Heir Of Doom Read online

  Unable to help myself, I smiled, posing in front of the mirror to admire myself.

  “I know,” I said with a hint of that conceited, twelve year-old peeking through.

  “It's like the prom you never had the chance to attend,” she said in a low, conspiratorial tone I was sure Diggy heard. I shook my head for her to be quiet, but she went on. “And this Douglas Vemourly, oh my God, he's so much better than Tommy.”

  I chuckled, because I'd probably have gone with Tommy to the prom, if I had been there instead of at the PSS.

  In the living room, Diggy cleared his throat. By the way Vicky continued gushing about “Douglas's firm, muscular ass and beautiful eyes”, I was sure she hadn't heard him.

  * * *

  “So… About Vicky,” I began the moment Diggy drove away under a heavy sheet of rain. “Stay away from her.”

  When Diggy didn't say anything, I gritted my teeth and added, “She's human, certainly not your type.”

  “How do you know she's not my type?”

  “Fine, then. You're not her type,” I retorted.

  “Hmmm. She seemed interested to me. I must be losing my mojo.”

  “I'm warning you, Diggy, leave her alone. I'm not going to let her get tangled up with you.”

  Diggy's eyebrows rose high on his forehead, but he kept his gaze focused forward. “She seemed able-minded to me. I didn't know you made her choices for her.”

  I inhaled a long breath, tried to calm my rising anger. “Look, Vicky is my best friend. The only one I really have. I don't want to see her hurt, and I don't peg you as the type of guy who'd want a long-term relationship.”

  A long silence followed before Diggy grunted. “I'm not the type to get tangled in relationships.” He paused for a second before adding, “I'm not going to promise you anything, but if I decide to make a move, I'll let her know what she's in for.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Diggy cut me off. “Your friend is an adult, isn't she? If I ever decide to make a move, then let her make her own choice.”

  I snapped my mouth shut. He was right. And Vicky would hang me by my toes if she found out I warned Diggy to stay away from her. I sighed. “Alright. But if you hurt her, I'm going to kick your ass so hard, you'll sport a pair of boobs for years.”

  Diggy's lips twitched, and then he chuckled, unable to help himself.

  “So,” I asked, “why are you shanghaiing me to this so-called charity ball?”

  “You'll see,” was the mysterious reply.

  We drove to the Marriott Marquis Hotel near Times Square in relative silence, save for the sound of the pounding rain on the roof of the car and the low murmur of a talk show through hidden speakers. I wondered if Diggy could make out the words when I couldn't. How sharper was his hearing? His eyesight? Through the heavy curtain of rain, I watched the outside. The traffic didn't bow to nature; if at all possible, the streets seemed more clogged than ever, moving at the usual snail's pace, bumper to bumper. Screeching horns muffled curses hurled from driver to driver, closed windows providing one more sound barrier. White clouds of exhaust pumped out of vehicles, the smell distinct even with the windows up and the heat on. Still, the sidewalks were packed, colorful umbrellas dotting both sides of the street. People hurried to their destinations, uncaring that it was raining, much less freezing. Had to love New York.

  A valet came and took the keys from Diggy; two others opened our doors, huge umbrellas shielding us from the rain. We crossed the lobby in silence, the clap of my heels muffled by the heavy carpet. We received a lot of stares from guests, men and women alike, stopped by a closed double door. Diggy presented an invitation and his ID to a stiff-backed doorman, both of which were scanned before we were allowed to pass through.

  We entered a large rectangular room decorated in vivid reds and bright whites, balloons and plastic hearts and cute little Cupids dangling from the ceiling. Already there was a small crowd inside, most following the theme of reds and whites, all sparkling like the crystals on the chandeliers. People grouped together in threes and fours, an undertone of string music playing in the background. The room smelled of the roses that adorned the tables, mixed with men's and women's expensive perfumes, and although the scents were strong, they weren't overwhelming.

  The tables were set in parallel rows, three columns deep on each side, with a ten feet aisle between. Red velvet carpet ran to the edge of an empty floor space, where most guests mingled. The silverware and crystal on the tables gleamed under three bright chandeliers. White and red expensive linen covered the tables, the colors alternating in red and white patterns throughout the ballroom. Red roses in tall Baccarat vases for white tables, white roses in tall Baccarat vases for red tables. There were eight chairs around each table, each covered in reds or whites and tied on the back with fat, velvet laces.

  Waiters were also dressed for the occasion, either in white or red vests, all carrying heavy trays with gleaming crystals. Most of the couples were dressed to follow with the theme, women in varying shades of red dresses or suits, the men in white tuxedos or pastels. The room was far from filled to capacity, but for a five-thousand-dollars-a-plate, there were a lot of people present.

  Greek gods and goddesses sat atop red-and-white velvet-covered pedestals, placed strategically against walls. A bar was tucked at the far edge of the ballroom, where a few other guests had gathered. A large stage dominated half the back wall, currently empty save for a few musical instruments.

  It was a Valentine's Day charity ball. So much for avoiding Vicky's schemes.

  Uncomfortable, I gave Diggy a sideways glance and wondered what kind of game he was playing.

  I scanned people's faces once, twice. Nope, there wasn't a single Hunter member in sight.

  “So now that we've arrived,” I began, still scanning the room, “are you going to tell me why I'm here?”

