Nemesis: Paranormal Angel Romance (Realm of Flame and Shadow Book 2) Read online

  His hold on her relaxed. More irritated with the vampire than she’d ever been, she twisted around. But he didn’t release her. Instead he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her securely against his chest.

  His cock scorched through the silk of her dress, an immovable reminder of exactly why she had no intention of letting Meg spoil this elusive encounter. With only the greatest difficulty she prevented herself from squirming in his possessive embrace.

  Meg looked completely pissed off. As if the last thing she wanted was to spoil Rowan’s fun. Why the hell are you, then?

  “Is this your friend?” His breath tickled her ear. She tried and failed not to shiver with reaction. God, she’d been more aroused by a simple kiss than any of her infrequent encounters during the last few years. Then again, there’d been nothing simple about that kiss. Even the memory of it was enough to send renewed darts of dark pleasure arrowing through her.

  “Yes.” Her voice croaked, not sounding nearly as sexy as the guy’s raw whisper. She cleared her throat, but it didn’t help clear her brain. “What’s the matter, Meg?”

  Meg shot the guy an assessing glance and clearly approved, if her then lingering look was anything to go by. Rowan gritted her teeth and glared at the vampire, as an unfamiliar pain burned through her chest. If Meg thought for one second that she—

  “We have to go.” Meg, finally dragging her attention back to Rowan, sounded infuriated. “We have no choice.”

  She wrapped her hands around her almost-lover’s wrists and tugged herself free. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or insulted when he didn’t try to detain her. He had a quizzical smile on his face as if this interruption didn’t unduly disturb him. He was obviously confident that, no matter what the crisis, she would choose to go with him.

  Somewhat mollified she stroked her hand over his chest. “I won’t be a second,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure.” He tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his pants. It was hard to drag her fascinated gaze from him and focus on Meg.

  The vampire took her hand and pulled her closer. “He has returned,” she hissed into Rowan’s ear. “The London Enclave has been summoned.”

  Meg was trembling with outrage. She hated being dictated to, and over the last couple of years her dissatisfaction had become more vocal. But when the ancient lord of the Enclave turned up, vampires in his employ had no choice but to dance to his tune.

  “Fine. But you don’t need me.” She glanced over her shoulder and relief washed through her. He hadn’t turned his attention elsewhere. She turned back to Meg. “He won’t know I’m not there. It’s not as if he ever acknowledges any of us is it?”

  Sakarbaal, head of the Elector High Council, despised dhampirs. She’d been in his presence on only a couple of occasions and she had no desire to repeat the experience.

  “That isn’t the point.” Meg, who for all her faults at least didn’t harbor any prejudice against Rowan for her half-blood status, scowled. “You know that isn’t the point.”

  Of course she did. The Ancients who comprised the High Council, despite their mandate to shelter unwanted dhampirs, had decreed half-bloods were not allowed to mingle socially with humans. Dhampirs, unlike vampires, couldn’t be trusted to keep the secret of their heritage.

  As far as the upper echelons of the Enclave were concerned, highly trained dhampirs were nothing more than hunting dogs that needed to be kept on a tight leash when they weren’t on duty. Thankfully that attitude didn’t permeate throughout the entire organization, and they were—at least, those outside Eastern Europe—well paid for their services.

  But if Sakarbaal discovered his wishes were being flouted there was no telling what he might do. She had a terrifying image of being shipped off to the heart of the Enclave’s administration in Romania and ice trickled through her veins.

  She’d rather die than endure the kind of existence half-bloods suffered at the hands of the true ancients.

  Sakarbaal would never call her into his presence. He wouldn’t have the first idea whether she was in the London branch of the Enclave’s Grosvenor Square mansions or not. But no matter how much she wanted to scorn the vampire lord the risk was too great.

  The bitter truth was that when Sakarbaal was in town, all dhampirs who weren’t on a mission had to go into lockdown.

  Meg was right. Neither of them had a choice. She was going to have to bail on the hottest guy she’d ever met. One who’d managed to turn her on with nothing more than a kiss and seductive whisper.

