Red-Headed Stepchild (Sabina Kane #1)

Red-Headed Stepchild (Sabina Kane #1) Page 13

My hands landed on my hips. “You need to check your memory there, Frank,” I said. “You approached me, remember?”

“True,” he said. “Which is why Clovis has instructed me to bring you to the temple.”

Okay, now I was annoyed. Why didn’t they just have me go there to begin with? My question must have been written on my face because Frank responded.

“Clovis wanted to be sure you came alone.”

“Clovis sounds a little paranoid, if you ask me.”

“You would be too, if you had the Dominae threatening your life,” Frank said, watching me closely. “Then again, I guess you do know what that’s like.”

He was testing me. I silently cursed my big mouth. Of course, Clovis would want to be careful. And, for someone who supposedly had pissed off the Dominae, I was acting awfully unaffected.

“Look, I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I’m just annoyed because I feel like I’m getting jerked around here.”

He stared at me for a moment, then said, “Understandable, but also unavoidable. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to meet Clovis.”

I hesitated. I hadn’t expected this. “Uh … where are you parked? I’ll get my bike and pull around to follow you.”

Frank walked away, expecting me to follow. “That won’t be necessary. It’s hard to drive wearing a blindfold.”

He wasn’t kidding. About the blindfold, that is. It chafed my face as I sat in the back of a limo, surrounded by guys with extremely broad shoulders.

Normally, I would never have gotten into the car, much less allowed myself to be rendered sightless by anyone. But I knew the only way I’d be able to meet Clovis was if I conceded. Frank had assured me it was merely a security measure, but it felt more like a test. If I agreed too readily then he’d suspect something. However, if I gave too much of a protest I’d also arouse suspicions. So I played the middle ground. After a few half-hearted complaints, I pretended to reluctantly agree.

The limo went over a bump, which lurched me in the direction of a hard body. I quickly righted myself, while trying to listen. Unfortunately, the men in the car kept up a steady stream of dull conversation, discussing everything from the weather to sports. I’d hoped they’d at least let a bit of information about Clovis’ operation slip, but no dice. I took a deep breath and tried to mentally prepare myself for the upcoming meeting with Clovis.

I knew almost nothing about him other than his name and that he was part demon. My only exposure to demonkind was through Giguhl. I wasn’t sure, but I highly doubted most demons watched Oprah.

Regardless, in a few moments I’d finally see the infamous Clovis Trakiya in the flesh. I took a deep breath to calm what felt like bats taking flight in my midsection. The car slowed and then finally stopped.

Show time.

11

Rough hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me out. My feet hit the pavement and I stumbled. Someone reached to help me, brushing my right breast in the process.

“Oops, sorry,” Frank said, sounding anything but. I gritted my teeth and focused on taking cautious steps. I held one hand in front of me, praying I wouldn’t walk straight into a wall.

“Four steps.” Frank said close to my ear. He placed a hand at my elbow to help me. I longed to shake him off, but knew I wouldn’t get very far without his help. His cologne smelled like cheap drugstore aftershave and he’d applied it liberally. I held my breath and cautiously picked my way up the stairs with him guiding me. A loud creaking sound that could only signal a large door opening sounded in front of me. The moist coolness of the night quickly gave way to warmth. The air here was thick with the perfume of incense and candle wax.

Fingers at the back of my head untied the blindfold. I blinked a few times as my eyes tried to regain focus. We were in what appeared to be a church vestibule. A smattering of candles flickered in the dim room. To my left, Frank stood, watching me closely. We were alone. Up ahead was another set of doors, large wooden panels etched with ancient symbols, resembling cuneiform.

“The service is about to begin,” Frank said. “Go in and take a seat. Clovis will meet with you after.”

When I hesitated, Frank nodded at the doors. I took a deep breath and walked forward. The sounds of chanting and voices raised in song filtered through the thick doors. The handles were made of gold and the metal felt cold for a moment before my grasp warmed them. Squeaking hinges announced my arrival in the chapel.

Here, the spicy scent of the incense was stronger. My sensitive nose detected notes of calming spikenard in the mix, as well as an undertone of something sickly sweet. Clovis would later tell me he sprinkled white powder heroine in the censers. No doubt about it, visitors to the Temple of the Moon were being primed for submission.

A tall male dressed in black robes stood upon a dais in front of the altar. His eyes found me, and my body jerked to a standstill. His eyes narrowed as he took me in, then a slow smile spread across his saturnine features.

