Page 36 of Tested
Chapter Eleven
Trajan
I rise to find David on his laptop, Connor holding a phone conference with Smith, an impatient voicemail from my real estate agent Glory, and a summons from Jacques.
A summons for me to appear at his home on Mulholland Drive no later than an hour after sunset.Well, shit. What time is it?My phone says seven o’clock, which means I have another hour or so before it’s dark enough for me to leave the house. Jacques lives on Mulholland Drive, which is basically just a winding route uphill from the house we’re staying in.
I leave my men to their work and get ready for my maker. With enough product, even my hair will lie flat, so I shower, dress, and slather on the hair dressing. Rather deliberately, I fish my gold nugget ring from the lock box I keep hidden in an old printer, a reminder to both me and Jacques that I’ve got resources of my own.
Pulling into a parking spot in front of Jacques’ house, I check the time. It’s just eight thirty, so I’m early. His house is hidden behind a profusion of green. Palms send their spiky branches up through the shrubbery, and trailing bougainvillea hangs heavy from a trellis along the front walk.
I knock, and while I wait I test the air for the scent of trouble. I catch Jacques’ cold and familiar scent. Human, maybe more than one. And elf? No.What is it?
A young woman opens the door, distracting me. She’s beautiful, her head shaved bald, her eyes accentuated with kohl and long, long lashes, and a dainty gold ring through her nasal septum. She’s not wearing much else, and following her out to the patio, I can’t help but admire the smoothness of her skin and the way the muscles in her buttocks flex.
Jacques is reclining on a lounge chair. He’s dressed like an old-time Hollywood big wheel, in gabardine slacks, a silk shirt, and an ascot the color of plums. He’s staring across the swimming pool where another young woman is doing laps. If she’s got a bathing suit on, it’s the same color as her skin.
The pool has lights embedded under the water and torches line the perimeter of the space. The combination gives the scene a flickering quality, as if everything is fluid, mobile.
And it makes the shadows darker.
Jacques raises a hand and points at the empty chair closest to him, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge my presence. I sit, and I wait.
It’s hard, but I don’t initiate a conversation. He called me here; he can explain why, or we can both watch naked women all night long. I don’t care. They don’t move me. They’re more like watching mobile sculptures than anything that would set my dick on fire.
The woman who met me at the door is sitting on the edge of the pool, facing us, and the swimmer has come to a stop between her knees. Jacques’ lips quirk, as if he’s pleased with the performance, and soon even I can tell where the swimmer has her mouth.
I lied when I said the women don’t move me. I find myself riveted in response to the intensity of the bald woman’s expression and the way the light hits her throat when she tips her head back. In a surprisingly short amount of time, she cries out and her body shudders. She drops onto her elbows, her legs spread wide, and the swimmer ducks under the water.
When she comes up again, she pulls herself out of the pool and both women laugh. Jacques stirs and then coughs, holding a white linen handkerchief to his mouth.
A white linen handkerchief spotted with blood.
“You’re harboring a snake,” he says finally.
I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of asking. “Guess I like living dangerously.”
“You don’t believe me, do you. Idiot.” Jacques coughs again, and for the first time all night, his cold silver gaze meets mine. “I have a job for you.”
I nod, waiting for him to continue, and after a measured moment, he does. “I put up with your deviance for all these years, but now you’ve found a new low.”
I gape at him. Never once in all of 150 years has he given me any indication that my preferences bother him.
“And in my house, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t mind the little wolf. He might turn out to be useful. It’s the other one.” He pauses for another cough. “I never liked him, you know. Never did, and when he pretended to be dead, I was relieved. Of course, then he magically reappears and you run right after him with your tongue out and your tail wagging.”
I’d say something, but my jaw has dropped to the floor. This is Jacques talking, my maker, the person I’ve known longer than anyone else. He’s impulsive, mercurial even, but rarely mean. I should be insulted but I’m too stunned.
He waves a pale hand at me. “You know I’m right. You can’t even defend yourself. Now he’s digging into something he should stay the hell away from, and so before you make an even bigger fool of yourself, I’m going to help you out.”
“How?” I grind the word out.
“Kill him.”
If I was stunned before, now I’m in shock.