  And she would never see him again.

  It was more than disappointment that ate through her breast. More than frustrated lust and impotent fury at how little control she really had over her life. It was crazy to feel this sense of loss, as though a fundamental piece of her was somehow disintegrating. She didn’t even know his name. Knew nothing about him at all. And yet she couldn’t shift the feeling that, if only she’d been given this one night with him, her future would have changed direction irrevocably.

  Slowly she turned. Who was she trying to fool? Tonight would have been nothing more than mindless sex. Why did she still secretly crave a normal future? Normal was something she’d never be. She was something a normal man would never want. Her dreams were just that.

  Dreams.

  She tried to ignore the way her heart tugged as she walked back to him. He hadn’t moved and appeared oblivious to the countless glances he was receiving from both sexes. She could almost believe he hadn’t taken his gaze from her since the moment she’d left his side.

  “I’m sorry.” More than he’d ever know. “Family emergency. I have to go.” And as soon she turned her back, he’d be hitting on another willing conquest. He wouldn’t even remember her name by the end of the night. She didn’t even try to pretend that didn’t hurt.

  His sinfully illegal smile faded into a frown, but instead of turning from her his focus sharpened, as if he saw something more in her words, a deeper meaning. What was the matter with her? Having a vivid imagination wasn’t always such a great thing. It was far more likely he was just suffering from a headache.

  “Are you free tomorrow night?”

  “What?” The word blurted before she could stop herself. Had he just asked her out?

  “Tomorrow.” His lips quirked at her gauche response. “We could do dinner.”

  He was asking her out. On a date. She was so staggered her vocal cords seized up. Only when Meg gave her a savage prod on her shoulder did she realize she was in imminent danger of gaping.

  “Sure.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high to her ears but hopefully he wouldn’t notice with the volume of noise in the club. “Do you know Estella’s on the King’s Road?” It was one of the few restaurants she knew personally. She and a couple of her fellow dhampirs hung out there on occasion.

  “I’m sure I’ll find it.” He looked as if he was about to say something else, before changing his mind. “Eight o’clock?”

  “OK.” Was she supposed to say anything else? What was standard protocol in this situation? The last time anyone had asked her out on a proper date she’d been sixteen and madly in love.

  Meg didn’t give her the chance to agonize. She grabbed her arm and pulled her away and Rowan didn’t bother trying to hide the grin of triumph. What did it matter that Sakarbaal’s unexpected arrival had ruined her plans tonight?

  Because tomorrow she was going on a date.

  Chapter 4

  Rowan

  The London HQ of the Enclave was two adjacent Georgian residences in Grosvenor Square. From the outside they looked perfectly normal, except maybe for the imposing stone phoenixes that flanked the doors. As far as the outside world was aware, both mansions were divided into luxury apartments.

  It just went to show how very little the outside world knew of its internal affairs.

  She checked on Lily in the medical wing, which comprised the entire floor of one of the mansions and would cause the top biochemists on the
planet to salivate with envy if they ever caught a glimpse of it.

  When Lily had regained consciousness after the attack, Rowan had often visited her, and as the weeks went by an unexpected friendship formed between them. Despite the horrible circumstances, Lily’s wit was razor sharp and medically her pregnancy seemed to have progressed well.

  But something wasn’t right now. She sat on the edge of the bed and took Lily’s hand. “Hey, it’s me.” She leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Guess what? I’m going on a hot date tomorrow.”

  She hoped the secret might bring Lily out of the strange, lethargic state she’d fallen into a couple of days ago. But there was no reaction.

  Rowan bit her lip and gazed into Lily’s eerily lifeless eyes. Yesterday, when she’d asked one of the doctors what the problem was, he’d just sighed and said it was to be expected.

  Whatever that meant. Although she hadn’t asked, he must have seen the question on her face since he’d elaborated.

  “They all go through this at the end. You remember the other human women you brought in? They were just the same.”

