Page 2 of Soulmates
“Jacques.” I pause a few feet away from him.
“Sit.” He gestures to the cushioned chair opposite a low table and sits. On the table, there are two champagne flutes half filled with blood. “I took the liberty of pouring us a beverage.”
He might be my maker, but I wouldn’t have survived all these years without a healthy sense of suspicion. I didn’t watch him pour the blood, and if he slipped something-or-other in the glass, I’m done. He may or may not have a reason for wanting me truly dead, so I lift the delicate crystal and pretend to sip. It smells like blood—hell, it smells a lot better than the shit I get in the bag—but I don’t trust the situation.
The pool is a mirror, reflecting the flickering torches that line the perimeter.
“You’re late.” Jacques stops and coughs hard into his fist. The smell of blood strengthens, and it’s not from our drinks.
I shrug. “Traffic in Santa Monica…” I let the sentence drift. Anyone who’s spent time in LA really doesn’t need to hear the details. Traffic sucks.It’s a thing.
“Lookinggood.” His smile stays in place, chilling me with his joie de vivre. “It’s been too long, my friend.” He raises his glass.
I tap his glass with my own. He drinks. I sniff, making it quick and subtle, then fake a sip. “You look well.” His suit is midnight blue, perfectly tailored. His shirt and tie are the color of moonlight. I do my best not to get trapped in the cold light of his silver eyes. He owns me, fair and square. I just need to wait it out, to see howhe wants me torepay my debt this time.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you since…” He pauses, stabbing me with the memory. He hasn’t seen me sinceConnor,sinceI lostthe one thing that made this endless life worth living.
I force myself back to thepresent,thoughthe past claws and scratches. “It’s beena while.”
He relaxes, gently twirling his glass between his fingers. “How’s business? Club doing well?”
“It’s fine.” At least things look okay when I bother to read the monthly statements.
“Drink up, Trajan. I have a situation that needs your attention.”
I fake another sip. “Figured.”
He shifts sharply, clasping his hands, his knuckles nearly brushing my sleeve. “I figured you’d figure.” Again with the chilling smile. “I need to put that big body to work, give you something to do besides feel sorry for yourself.”
It takes everything I have not to respond to his jibe. He has no idea what I’d shared with Connor.None.
“Look at you. When’s the last time you fed? Properly fed?”
I stare into the ruby liquid in my glass, the torchlight flickering across the surface. I have a deal with a blood bank. Yeah, the stuff is old, but Icanget it cheap.
“Fine. Be that way.” Jacques sets his glass down gently. A young woman walks out of the house. She’s pretty and sleek, and small bruises mar her throat. She smiles at Jacques and slips off a soft gray robe, revealing a swimsuit of the same color. It’s a one-piece suit that reveals more skin than some bikinis, and the stretch fabric has a pearlescent sheen. There’s something off about her, but I can’t place it, and in the grand scheme of things, Jacques’s sketchy girlfriend is down on my list of concerns.
“Have a good swim, baby doll,” Jacques says, the predator replaced by a besotted boy.
She trails a toein the glassy water. “Always, doll baby.” She shoots him a smile and dives neatly, swimming underwater to the opposite end.
Jacques is watching her, a dopey smile on his face, and I’m watching him. He’s been a romantic for over two hundred years, and this girl could be any of fifty, maybe more.Baby dollanddoll babyare extreme, though, even by his standards.
A cough takes him, sudden, and he fists his trousers. When he speaks, his voice is raspy. “You’ve heard of Randolph Collins, right? The American Were Authority Alpha?”
I unclench my jaw enough to say yes. The werewolves have this country organized in an impossibly arcane fashion, with family packs rolling up to regional, then national levels. The only thing I know for sure is there’s one guy on top, and I wouldn’t want to run across him in a deserted building. Vampires and werewolves coexist, but we aren’t friends.
“Well, Mr. Collins called me the other day, and he asked me a favor.” Between his frosty smile and his silver eyes, Jacques could freeze my soul. “His son is coming to LA for spring break, and he needs someone to keep an eye on him.
“The kid’s name is David.” He keeps his voice low. “He’ll arrive on Saturday and he’s here until the twenty-seventh. You’ll just need to hang around and, you know—”
Doll Baby rises from the pool like a modern Aphrodite, and Jacques is distracted by the rivulets of water running down her thighs. Or that’s my guess, anyway. Still, he’s left me hanging.What am I supposed to know?
“Hang around and keep him alive.”
Our glasses clink together.
“I mean, if the Alpha’s calling me, there must be some kind of trouble.”
