Bloodlines (Demons of Oblivion) (6 page)

I waited to see her inner, mystical alarms go off. I waited for someone to make a discreet signal for a dozen security officers to surround me. I waited for one of them to give a kind “Don’t make a scene, and come with us” smile, and firmly grab my upper arm to lead me to another room for interrogation.

Even as the seer nodded her approval and I was told I could continue on into the house, I waited for someone to see I was a complete and utter fake. But it never happened.

Damn,
that
Mishka
is
good
.

Another tuxedoed gentleman bowed, took my hand, and ushered me through the main foyer to a set of open doors on the far left. I swiftly surveyed my surroundings as I went. There was the main staircase which led to the northern wing, and an upper floor on the right where I’d find some bedrooms, an office, study, and library. The master bedroom was at the back of the house, just above the pool. Good. I still remembered everything. Hopefully all that information would be in my brain later when I needed to run on instinct. Fancy blueprints on my phone or something might’ve been handy, but it’s been my experience that killing someone for money often led to running for my life, and there’s hardly an opportune time to pull out a map in those instances.

I came to a stop just as we reached the doors. Beyond them was a large, high-ceilinged ballroom, where about a hundred and fifty guests stood talking in small groups. The usher left me there, and before me was a thin, aging man with a proud stance and a somewhat forced smile. The man of the house—the man with a contract on his head. Mr. Baseball Mitt Face himself.

Just don’t call him that, Zar.
“Mr. O’Connor,” I said in my most velvety voice and with an easy smile. “What a lovely home you have.”

“Thank you, Ms...?”

“Helene Walker.” The name came as easily as my own. I probably could have been a kick-ass film star if studios didn’t require me to work daylight hours and I didn’t get typecast as a vampire.

“Of course,” he said, though I saw a moment of confusion cloud his face. “So nice to have someone from your family grace us this evening.”

“So very kind of
you
to invite us.”
Just don’t realize that you didn’t, in fact, invite me, old man.

He nodded, then looked to the next group of guests behind me. Dismissed so casually. Ugh. Guess that was better than him hitting on me, though.

I continued on into the room. This was so stupid. I could just snap his neck right there and be done with it. The need for a covert assassination seemed unnecessary to me, but Mishka had explained it would look better if a warlock of O’Connor’s status was killed in his home, as discreetly as possible, so I tolerated the minor inconvenience of small talk.

I scanned the room, committing to memory all the exits, the exact positions of the guards, and the powder rooms. After going through the layout in my mind again, I glanced over at the large, sleek steel clock on the far wall. Not even nine yet. I’d planned to wait until the guests left before I killed the O’Connors, which meant it was going to be a very long night.

I attempted to converse with several witches and promptly remembered
why
I hated trying to converse with most witches. They were talking spells and such, so I sipped my bright pink cocktail and listened intently. Or tried to. Even though for three years I’d had Mishka as a roommate, everything they said seemed foreign to me. I feigned amusement at a joke about some crazy spell mix-up, where the user had confused the Latin root for a particular ingredient, and ended up with a recipe for white dove quesadillas. Before they could request such a story from me, I excused myself and looked for the hors d’oeuvres.

My second target, Nathan O’Connor, was AWOL, it seemed. Originally, I had suggested to Mish that I seduce the son at the party, thereby giving me free access to him and his father later. It seemed like an easy plan to me, but she insisted it wouldn’t work. Apparently she wasn’t aware of some of my more womanly skills, but perhaps she was right—I ought to keep it simple.

The sound of the mortals made me want to run around the room slashing all their throats. Literally. I even plotted out what route would let me take out the largest amount of people in the shortest amount of time. Their constant breathing and chatting and laughter...the noises swirled into one awful sound and drove into my brain like a drill. I gritted my teeth and tried to block the sounds out. A full half hour dragged by, and I started fantasizing about mass murder once again.

“Why, hello,” said a man behind me, and I turned to see the bright smile of someone I didn’t recognize. He had dirty blond hair kept short and stylishly messy, and a pair of thin, wire-framed glasses covered his brown eyes. Usually I went for smooth and gorgeous, but he pulled off the somewhat geeky, but unequivocally handsome vibe well. Young, charming, and—by the look of his designer suit—rich too. Smooth skin, slightly crooked grin, tall and broad-shouldered...if I listened I could hear the pump of his blood through his veins... My vampire heart went pitter-patter, shivers dancing along my spine.

Yummy.

No
feeding—must
assassinate
. I had to keep reminding myself I wasn’t there for men or dinner.

“Hello to you.” I met his hand as he reached out in greeting. His fingers were warm, body radiating heat, and I could imagine curling up in bed with him far too easily.

“Well, this is a dull bunch,” a gesture to the crowd, “isn’t it? A party of witches and I don’t think they have a single spell among them that would liven things up. Have you tried the wine?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You’re best not to—even that was subpar. There are, however, some cinnamon squares on the dessert table that I highly recommend.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“James Andrew Lauder,” he introduced himself. He looked at me with some sort of expectation, as if I should recognize the name. I wasn’t familiar with it, and I didn’t know if I should pretend to be.

I opted for cluelessness. “Should that mean something to me?” Faking knowledge would probably land me in a difficult situation at some point and I wanted the evening to run as smoothly as possible.

“No, I suppose not.” His face softened, relaxing. Maybe he was well-known to the fellow guests and was relieved that I wasn’t with preconceived ideas about him.

“I’m terribly sorry.” I tried to will some colour into my cheeks, faking a blush, but it didn’t work.
Hope my tone is convincing—Christ, apologizing is difficult
. “I’ve been traveling a lot and I haven’t been in these circles for a while.”

