Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

“And?” I asked softly.

“Brive-la-Gaillarde, France, is the hunting territory of the Blood Master of Clan Des Citrons. Her name is Julietta Tempeste. And she came to the U.S. on a tourist visa two months ago. She was sucking face with Dominique in the getaway car.”

“Last known address?” I asked.

“Charleston, South Carolina. But I tracked one of her credit cards to a Hampton Inn off I-10, four days ago. She checked out. Probably in town now.”

“Probably sent people ahead to gather up any dissatisfied local fangheads.”

“I’ve put a ping on her credit card use. If she shows up I’ll let you know and get as much of the video of her entourage as possible, with IDs and dossiers. But I got more.”

“Go on.”

“There was another face in the SUV.”

“Crowded.”

“Right. And the face was someone you fought before. Bancym M’lareil.”

I’d staked Cym, but she had gotten away. I should have found her again and taken her head. Hindsight and all that. Regret was a bitch. “I’m betting Dominique took her off the battlefield when I killed Shoffru and healed her. Then they swore to the lemon heads.”

“Probably working with the enemy from the very beginning,” Alex said.

“Thanks, Kid. Bodat?” I nudged him awake where he snored in a chair. “Either shower or you can move the desk to the back porch.”

“I bathed yesterday!”

“Day before, dude,” Alex said.

Bodat sighed and headed for the stairs.

“Hey, Kid,” I said. Alex turned his head to me again. “You done good.” Alex grinned with pride and tilted his head at me in a gesture that was pure Eli.



* * *



? ? ?

It was still raining when I got to Bruiser’s third-floor apartment. I knocked before opening the door and toeing out of the Lucchese boots I had pulled on against the rain. The music was turned down low, something bluesy and jazzy all at once and the place smelled heavenly. Bruiser smelled even better when he opened his arms and I exhaled against his chest, sorta melting into him. I was tall, too skinny, but solid muscle and stronger than most men, thanks to my skinwalker abilities. But Bruiser was bigger and taller and though I was capable of taking care of myself, he always made me feel safer. And there was something about a man in a soft flannel shirt and worn-out jeans that hyped up the comfort level for me.

“Are you well, love?”

“I’m just ducky. And you smell fabulous.”

I felt his mouth curl up against the side of my head. “I have smoked salmon, butternut squash soup made with white wine, three flavors of goat cheese, and bruschetta.”

“Sorry. What? I zoned out after smoked salmon.”

He chuckled and took my hand, leading me to the kitchen and the tall white leather stools that fronted the island. It was cool today and Bruiser had kept the tall French doors closed on the temps and the rain so it was cozy in the apartment. He poured me a glass of white wine, ladled steaming butternut squash soup into big soup bowls, and set one in front of me. He was doing the three-course-meal thing. Probably as the only way to get me to eat anything more than the meat.

Tears filled my eyes. I blinked them away, but not before he saw them, or smelled them.

“Jane?” Alarm in his tone.

But I held up my hand and shook my head. “I’m good. Just sleep deprived and tired and . . . and I feel so . . . grateful? Happy?” I reached over and took his hands, squeezing them as I bowed my head, saying a silent thanks. Wordlessly, I listed the ways my life was better, richer, happier. Tears scalded down my face as I silently prayed.

When I stopped, he said softly, “And I am eternally thankful for Jane Yellowrock in my life. Amen.”

I lifted my eyes to his and was startled to see tears pooled there, mirroring my own. Except I was all salty and snotty and splotched, I was sure, and he was still gorgeous.

“There was a time when I believed that I was nothing in life without the Mithrans, without my position with Leo. That without his blood I’d be useless and lacking in value of any sort. And then I met you, a woman with enough power to stand against him, tall and strong and vibrant. Without being dependent on drinking blood.” He kissed my knuckles, released one hand, and lifted his glass in a toast. “You give me courage to be Onorio. To Jane Yellowrock.”

“And to us,” I toasted back and drank. And said, “Holy crap, this is good!” I sipped again. “I actually like this one. It’s really, really good! It’s—” I had no wine-type words to describe it.

“Buttery,” Bruiser said. “You always like buttery whites. It’s excellent with the soup.”

I sopped my face with the cloth napkin and spooned some soup into my mouth. I wasn’t fond of squash, but this stuff was different. “Apples. It has apples in it. And something green and sweet. And chicken stock.”

“Anise,” Bruiser said. He was trying to share with me his own appreciation of wine and fine food. “It’s from the anise, or fennel, plant.”

I placed the cloth in my lap, slung my loose hair out of the way, and sat like the lady one of the housemothers had tried to make of me. “I like it.”

We ate. And ate. And when the soup was gone and the wine bottle was empty and the salmon was picked down to the bones, Bruiser took a warm towel and wiped my hands clean. The towel smelled of oranges and so did his mouth when he kissed me and led me to the couch. “Sit. We need to talk and work for a bit.”

“Yada yada.”

He sat beside me and pulled a soft fuzzy blanket over us. “Yada,” he agreed. “But I can rub your feet while we chat.”

“You are the best boyfriend ever.”

He took my feet and gently squeezed them. “You first.”

I started with the easy stuff, telling him about Aya and Aggie One Feather, the usual debrief stuff. “But there’s something else. The Kid tracked Julietta Tempeste. She came to the U.S. on a tourist visa two months ago. Alex is trying to track her.”

“Clan Des Citrons. Does Leo know?” he asked.

“I texted him an update.”

His fingers worked the kinks out of my feet as he thought it through. Bruiser frowned, the lines on either side of his nose pulling down. Those lines had become deeper with worry and with the problems that piled up against us.

His frown softened. “My turn.” He told me stuff I didn’t half listen to. “Leo got a letter in the mail from the Carusos.”

“The old funeral home directors, the ones who created revenants and the revenant concoction?”

“Yes. The letter was held by their attorneys here in New Orleans, and mailed when it became clear that Titus Flavius Vespasianus would come ashore. They acted against Leo for decades and left under duress because Laurie’s daughter was being held by Titus. They deliberately left that bottle of Titus’s secret revenant potion in their fridge for Leo to find.”

“Deliberately? Are we supposed to fall for that?”

“The lawyer agreed to be bled and read by Leo. He believes it to be true. Leo wants us to save the entire Caruso family if possible, if he wins the Sangre Duello.”

“Easy peasy. Not.”

Bruiser smiled slightly. “Katie is in Atlanta. She invaded the lairs of a dozen Mithrans and ash-staked them in their sleep, disabling them. Then she dragged them to a room filled with silver-plated scion prisons. She’ll start her own negotiations tonight.”

“Katie did that in the daytime?” I enunciated the last word. “Because, vampires.”

“Katie slept in the blood of eight clans. She will be the strongest Mithran in the Americas for quite some time.”

“Meaning that if she wanted Leo’s position she could have it.”

“Indeed.” He kneaded harder into the arch of my foot.

I might have moaned. “You have very talented fingers.”

“I do. And I’ll take you to bed and prove it soon.” His fingers pressed and rolled and crept and knuckled up my calf to a sensitive spot in the middle of my calf.

“Oh . . . Holy moly.”