? He hadn't dialed into vampiress seduction techniques yet, and didn't want to. "You're cute and all, but what makes you an expert? How do I know Hawkes sent the right guy for the job?"

"You don't."

Vail wasn't a detective by any definition. But he could wear any mask he was handed, because he never wanted to be doubted by a mere vampire.

He picked up a pillow from the bed and sniffed it. More cherries and jasmine. If he were a werewolf like Tryst he could hop on the scent trail and follow the vampiress to wherever the kidnappers were keeping her. But he was not. And while vampires could recognize by scent they were lousy trackers. Heartbeats and blood scent were the easiest to follow. But no blood had been spilled in this room.

Why hadn't Rhys asked his real son to do this job?

No matter. After thinking about it a few hours, Vail had decided doing the job for Rhys would serve as means to repay him for the kindnesses he'd gifted him. One did not get along in the mortal realm without a car and cash.

"I want her found within forty-eight hours," Santiago said, exhibiting the sharp edge that must see her respected amongst her kind. "The Unseelie are pressuring me."

"What the hell for?" Vail had lived amongst the Unseelie. He knew Zett. Which is why this incident baffled him. "What, exactly, did the Lord of Midsummer Dark promise you in exchange for the gown?"

"I'm not at liberty to say." She stroked her red nails down her throat. "Doesn't matter, because my daughter is gone and neither she nor the Unseelie lord got to make the exchange."

The woman didn't care if her daughter was found, dead or alive, Vail decided. This sexpot of an aging vampiress was only concerned about the goods. Whatever those goods may be.

Interesting. Why involve the daughter in a deal with the Unseelie if it had all been about the gown in the first place? If she'd been so concerned for her daughter's safety wouldn't the mother have sent a man or thug to make the exchange?

A cell phone jingled, and Santiago excused herself to take the call. Her sharp voice echoed down the hallway in tandem with the clicks of her high heels until Vail could no longer hear the erratic tune.

He toed out the cell phone from under the bed he'd noticed while Santiago had still been in the room. Snagging it, he clicked it on and scrolled through the call log. The phone had not been used a lot, but one number showed up three times the day of the kidnapping. It didn't list a name, but Vail didn't need a name. He pressed 'call'.

A sleep-laced, male voice answered, "Lyric?"

So they knew to expect her from this number. That was helpful.

"No," Vail replied. "Lyric's assistant. Just checking in, making sure things went as planned."

"What assistant? Lyric never mentioned no assistant. You call her and get your story straight before you bug me, man." Click.

"And how can I call her if she's been kidnapped?" Vail rubbed the phone along his forearm, working the scenarios. "Unless she wasn't kidnapped? Did she work something out with Zett? Possible."

If her family was into thievery, that made the chances of her being a thief high. Had she stolen the gown? For what means? It wasn't as though she could fence such an odd and valuable item to any in the paranormal nation without someone finding out. Faery, most especially, had a way of knowing when things were missing.

"Has to be Zett," he muttered. "That's the only way the gown could still be out there and not draw attention. The two must be working together."

Which didn't explain a thing. Zett had been going to get the gown handed over on a silver platter shaped like a gorgeous blonde vampire. He didn't need to steal or kidnap a thing.

Vail could not overlook the huge white elephant sitting in the middle of this bizarre incident—Zett hated vampires. So why kidnap one?

It had been three mortal months since he'd spoken to Zett. Much longer according to Faery time. Vail did not relish seeing the obnoxious Lord of Midsummer Dark any time soon. Zett would remind him of Kit.

Vail whispered blessings the sweet young kitsune/cat shifter was happy now with her intended husband.

"Her apartment was clean, too," Santiago said as she re-entered the room.

"Apartment? Your daughter kept a place apart from this home?"

"Yes, in the second arrondissement. It was close to a gym where she likes to practice the silks with a coach. My men have gone through it. It's clean."

The silks?

"You don't know everything," Vail said. "If you did, I wouldn't be talking to you. Give me the address." When Santiago balked, Vail provided angrily, "I can see things, find evidence your men couldn't dream to see. Now write it down. You want your daughter found? Learn to cooperate."