“I completely understand—it’s unimportant, anyhow, all the ‘Who belongs to what coven’ that goes on at these sorts of things. O’Connor’s annual
Look
at
How
Much
Money
I
Have
gatherings serve no other purpose but to bolster his conviction that he’s better than the rest of us. I’m sure none of that matters to a beauty like you though, Miss...?”

“Helene Walker.”

“Ah.” He smiled, nodded, and unfortunately didn’t look as confused as O’Connor had. “Would that be the Walker coven in Florida?”

Damn—where
did
that
kid
say
they
came
from?

“South Africa,” I corrected him and my smile didn’t falter once. If he started asking too many questions, though, I feared I wouldn’t be able to answer them for long. Then I’d have to lead him away and kill him, and I
hate
having to stash a body on someone else’s turf. “I don’t spend much time there—I’m in Europe, mainly. I’m distantly related by marriage only.”
So don’t ask to see any parlor tricks
.

“I do hope not by yours,” he said with a grin.

Smooth. I liked that. And I didn’t think for a second that a wedding ring would stop
him
.

“Care to dance, Ms. Walker?”

I glimpsed the clock from the corner of my eye. I still had some time to kill. Why the hell not? “Certainly.”

Only a few other couples danced and all of them were near the string quartet, so that’s where we headed. I had a surprisingly good view of the rest of the room from my position. The four inches my high heels added to my height really helped with that.

I surveyed the partygoers over James’ shoulder. Across the room, the elder O’Connor was speaking with several people. Spread out around him, no more than ten feet away, were three sets of two guards. They followed him as he moved from guest to guest, shifting fluidly like water, and every few minutes each would confirm all was well by speaking into the small black communication device pinned to the sleeves of their jackets.

Jeez, it’s like they don’t trust O’Connor’s guests or something. Imagine that.

With the looks the rest of the guests gave our host, it wouldn’t have surprised me if the party turned into a Tarantino movie right then and there; Mish’s parents definitely weren’t the only ones who wanted him dead. If I’d cared about witchy politics in the least, I probably could’ve gotten something out of James. But no, I didn’t give a damn.

Across the room a plain black door was tucked into the wall; it opened and in walked Nathan O’Connor. The son. His hair was a bit shorter than it had been in the picture Mishka gave me, but I had no doubt it was the same man. The straight, hard-edged features could’ve made him ugly but somehow combined to create one pleasing face. Like magic. Though dressed in a black suit and black shirt, he had forgone the tie, and didn’t look pleased to be there: that lovely face was fused in a scowl. While James was cute, Nathan was drop-dead, head turning gorgeous. Scowly, but I could deal with that. Brooding looks bad on me—snarky and fun tends to bring out my eyes more—but I can take it in small doses in a guy.

Perhaps I ought to try the seduction act after all. In the name of a job well done, of course.

Nathan walked through the crowd without giving a second look to anyone and didn’t pause even when hailed by those who apparently knew him. He stopped near his father and spoke to one of the guards. If I focused enough, I would be able to drown out everyone else and hear what he was saying...

“Helene?” James said, and I realized he had been talking to me while I watched my two targets.

Stupid boy. I hate it when they talk without permission
. “Yes?”

“I asked you where you just came from.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” I tore my eyes from the O’Connors to look at him.

“You said you’ve been in Europe. Where was the last place you visited?”

“Oh...Spain.” With dismay, I noticed we were turning to the music and within moments my back was to Nathan and O’Connor Sr.

“Really? I haven’t been there in ages. How did you enjoy it?”

Goddamn it all, the last time I was in Spain was...oh, Christ...the nineteenth century. Why did I have to say Spain?

“It was interesting,” I replied casually.
Just a little war happening, if my memory is accurate
.

“You must have been there for the running of the bulls. Quite barbaric, is it not?”

“Indeed.” By the time we had turned around again, neither of the O’Connors were anywhere to be seen. Damn!

“Was there a big group of animal activists protesting in the nude as well?”

“Uh huh.” If both of them were gone—and a few of Sean’s bodyguards—I would have really liked to know what was going on.

“So do you want to get out of here?” James asked.

“I’m sorry—what?” I said, annoyed that I had lost sight of the two men I planned to kill.

“O’Connor has a lovely home here,” he said, raising a brow suggestively. “Perhaps we could take a tour? Just the two of us?”

Deep breath. Stop being irritated and look at this new opportunity.
I took one look at his lopsided grin and smiled, genuinely. The other guests wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, and seeing the mansion firsthand would really come in handy in a hurry. Plus, James? Totally hot. And if it got boring, I could have a snack.

More importantly, it would be easier to sneak around the house if I could pretend I was a ditzy chick looking for a room with a playboy.

“Why not?” I gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Six

Decapitation is No Laughing Matter

We managed to avoid running into any security, and by the time we reached the second floor, I had young Mr. Lauder partially undressed. I was glad there were no cameras monitoring the hallways, else I might end up in the latest internet porno video. That isn’t something a vampire assassin who wishes to keep a low profile wants for herself.

“You are over eighteen, right?” he mumbled as I yanked his shirt loose from his pants.

Honey, you have no idea
. “Like
way
over.” I kissed him hungrily and pushed his head back so I could follow his throat with my lips. My mouth hovered there over his pulse, the gentle thrum like hummingbird wings against my tongue. Heat suffused my cheeks and gums ached as the change started, little pinpricks giving the telltale sign my fangs were growing...

I forced the change back.
Later
...
I’d
have
just
a
taste
later
...

I came back to his lips and my head swirled as his tongue swept past mine, tasting vaguely of cinnamon. His body was warm—so much so, that I imagined I felt cold in comparison, even though I had fed only days ago. I craved that warmth...knowing it, being a part of it.

He didn’t seem to notice any difference in my body temperature though. Or, if he did, he didn’t give a damn. His fingers ran up my arms, over my shoulders, to my neck, and through my hair...