  She’d mumbled in response, but the awful truth was, she hadn’t become friendly with any of the other three women she’d saved during the last six years. She’d taken them to the Enclave, and that had been the last she’d seen of them. They had given birth and, after their memories were modified, been allowed to return to their lives. Except for the last victim, Zoë. Rowan had discovered by accident that she hadn’t survived the birth.

  It had shaken her. Badly. To have gone through everything she did—only to die when freedom was so close.

  She pulled her mind back to Lily. There was only one thing she could do to help her friend, and although in her heart she knew it couldn’t work, she had to try. With a deep breath she closed her eyes and concentrated on allowing the healing properties of her amethysts to flow through her and into Lily. But the other woman remained as lifeless as a rag doll.

  Feeling helpless, she plumped up the pillows. And saw the corner of a book poking out from beneath the bottom pillow.

  Her heart slammed against her chest and she stealthily pulled it free from its vulnerable hiding place. It was her mother’s precious journal that she’d lent to Lily just a couple of days before her health had deteriorated.

  The journal was the only thing she had of her mother’s. Lily had been visibly touched and promised to keep it safe.

  It wasn’t safe anymore. Heart heavy, Rowan slid it beneath her coat, and retreated to her attic bedroom.

  Far from the drafty, depressing hovel she was certain the Electors envisaged for their dhampirs when they’d passed down that edict, the attic bedrooms here were the last word in luxury.

  She retrieved her stiletto, pulled off her boots and curled up on the queen size bed before pulling out her phone. She was in dire need of some advice. And since her fellow dhampirs didn’t date, and she didn’t have the natural advantages Meg possessed, that left hunting down the answers herself.

  “They hauled you back too, then.”

  She looked up from an article promising her the best sex ever and saw Brad, a dhampir two years her senior, glaring at her from the doorway. He had an irresistibly Byronic look about him and when he radiated leashed fury the effect was breathtaking.

  Unfortunately, her admiration was purely academic. His dark beauty and undercurrent of restlessness only roused her affection, not her libido.

  “Just as I was about to have my birthday shag.” She dropped her phone next to her so he wouldn’t see what she’d been reading. He could charm a human girl at twenty paces. He’d never need a step-by-step guide on how to flirt, but for some reason he was entirely oblivious to his lethal attraction.

  Instead of making a sardonic response he kicked the door shut and prowled into her room, like a caged panther seeking escape. Coiled tension thrummed in the air and formless unease shivered through her, raising goosebumps along her arms.

  Before she could ask him what the problem was, he abruptly sat on the edge of her bed, forearms resting on his thighs, hunched over as he rolled something between his hands.

  “We’re nothing to them but fucking puppets.” Bitterness twisted each word. She shifted across the bed to sit next to him, and gave his shoulder a comforting pat. He wouldn’t be this pissed off if he’d been summoned back from a mission. Maybe he’d been on an illicit night out tonight, like her.

  “Were you about to get lucky too?”

  He looked at her then, and the despair in his dark eyes stabbed through her heart.

  “I’ve been seeing a girl for the last two months.”

  “What?” She gripped his arm, trying to ignore the hurt that twisted through her. She’d told him everything about Steven at the time. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know you can trust me.” She wouldn’t even have told Meg without Brad’s consent.

  “It had nothing to do with trusting you.” His voice was raw, and a shudder of presentiment inched along her spine. What wasn’t he telling her? “I didn’t want to put you in any danger.”

  “Danger?” She frowned, not sure what he meant. “Why would knowing that put me in danger?”

  “I didn’t want to risk it, all right?” He sounded savage. “But it’s over. The fucking bastards got to her. Ripped out her throat. There was nothing I could do by the time I got there. She’d already gone.”

  Nausea churned as grief for Brad and the unknown girl crushed her chest, and she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Crimson drenched memories clawed through her mind. Steven, holding her hands, telling her he didn’t want to live without her. And then the blood, so much blood, spraying from his torn throat. The attack had been so swift, so unexpected, that she’d frozen for vital seconds and lost her chance for vengeance. But the stark truth was she should’ve been able to sense the danger before the killing strike. She should have been able to save him.

