Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7)

Black Arts (Jane Yellowrock #7) Page 28

Deep inside, Beast chuffed and flicked her ears. Fun, she thought at me.

“Besides, I have an idea or two that might help.”

“No backstabbing. And I mean literal backstabbing,” I said. Eli just looked thoughtful.

Four security types met us inside the air lock, two pairs of twins, all male, all with military-length haircuts, and all dressed in black pants and white shirts. “Ms. Yellowrock, Mr. Younger,” one said. “Your weapons, please.”

“You can have the guns, but the stakes and knives stay with us,” I said. “I’ve been invited to spar with Leo and have a feeling I’ll need my claws. Blades,” I corrected quickly.

“One moment,” one said. He murmured into his mouthpiece, listened, and then looked at me. “Mr. Dumas says that will be acceptable, but he insists that you each be accompanied by two security. You’ll have to wait while backup arrives.”

“Fine by me,” I said. Four security for two guests? Someone was taking my suggestions to extremes. However, Eli and I together could probably take down an entire squad, so maybe not. I unbuckled my holsters and started placing my handguns in the black lacquered trays. Beside me, Eli did the same, but with far greater reluctance. Eli liked his weapons. “All of them, Eli,” I said. “Next we get frisked.”

Eli shook his head at that and said to the security, “Get fresh and die.”

The security guy who had been doing the talking said, “Former SEAL here. I’ll wipe the floor with you, army boy.”

Eli grinned, showing his teeth. “You can try.”

“Men,” I muttered. And not in a nice way.

• • •

We were led through vamp headquarters until we reached the elevator. I had never been entirely comfortable with the elevator, knowing that it went to parts of the building that were inaccessible by stairs. Which seemed unsafe in case of fire, unless the vamps had escape tunnels. Which they did. But I hadn’t been shown where they all were either. I figured I’d have to become Leo’s Enforcer for real for that to happen, and I wasn’t that interested. All six of us crowded into the cramped area, the smell of blood and humans and steroids filling the airless space as the doors swished closed. Some humans were using gym candy. I wondered briefly what effect anabolic steroids had on vamps who drank the blood of servants who were using, then let the thought flutter away. I had more important things to worry about. The leader twin swiped his card and the elevator moved.

We were let out on a floor I didn’t recognize, though I did recognize the same make and model of security cameras that Bruiser, Eli, and I had installed on all the other floors. Too much to ask that I’d get paid for the design down here too. Dang vamps.

The hallway was carpeted. We passed what looked like storage rooms and locker rooms, one for men and one for women. We passed a lounge with couches and a small kitchen, smelling of old pizza and tacos.

The reek of vamp and blood and aggression swirled on the air currents, pushed by the ventilation system. Beast peered out through my eyes and purred, Fun. A small smile pulled on my lips, and her delight peered through my eyes. A sideways glance by one guard let me know that my eyes were glowing gold. Beast sent a shot of adrenaline through me. Fun, she thought again. Like finding new territory filled with big prey.

Down, girl, I thought at her.

The guard opened a door and the stink of sweat and blood and testosterone whiffed out at me. The room we entered was sized for a basketball court, one with various lines on it that allowed it to become tennis, multiple wrestling rings, and areas for martial arts mats to be placed. Tonight the martial arts pads were down. I had halfway been hoping Leo had something else in mind when he said spar, like verbal sparring, where my snark ability would come in handy. No such luck.

All along the white-painted concrete walls, there was also stadium seating, styled with padded benches with metal backs. They were full. On the center mat, two vamps were sparring, their movements so fast I could barely follow. Beast leaned into the forefront of my brain and studied the speed and flexibility of the two. It was like watching a dance, a dance with a loud drum solo sound track—slapslapslap, oof, thudthudthud, a rare sucking breath of pain, a rarer moment of stillness, and then more attacks, blocks, kicks, spins. I was so not gonna like this.

“We don’t have a hot tub hidden away at the house somewhere, do we?” Eli murmured. I sighed, knowing the question was rhetorical. “I have a feeling you’re gonna be one bruised babe tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” I mean really. What else could I say?

The match ended with a quick feint-punch-block move that sent one opponent flying off the mat and into the wall with a crack that I could feel through the floor and that left a bloody smear on the white-painted concrete blocks.

“That hadda hurt,” Eli said. His tone was far too jovial and I slanted my eyes at him to see a huge happy grin in place. Before I could respond, a loud clap sounded and my attention was pulled to the center of the court.