“Clovis.” The word floated into my head like a whisper. My stomach flipped. As his eyes did a lazy trip south, I felt his gaze like a caress. His hair shone like polished mahogany in the candlelight—proof of his advanced age. Flowing black and red robes accentuated the smooth paleness of his skin. The robes hid his physique, but power radiated off him in waves.

Our stare-off could have lasted seconds or days. I felt spellbound by his eyes, which, from where I stood, resembled dark pools of sin. Part of me wanted to stay and bask in his gaze forever, but the other part—the part in charge of my survival—screamed at me to run.

He broke the connection first, turning to the congregation. A small smile hovered on his lush lips, as if he sensed my discomfort. My breath puffed out, as if the loss of his attention left me deflated.

“Children of Lilith, welcome,” Clovis said. His dark voice washed over the room, but I barely registered the audience. I was too busy trying to regain my composure. My body felt all tingly and my panties were wet. Oh yeah, this guy was definitely going to be trouble.

I shook off the lingering haze, and, embarrassed, went to sit in the back pew. The church was filled near capacity. I was shocked to see mortals mixed in with a smattering of vamps, mancies, and a few faeries. The mortals didn’t seem the least bit nervous, which meant they either didn’t know they shared the room with beings that could suck their life from them as easily as we breathed—or they didn’t care.

The altar behind Clovis was made of black marble and gold. The two-story wall behind the altar was a combination of Byzantine design and Romanesque columns. There was nothing especially menacing about the décor, unless one had an aversion to gaudiness. I supposed if any unsuspecting mortals stumbled in the place they’d assume an eccentric mortal designed it. In fact, I’d seen Christian churches and Jewish temples that made this one look minimalist by comparison. The only thing different here was the lack of Judeo-Christian symbolism. Instead of crucifixes or Stars of David, golden eight-pointed lotuses appeared on both the altar and on the red velvet drapes, which hung on either side of the dais.

Clovis clapped his hands, the sound reverberated through the silent chapel, breaking me from my trancelike state.

“It is time.” He signaled to the brothers of the Order of the Moon, who stood at the side of the altar. Two of the group disappeared behind a curtain.

A chant rose as the audience closed their eyes in spiritual bliss. I wondered what Clovis had promised to bring them here. There didn’t seem to be one specific type. They wore everything from business suits to standard-issue BDSM latex. Of the mortals present, ages ranged from angry teen to midlife-crisis adult. I felt a little lost as the chants grew more intense and the tension in the room rose.

The two males, their hoods covering their faces, led a woman onto the altar. A mortal. Her long blonde hair fell in ropes around pert breasts, covered by a gossamer white robe. One delicate hand clutched the fabric together, an unusual show of modesty given the way she undulated her hips as she approached Clovis. It was as if her pelvis was trying to get to him first. I would have laughed if I wasn’t so hypnotized by the pageantry of it all.

The chanting stopped abruptly, leaving the sanctuary in silence. Yet the scent of lust—both the sexual and the blood varieties—seemed palpable. Clovis approached the woman and stroked her cheek with his palm. With a flick of his wrist, he untied the thin rope that held her robe together. Her chin came up as her nude body was exposed. No one blinked. It was as if they saw naked chicks on altars every day. The scene made my fangs feel too large for my mouth.

The crowd held its collective breath as Clovis stroked the woman’s long ivory neck. His tongue replaced his finger, causing her to moan in the silent sanctuary. She shivered—in anticipation or fear I didn’t know.

Clovis brought his head up a fraction, just enough to see a flash of fangs. He bit savagely into the tender skin, causing the girl to gasp softly. Her eyes widened and then closed in bliss.

Conflicting feelings warred within me. I felt like both a voyeur and a participant. Even though feeding from humans was as natural to me as breathing, what was happening on the altar felt like a desecration. Perhaps it was the fact Clovis was taking something mortals feared and selling it as religion.

I felt an odd sensation that I couldn’t quite define rising behind my eyes like a tickle. My rarely used conscience springing to life.

It was over quickly. The woman slumped in his arms, out cold. Clovis licked the wound closed with gentle care. The image of his tongue sliding over her skin was erotic as hell. Shaking off the feeling, I stood to leave. I needed a few minutes to compose myself before our meeting. If I saw him in my current aroused state, I was likely to fuck him first and introduce myself later.

While the brothers carried the woman off the altar, I made my way to the aisle. Clovis caught my eye. When he smiled, his fangs were tinged with blood and there was a thin streak of it next to his lush lips. Lifting a hand, he blew me a blood-soaked kiss.

At that moment I knew without a doubt it was a mistake to be there. He was going to consume me just like he had that girl—only he didn’t want my blood. He wanted my soul.