Humming a Johnny Cash tune about ghostriders in the sky, Vail strolled the tiny apartment, which belonged to Lyric Santiago. His thoughts strayed. What was a ghost rider? Was it an incorporeal being? What did it ride? He'd like to meet one, and go for one of those infamous rides.

"Yippi-i-oo," he sang the chorus from the song. And what did that mean, exactly? No matter. It was catchy.

He would have loved to meet the singer. Cash's music was timeless and a hell of a lot more interesting than the hard, ear-damaging stuff the local nightclubs blasted.

The apartment was indeed clean. Too clean. Vail had never seen such a Spartan living space—save his own—and suspected the vampiress could not have used it much. Three pieces of furniture—bed, couch, and the requisite coffee table—and a few items in the closet. That was it. No personal touches or monogrammed towels in the bathroom. It looked as though it was a new place that had not yet been staged for sale.

If she had used it because it was close to a gym, it was likely only a stop-off of sorts. Silks? He really should have asked what that was about. Sounded kinky. And he did like some kink.

He stuck around a few hours after casing the apartment. Parked across the street from the building he listened to the car radio while keeping an eye on the place.

When two vampires approached the building, Vail grabbed his sunglasses, and got out and crossed the street. He knew they were vamps because of their ashy red auras. Something he'd tried countless times to see on himself in a mirror but could not. Did he not have the red aura, or was it just that a man could not see his own aura?

For the love of Herne, he was one fucked up vampire.

The vampires noticed him striding determinedly toward them and veered from the door of the building and around the side. The streets were tight and this one ended at an inner courtyard shaded with overhanging vines and fragrant honeysuckle.

Fingertips trailing the brick walls, Vail walked right into the center of the courtyard and flipped a nod at the vampires. "Nice day, messieurs. Sun is out. Looks like you got your 1000 SPF sunscreen on."

One sneered and lunged toward him, exposing fangs. His buddy caught him by the shoulder. "Who the hell are you?"

"Miss Santiago's assistant. I'm sure I spoke to you earlier."

"I thought I told you—" The man realized he'd just given up his identity, in a manner.

"What are you looking for?" Vail asked. He put back his shoulders, flaunting his broad frame and imposing height. The faeries had thought him a freak. Vampires tended to take a step back from him. These two wibs did not. "Lyric ask you to get something for her at the apartment? It's been picked over by her mommy's thugs."

"Damn it," the one who had lunged said. "I knew we should have come here right away."

They were definitely her allies.

"So where is she?" Vail tossed out. "I didn't get the final destination."

"In the seventh—"

The bigger one slammed his arm across the smaller's chest. "You're not her assistant. That cold bitch ain't got no friends. He's working for the old lady."

The smaller one, unleashed from the bigger one's restraining hold, rushed toward Vail, fangs down in warning.

Normally, Vail got into mortal combat. It kept his adrenaline flowing, and he liked to do damage to people who pissed him off. But exerting himself over these two was a waste of breath. He had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Vail rubbed his palms together, loosening the faery dust ever embedded within his skin. Tilting his palm flat, he blew dust in the face of the attacker just as he moved within touching distance.

Faery dust penetrated the vampire's pores, traveling up his nostrils and into his throat, instantly rocketing him to a meth-like high. The vampire grinned widely, staggered—and dropped.

"You want a taste?" Vail teased the other, who stood with arms out at his sides in bewilderment.

"What the hell was that? You got some voodoo mojo going on?"

"Ch'yeah. Here's a taste." Vail blew another cloud of dust and the thug batted at it, but succumbed as quickly as his cohort.

Standing over the two fallen bloodsuckers, Vail shook his head. "Vampires. They're so weak."

He licked his palm and inhaled deeply. Once upon a time he could get just as quick and massive a high. He'd give anything for that high now, but since he'd come to the mortal realm he'd shed the haze he'd once lived in, and was becoming clearer by the day.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He bent over the vampires. "FaeryTown is in the eighteenth, guys. You'll find more of what you now crave there. Tell 'em Vail sent you. They'll hook you up with a sweet little number."

He straightened and scanned the area. "The seventh?" Across the river, the quarter boasted the Eiffel Tower and the Invalides museum. "Big area to search, but I'm on it."

