Page 61 of Redeemed
Or worse.
The strigoi are closing in. David swipes at the werecat but the thing doesn’t let go of its grip on his shoulder. Connor must see the strigoi—his head is up, ears alert. He dips his head, then kicks the pinned werecat in the head. The thing goes limp, and he makes a run at the strigoi.
They scatter, still heading in our direction but coming from different angles. David lets his legs go soft, catching the werecat off guard. The cat’s jaw loosens and David gives a mighty thrust with all four legs. He’s free of the werecat, and now he’s the aggressor.
I can’t leave. Not without knowing both of them are safe. Connor’s playing pinball with the strigoi, darting from one to the other, threatening them with his hooves and teeth. If I had a gun, I’d take aim at the cat David’s fighting, but my only weapons are my speed and my strength.
David’s moving more slowly, but he lunges at the cat, getting his teeth into the loose skin at the back of its neck. The werecat screeches and claws, but David manages to pin it to the dirt. He locks his jaw and shakes. There’s a crack, and the werecat goes still.
Connor gallops over, rolls of foamy sweat sliding over his graceful neck and shoulders. I don’t wait to see if the strigoi have given up, but trusting that Connor will keep David safe, I run for the car.
Now we have a better idea of what we’re up against. Jacques has called shifters to him and has managed to create strigoi. That’s in addition to his vampire children and any number of other supernaturals.
Connor may not like it, but I need to turn the human. I won’t be able to fight Jacques any other way.
Rolling Hills Estates might be the least likely name for a vampire’s lair ever. When I think of rolling hills, I see a woman in a dirndl spinning and singing about how the hills are alive. There’s too much sunshine for one of us.
Traffic was abysmal, even by LA’s standards. The map said we were traveling twenty miles. Reality said it would take us over an hour to get there. Between the battle with the werecats, the battle with traffic, and the battle with the security guard at the gate—the whole town of Rolling Hills is fenced in to keep the riffraff out—we arrive at exactly two minutes to midnight. That’s going to have to be close enough.
Madame Packard’s house is a comfortable Mediterranean style, with bougainvillea and ivy covering the white plaster walls. We park in the driveway behind a black Rolls Royce, and before we get out of the car, Connor takes hold of my arm.
“You sure?” The tension thrumming through him ratchets up my own. If I say “No,” he’ll have us back on the road before I can catch my breath.
“Yes.” Because my doubts are my own.
David’s sitting in the middle of the rear seat. He leans forward and covers Connor’s hand with his. He doesn’t say anything but the contact helps settle me.
“Come on, Cliffie.” Sheena opens the door behind me. She and Cliffe get out, giving the three of us some privacy. We don’t really need it. I’ve heard Connor’s arguments and he’s heard mine, and as usual, David’s the link holding us together.
“We should go.” My voice is rough. I glance from one of them to the other. “If things don’t go as I hope they will, I want you to get out sooner than later. Don’t engage. Leave me to deal with Madame Packard and her crew.”
Connor’s sharp indrawn breath is his only response.
“Guido, Guido, Guido.” David squeezes my arm. “We’re with you come hell or pissed-off vampire. Now let’s do this.”
The moment ends and we climb out of the rental car. With David at my right hand and Connor at my left, we cross the manicured lawn to the front door. We’d stuck with the all-black color scheme, with Cliffe and David leading the Goth brigade. Sheena and Connor look chic. I look somber.
The doorbell triggers a musical chime and we don’t have to wait long before the woman from the restaurant, Gillian, opens it.
She clasps her hands in front of her chest, her smile the very definition of delight. She’s dressed in a long, wine-colored gown and her curls are held away from her face with a slender gold band. “You did come! I was afraid you’d change your mind.”
I was afraid of that, too. Not because I have any philosophical objection to creating another vampire but because I’d never acknowledged my own power in that way. If Madame Packard is wrong and I fall short of what’s needed, things could go very badly. The man will die and likely so will I.
But if I do meet my final death, Jacques won’t be able to give me orders and Connor will be safe. And with or without me, I trust Connor to save the Princess and stop Jacques’ ultimate plan.
I reach out and Gillian clasps my hand. “I’m honored to take part in something so meaningful.”
Gillian’s eyes grow damp with light pink tears. “Come in, please.”
Still holding my hand, she leads us inside. The marble entryway opens into a series of rooms. The one Gillian leads us to is small and cozy, with a small fire in the fireplace, thick carpet on the floor, and a large window with a view of downtown LA.
Madame Delia Packard is ensconced in the center of a large, L-shaped sofa. The bearded vampire who’d been with her at the restaurant sits next to her, his glower a sharp contrast to Gillian’s happiness. A human man sits alone in an upholstered chair, the kind that reclines with a lever on the side.
“Welcome, Trajan Gall.” Madame Packard lifts her hand and I bend over it, pressing a kiss to her cold flesh. “I’m so pleased you’re here.”
If she notices that my entourage outnumbers hers, she doesn’t let on. No doubt she can draw on unseen resources if necessary, a theory I do not want to test. Sheena and Cliffe stay in the doorway while Connor and David stick close to my side. Gillian perches on the human’s lap, running her fingers through his hair.
“I don’t think you’ve met my companions,” I say and at Madame Packard’s expectant nod, I make introductions.