  All her training, useless in the one moment when she’d needed it most.

  “I’m so sorry.” She threaded her fingers through his, trying to ease his pain. His guilt. They both knew this girl would still be alive if she hadn’t become involved with Brad.

  “But guess what?” He tightened his fingers around hers. “Before I even had time to process it, Alex appeared outside her window. I was so fucking messed up I let him in without thinking. Didn’t take him a second to knock me out and bring me back here. But here’s the thing, Rowan. How the hell did he know where I was?”

  Alex, a four-hundred-year-old vampire who’d been turned at the age of twenty-five, was as close to Brad as Meg was to her. Surely he wasn’t suggesting Alex had something to do with this murder?

  “Maybe he followed you? God, Brad.” She cupped his face and forced him to look at her. “You can’t think Alex killed her. It’s just not possible. He’s your friend.”

  His expression was bleak. “Who found you after Steven was murdered in the street?”

  She reared back, denial pounding through her brain.

  Meg had appeared that night, seemingly from nowhere, and dragged her from the murder scene before she’d had time to fully register what had happened. Before the police had arrived. Before she’d been pulled into the murder inquiry.

  But how did she know where I was that night?

  “No.” She shook her head as if that might lend power to the word. “I don’t believe it. You don’t believe it either. We both know who’s responsible.”

  Not all vampires pledged allegiance to the Enclave of the Phoenix. There were countless alliances across the world. Most of them posed no threat. A handful was a force to be respected but only one wielded power as great as the Enclave presided over by Sakarbaal.

  The Strigoi Echelon, as ancient as the Enclave, was their one true enemy. They, like the ancients in the Enclave, despised half-bloods. Unlike the Enclave, they didn’t make any attempt to nurture the offspring of vampiric rapes. It was common knowledge they considered hunting down the loved ones of filthy dhamp
irs a fine sport.

  Brad didn’t answer. He uncurled his fingers and she saw a small phial of dark amber liquid in his palm. Uncomprehending, she looked at his grim face. Why had he brought his medication with him?

  “Ever wondered what shit they put in this stuff?” He held the top of the phial between finger and thumb. “Ever wondered what would really happen if we stopped taking it?”

  “You know what’ll happen.” She understood what he was saying. She’d gone through the same doubts seven years ago. And look where it had got her. “Don’t you remember what happened to me when I stopped taking it after Steven died?”

  Even now the memory was enough to give her nightmares. Without the synthetic blood substitute to curb her primal impulses she’d slid into a vortex of mindless self-destruction. And the pain, like acid eating her from the inside out, had been unimaginable.

  “Withdrawal.” His entire focus was on the glowing phial. Amber acid, they called it between themselves. “But if you could get past that, you’d be free.” His eyes were glazed, lost in his own fantasy world. “Dhampirs don’t need to be medicated in order to survive. You know that.”

  “Yes, but they live like savages, scavenging in the gutters.” Free? What exactly did he mean by that? They would still be half vampire, half human. They would still neither fit nor be accepted in either world. What kind of freedom was that? Despite the restrictions imposed on dhampirs by the High Council, at least here in the HQ’s mansion they were surrounded by every luxury. “That’s no life. And they rarely live to see twenty.”

  He gave a bitter laugh and pity glowed in his eyes, as though she was an incredibly naïve human. “And our projected lifespan is so bloody great, isn’t it? Can you name one of us who’s lived to see their twenty-seventh birthday?”

  I don’t want to have this conversation.

  She didn’t want to think about all the dhampirs she’d known who had died horrible deaths while serving the wishes of the High Council. She especially didn’t want to think about her dhampir friend Belinda who’d been slain less than six months ago, while servicing a high-ranking member of the Strigoi. Belinda’s specialty had been going undercover as a brainless sex nymph and extracting vital Intel from her victims. She’d despised that part of her job, but it wasn’t as though they were given any choice in their assignments, and Belinda had excelled at her duties. Right up until that last suicidal mission.