The two minions who'd succumbed to his dust gave clue something was fishy in Paris. Where would a vampire chick who had been kidnapped, or maybe not kidnapped, hide? It had to be someplace close to a food source so when she went out for sustenance she did not risk being seen.

Of course, that could be anywhere in the cozy, yet vast city of Paris. The buildings were close, the streets narrow and labyrinthine. Easy enough for mortal or vampire to move about unseen. Even if her minions had narrowed it down to one particular quarter, it would take Vail hours to cover it all.

One thing he had learned since arriving, the vampire tribes, while they kept to themselves, communicated from tribe to tribe in an amazing network. If you were a tribe member, you were accounted for. But even those unaligned with tribes were known. It was in the tribes' best interest to keep tabs on everyone. A sexy, blond ice princess like Lyric Santiago would surely be recognized by a few, if not many.

He did have a tribal contact, but would give the search a go first. Besides, that's if anyone knew she was missing. The family was keeping this hush-hush.

He folded the picture of the vampiress and stuffed it in a back pocket. Appealing to any man with a healthy sex drive, certainly, with her high breasts and come-on-let's-kiss white teeth and flirty, long-lashed eyes. But beyond the surface glamour, he wasn't interested.

Vampires did not appeal to his palate. Sure, that was like calling the kettle black, but he'd grown up knowing that vampires sustained their lives through the heinous practice of imbibing on mortals. They drank their blood!

Vail would never succumb to such base appetite. He didn't need it. Faery ichor sustained him. So why bother succumbing to something that horrified him?

As if you don't do the same, his conscious screamed. You sink your teeth into faery necks. How is that different than taking a mortal?

"They're filthy and poisoned by their food," he muttered, and walked onward.

Thinking of which, he was a bit peckish. It had been over a day since he'd fed. Should have fueled up for what he suspected would be a long night.

Striding the streets in the seventh arrondissement, he didn't attempt to quiet the clicking beats of his boots. He wanted to be heard, to be seen tracking through the twilight haze.

Let them know what they can't get away from.

Every so often the street was cobbled, a remnant from Paris's earlier centuries. Vail liked that. And then he didn't. He knew his father had been around since the mid-eighteenth century, as had Rhys Hawkes and his mother, Viviane.

Rhys and Viviane had fallen in love a few years before the French Revolution. Had they walked these very streets?

"Don't care. They didn't care enough about me. I don't care about them."

Jumping and hitting the bottom of a low, rusted tin sign with his knuckles, he set the ancient thing to a creaky swing.

Eyes followed him as he cut through the twilight; he could feel their regard prick at his spine. Some were mortal, peering out from windows as their televisions blared monotonously in the background. What a mind waste technology was.

Yet other eyes were Dark Ones, unwilling to test his strut. And woe to those who did employ the cocky bravado to try him.

"Yippi-i-oo," he sang lowly. "Where are you?"

A glimmer in the corner of his eye told him a sidhe lurked in the shadows, slithering along, following his steps. Curious, but not threatening. His hunger stirred. He sensed it was a lower imp or perhaps a sprite. Sprites were nasty and he didn't care to go toe to toe with one of them. Their ichor was acrid, and he always ended up spitting it out.

Couldn't be a sprite. Their iridescent sheen never allowed them to blend completely into the shadows.

As he turned a corner, Vail twisted his head quickly to spy the sidhe before it realized he'd been aware of it. The ointment he wore around his eyes gave him that sight.

He dashed forward, grabbed the thing about its narrow chest, and sunk his fangs into its neck. Just a quick bite, something to take the edge off the jitters he'd felt tweaking his muscles. Hot ichor glittered down his throat and soothed his pangs. He dropped the faery in a collapse of pale violet limbs. It wobbled in a giddy daze from his bite. The swoon was good to mortal, vampire, and even the sidhe.

Thumbing the corner of his mouth, Vail walked on, and thanked his ability to see the sidhe. He hadn't been well loved in Faery, and suspected if any of his former rivals were in the mortal realm of Paris they would not hesitate to call him out. Zett holding the top position on that rivalry list.

"Come and get me," he muttered—then stopped abruptly.

Ahead, a mortal male moaned. A pleasurable utterance that curled Vail's smile smartly. Right out here, in the street, and not tucked inside a bedroom. Such moxy!