Leo stood in the very middle of the padded center mat, dressed in loose black gi pants in a style I’d never seen before, with flaps that folded over the sides and ties that were stuck inside the waistband. His feet were bare, toes gripping the mat, his chest was bare, and his arms were out to the sides. He turned in a slow circle so the assembled could see him clearly. His skin was pale olive white after centuries out of the sun, his ribs standing out starkly. Scars showed evidence of piercings and slashes, and over his left ribs, beneath his arm, a huge scar traced the flesh like a spider’s web, as if his ribs had been caved in by a massive mallet or a grenade or—

I felt Eli tense beside me. “That killed him,” he murmured. His hand reached up as if to touch his collarbone and the scar there. He stopped and let his hand drop slowly. Leo had been a warrior for all of his life, fighting sorties, night battles, attacking out of the darkness, a demon from hell, a soldier’s worst nightmare. And he had the scars to prove it. How bad did a wound have to be to leave a scar on a vamp?

Leo completed his circle. “Well done,” he called out, his voice a sharp quick echo on the walls. “And now I call my Enforcer.” I jerked, thinking he meant me, but he went on. “My Onorio, you may join me. We shall see what you are now.” Which sounded like a threat in so many ways.

Bruiser stepped into the front, from where he had been standing behind a small group of people. He was wearing a gi, top and bottom, but he untied the black belt at his waist and dropped it, then shrugged out of his top as he stepped onto the mat. He topped Leo by several inches and maybe thirty pounds, all muscle, his skin darker than I remembered it, tanned. He was fit and brawny next to Leo’s more slender body, but in a master, appearance is always misleading. I willed Bruiser to glance my way, but it would have been stupid to look away from an opponent, and Bruiser was never stupid.

Overhead, recorded music began, a violin playing something low and sweet, with a gypsy feel. The strings curling with emotion and defeat and love lost. Painful music. The two on the mat bowed to each other. And Leo attacked. One heartbeat he was standing. When the heartbeat ended, Bruiser was on the mat, his face bleeding. “Get up,” Leo said, bouncing on his toes.

Eli yanked me back, a hand on my upper arm. “No,” he murmured, his lips at my ear. “I think this is for a purpose. A demonstration.”

“He means to kill him.”

“No. I don’t think so. It isn’t the way warriors think. A reprimand, maybe. Something. Not an excuse to kill. Not in front of witnesses.”

Of course. That all made sense. I took a calming breath and stopped pulling away, but settled my hands onto my knife hilts. Feeling the rigidity of my delts, Eli kept his hand on me, holding me still.

Bruiser rolled to his feet. Before he was fully upright, Leo attacked again, spinning, pulling Bruiser’s arm with him. I heard the shoulder come out of joint with a sliding pop.

Anger boiled up through me. Eli’s fingers dug into the soft tissue of my arm, holding me in place.

Using the out-of-joint arm, Leo forced Bruiser to his knees. Bruiser went, with a grunt of pain. Leo let go the arm and kicked out, catching Bruiser with the ball of his instep, midabdomen, and spinning him. Up. Into the air. Leo’s fist caught Bruiser’s face as he whirled. Blood sprayed high. Splattered over Leo’s chest. Bruiser fell and lay still on the mat. The room filled with the scent of blood, strange blood with a salty, sweet undertang. Bruiser’s Onorio blood. I had smelled blood similar to it on the only two other Onorios I knew of—Grégoire’s primos, both in Atlanta with their master.

“First blood,” Leo said calmly. “Match to me.” He looked around the room. “Someone take care of him.”

Adelaide slipped from the small group of people Bruiser had been standing with and pointed at two others. Together, the three lifted Bruiser and carried him out a door in the rear. Eli’s fingers held me still, but a low growl sounded in my throat.

Leo turned to us and looked us over, taking in the assortment of blades and stakes. A slow smile spread over his face, looking pleased and almost . . . hungry. My insides tightened and my lips parted, breath coming fast. I felt the chilled damp of panic bud along my spine, the icy fear melding with the heat of anger in my blood. The door closed behind Bruiser. My heart skipped a beat and then pounded hard. I clenched my hands on the hilts of two vamp-killers.

“My other Enforcer,” Leo nearly purred, “is here as part of the entertainment tonight.”

He held out a hand to me, almost as if he was asking me to dance, his black eyes focusing on me intently. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream and attack. I wanted to pull a gun and fill him full of silver bullets—which was probably why I’d been forced to leave them at the door.

Instead I dropped my hand and relaxed my palms, walked toward him across the basketball floor, Eli at my side. We stopped at the edge of the mat and I pointed down at my feet.

“You may remove your boots,” Leo said, managing to sound very French, agreeable, and dictatorial all at once. Around the mats the spectators started talking, low whispers filling the space.