Dark Baphomet: A Vampire Romance

8: There's Etiquette To Be Followed

The ride was so short my ass didn't have a chance to start hurting. And silent, aside from the ragged breathing of Jhez and I trying to catch our breath. Me, mostly, though. We sat on the cold metal panels of the van's stripped floor and leaned shoulder to shoulder. Taking comfort from the proximity of each other's auras.

This wasn't how I preferred to cope with the ache of a hangover pull. Close proximity eased the pain but reinforced the connection, which made it last longer before it dissipated. With every block that slid past, my discomfort eased, and my dislike increased. I decided to hate him, because I could. I had that much free will, and so I exercised it energetically.

Konaton rode shotgun, a steel mesh grate separating him from the cargo compartment. When the van stopped, he got out and opened the sliding door.

He just stood there staring at us, at first. "Are you two going to come along peacefully, or is Lester here going to carry you both all the way upstairs by the scruffs of your necks?"

Jhez gave a put-upon sigh and got up, stooping until she stepped out onto the sidewalk. She brushed at the pleats of her skirt and dislodged a splinter of wood from the knee of her argyle thigh-highs. "Ooh, you're so lucky that didn't rip, I just got done darning a hole in these once already this evening because of a vamp lacking brain power."

Konaton arched his dark brows but didn't comment, just tilted his head to look past Jhez and catch my gaze. He motioned to Lucy with a jut of his chin. "You need to leave that here, if you don't mind. I'd like to make sure my DNA gets removed from it before it's returned to your possession."

I exchanged a glance with Jhez, then grinned at him. "You wanna clean Lucy, you go right ahead. I appreciate that. She likes Murphy's Oil, Brasso, and Old English." I held the slugger out toward Lester.

"I'll take good care of Lucy, don't you worry," he said with a smile, curling both meaty hands around the handle. The solid wood bat resembled a slender twig in his grip.

I clambered out of the van with none of Jhez's grace. "Surprised you didn't want to try taking him down again," I murmured, stepping up behind her.

"Still might," she replied. "Haven't decided. But damn, look at him."

A pale slash of scar tissue twisted along the side of his jaw up toward his right ear. It made me think his little sister had at him with her favorite bubblegum lip gloss. Jhez had a valid point, made glaringly obvious when she stepped toward him and her head of wild red hair only came up to his chin. He had the reach on her with the extra height.

I canted my head and judged the height of their hips. "You got the reach on him if you use a roundhouse," I offered. "Otherwise we're stuck tagging along."

"Not helping," Jhez mumbled over her shoulder, flipping her hair.

"Leave it there for now, Lester," Konaton ordered. "You've got rear guard. We've gotta make sure both of them get upstairs to see the boss."

"Right-o, Konaton. Coming!" The van's suspension complained loudly as Lester shifted his weight around and emerged from the back. He set my club on the floor in a rut so it wouldn't roll around, and then slid the door shut.

"Let's go, both of you. Don't give me any more grief, please. This was supposed to be my evening off. You got a problem you take it up with Garthelle." Konaton turned and led the way upstairs, the same path I'd taken earlier.

By the time he knocked on the door to the suite— with a great deal more care, mind, than his crew of goons had on our apartment door— my vision was as red as the hallway. I seethed with hatred. What had begun as a sharp stab had become nothing more than a downright obnoxious itch between my shoulder blades, which didn't bode well at all.

The door slid open. Konaton stepped back and planted one hand on the nape of my neck, the other on Jhez's, and walked us forward through the doorway. The blackness in the room enveloped us. The very air throbbed with disapproval as heavy as the dragon's blood incense that burned my throat and made my eyes water.

Konaton's grip on the back of my neck tightened as my john appeared out of the gloom. Were they working with Garthelle? The closer he came, the more Konaton's grip clamped down on me. I got the message, loud and clear— there would be times for snark and sarcasm, but this wasn't one of them.

"Konaton!" the vamp exclaimed. "You return looking as though you've tussled with a pair of heavyweight streetfighters, not a NIghtwalker. Or two," he drawled in amusement.

Something was wrong.

The vamp studied Jhez, who bared her teeth at him in the most inhospitable smile I've ever witnessed. Then he turned toward me, stepped closer, and hummed in satisfaction.

His goons might've struggled distinguishing us, but the vamp had no such difficulty.

He doesn't look at all as I remember him.

I made out specks of gold scattering through the various hues of yellow in his irises. Daffodil, mustard, and sunlight. A widow's peak hid beneath artfully messy hair with just enough length to sink my fingers in, and soft as silk. I remembered that much. But it hadn't been pulled back at the nape of his neck. Nor did I recall that strong jaw, speckled with scruff this late in the day. Or night. Whatever. Early morning, yeah, that's what it was. The sun had been coming up when I headed home earlier.

This offended vamp was cutting into my beauty sleep. A muscle twitched in his cheek. Very patrician nose, I noticed, as his nostrils flared. His animated brows twitched and dipped into a scowl. I didn't recall that detail of his features, either.

I swallowed hard. Having put all the pieces together at last, I came to the conclusion that I might be in a seriously large hole. No doubt about it, this vamp was the Monsieur of York. Ruling vampire of the metro.

Why didn't I notice all these little details when he picked me up?

I had not been tripping on anything. Every bit as sober then as now. All things considered, I was more sober then. Hangovers had a tendency to make perceptions . . . wonky.

"Nicely done, Konaton." The Monsieur of York actually smiled over my shoulder at his goon. "Very nicely done."

"My apologies for the mess, monsieur." Konaton moderated his tone, actually sounding contrite. "They did not come quietly."

"You're fucking right we didn't," Jhez snapped, glancing at him before smiling at the vamp. "In his defense, Monsieur Garthelle, I frequent a dojo in my neighborhood. His injuries might've been avoided had he bothered to knock in a civil manner and announce himself. Speaking of, I hope you intend to pay for the replacement or repair of our reinforced door and any collateral damage to our flat. Your staff weren't gentle in the application of their battering ram."