He didn't hear a responding female voice, but he did smell cherries and jasmine. "Gotcha."

Racing forward on the balls of his feet—now he wanted the element of surprise—Vail swung around the corner and into a dark alley cluttered with stacked terracotta flowerpots.

The man stood shoulders and back to the wall and the female was running her hands up his thigh and over his obvious hard-on. She wore a black scarf, which covered all her hair, but Vail bet what was tucked beneath was long and blonde. Clad entirely in black, the only spot of color was the red pointed shoes peeking from beneath the pant hem.

She leaned in to the mortal's neck, fangs glinting—then sighted Vail.

Palming a huge flowerpot to leverage his strides, Vail pushed it aside and behind him. It cracked and clattered on the cobbles.

The mortal man landed against Vail's chest, groping to stand, yet utterly confused why he'd been pulled from the high of arousal. The scent of sex and cigarettes shrouded him.

Shoving him off, Vail tripped over the man's legs and plunged forward, landing the cobblestones. He looked up. The vampiress paused at a turn at the end of the alley. She flashed a defiant smirk at him, and took off.

"It's not going to be that easy to ditch me."

Charging up from all fours, he performed a racer's dash and made the corner, careening around it in time to spy the vampiress's long legs slip into the open maw of a warehouse.

Taking in the building's structure as he approached, he decided it was abandoned. The missing windows and flat, pebbled roof would provide her an easy escape while he wandered about in the dark trying to sense her. He could see well enough in the dark, but preferred to track her heartbeats.

Sniffing, he noted the jasmine and cherries. "You're the one I want," he said. "But I think I'll let you come to me. Always prefer to be the one in control."

He turned right and walked along the side of the building, tendering careful footsteps so he would sense any noise from inside. She wouldn't be so stupid now she knew someone was after her.

At the opening to a main street, Vail got another whiff of jasmine. He eyed the stretch of apartment buildings and walk-ups directly across the street. Older, and likely lower rent, though this area was nothing to sneeze at. But dark. No streetlights to expose anyone's secrecy.

"Perfect."

"Fuck."

Shoulders glued against the corrugated iron warehouse wall, Lyric listened for the stranger's boot steps.

Why had he run after her? Who was he? And what a way to spoil supper. She hadn't a chance to sink in her fangs and now she was beyond hungry.

All the adrenaline pumping through her system over the last twenty-four hours had stripped her energy and weakened her. In fact, she breathed heavily and panted. What was with that?

She'd gotten a quick look at him. Hair darker than Himself's heart slicked back like some kind of Goth Elvis. Dark clothing and dark eyes. Really dark, like he used guyliner and smudged it.

Could be a druggie. Mortals, when high on meth, were strong, and if hurt or wounded, could still function without noticing the pain. That had to be it. He was a junkie who'd stumbled onto the scene of her trying to get the mark off, and decided he'd wanted a piece of her for himself.

Which meant she may get lucky and he'd forget what he'd witnessed and be diverted to another mindless quest for more drugs.

Daring a peak around the doorway, she scanned the alley. The room she was squatting in was down the street. She could make a dash for it if she kept to the left side of the street in the shadows that hugged the walls. So she did.

Taking the back stairs up the side of the building to avoid the lobby, she then had to jump onto a neighbor's balcony, and lean over to slide through the window she'd left open a few inches. Years of training with Leo and her acrobatic skills aided her as Lyric mastered the leap and slipped into the apartment.

A twin bed with a lumpy mattress sat below the window. She landed it in a roll and came up to sit on the edge of the mattress. The apartment, a recent acquisition, was dark. The full moon had cruised behind nasty gray clouds that promised rain before morning.

Could she do this? Actually pull it off? It wasn't as though she'd ever spent time away from the family mansion. She possessed some facsimile of a social life, went clubbing and made dates, and hunted. But to live on her own?

Lyric sighed and wondered how long it would be before she dared go out again to look for supper.

"So, this is how the young and the kidnapped live."

A tall, dark-haired man strolled out from the bathroom, leaned against the kitchen wall, and hooked one foot up on the side of the butcher block.

Double fuck.

FOREVER VAMPIRE hits book stores shelves April 19th!