  Diggy motioned ahead, a silent command for me to follow, but I stayed put, eyes slitted at his back.

  A few feet away he paused to chat with a guy in a white tuxedo and red cravat, not once looking back to make sure I had followed. A couple passed by and I stepped aside to make room, and jolted when I saw two thin dark-red auras strolling to the back, greeting guests as they went, their paces easy, their conversation light. As if they had all the right to be enjoying a charity ball with a Valentine's Day theme.

  I shifted toward Diggy, still talking to the same guy, not paying attention to the vampires scoping out the place. I watched the vampire couple until they paused by the bar and the bartender handed them two dark glasses. Now, I can't assume that the dark glasses hid blood, but what else could it be?

  Curiosity peaked, I moved toward Diggy. Even before I reached him, I noticed the blonde guy had a green aura, a were-cat of some sort, a minx, maybe.

  Diggy nodded goodbye to the guy and began moving, not once glancing my way. I scanned the crowd again, seeing them with new eyes. We passed a couple with a pale-blue aura, magic wielders, another with yellow auras. I kept giving Diggy furtive glances, jaws clenched, knowing whatever I said, somebody was bound to hear. It was obvious this wasn't a normal gathering, and though admission was couples only, I didn't think all these people were lovers, or even friends.

  Most people we passed gave Diggy a nod, a smile, a glare. Halfway to the back, we passed a woman with a teal-colored aura. Startled, I stared, surprised and even a little awed at the novelty. Diggy bumped my arm and I realized the woman was staring back, her brown eyes hostile. I looked away, uneasy, aware of her eyes boring into my back as we moved away. My shoulder blades itched with a need to turn.

  Diggy placed a warm hand on my back, urging me forward. “Don't stare,” he murmured.

  Ahead, we passed an Asian man with a teal aura, and I knew this was the woman's partner, even if this one stood with a brunette ringed with a yellow line. The man chuckled at something she said, holding two filled flutes in his hands.

  I didn't dare look twice his way, my nerves taut. What was this gathering? Why had Di
ggy brought me here? Damn him and his secrecy to Hell. He should have explained what I was getting into.

  Almost at the bar, we passed the couple with the dark-red aura, each holding that tall dark glass. It was covered with some metal top, but I caught a whiff of blood nonetheless.

  Both the man and woman smiled at Diggy from emaciated corpse-like faces – fangs hidden – and raised their glasses to him. He nodded once, kept moving. I followed close, hating the fact that I was in the dark. I had this strong urge to turn around and leave.

  Damn Diggy and his mysterious schemes to Hell. My heart raced, my stomach churned. And damn these high heels too, I thought as I fought to keep my balance and control my emotion.

  Diggy glanced at me, not stopping, no hint he could sense my anxiety. He didn't have to tell me to get a grip. In a room full of predators, displaying any grain of fear was not a good idea.

  By the time we reached the bar manned by a bald guy with a blue aura, I'd gotten hold of my emotions, locked down my nerves. No one looking at me would see anything but a composed woman with flat, emotionless eyes.

  Diggy motioned to the bartender, pointed two fingers at the tall glasses and turned to the crowd. I mimicked his moves. A woman barked out a loud, hearty laugh and I turned, spotted the middle aged couple nearby. Everything about them screamed predator, even if they had on a relaxed, pleasant smile. They were dressed modestly; the woman in a dark-navy pantsuit, the man in a tailored black one. Both had dark skin, a few laugh lines in the corners of those near-black eyes. The man had a bald spot on the crown of his head, covered with wavy gray strands. The woman's salt-and-pepper hair was arranged in an elaborate bun. Just the fact that neither looked a day younger than sixty had chills running down my spine. I'd never seen a preternatural being who looked older than forty-some years, and I wasn't sure if the image they presented was glamoured or real. But still, the harmless, innocent auntie/uncle image did nothing to quell the otherworldly vibes they radiated.

  And there were the bobbles both sported: colored, beaded bracelets of different sizes and shapes, rings on every finger, and dime-sized earrings on each ear. It brought to mind the stories I'd read about New Orleans voodoo priests and priestesses.

  Diggy handed me a tall glass of sparkling water and waited until I'd taken a few sips before asking in a low tone, “What are they?”

  I sipped again, studying both purplish auras. It wasn't blue interrupted with red, or any hints of black. It was simply purple and, as far as I could tell, undisguised.

  “I don't know. Something that doesn't give them longevity.”

  “What else?”

  “Something dark. Dangerous.”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “I'm not sure.”

  Suddenly the woman turned, no doubt sensing eyes on her. Dark eyes stared at me without blinking, seeing all the way through. Goosebumps broke all over my body. I tried, but couldn't, break the connection. It was as if the woman's eyes had ensnared me, commanded me not to look away.

  Diggy took a casual step forward, blocking the woman's line of sight, breaking the contact. Body fraught with tension, I looked away. He touched my back again and motioned us forward, saying in a calm tone, “They sure as Hell overdid themselves with this one.”

  “Hmmm.”

  We moved forward into the throng of people, and only Diggy's hand on my back kept me taking those steps. I wanted nothing more than to leave, go home to Frizz and a book, and a cup of warm chocolate.

  The ballroom was full of preternatural creatures, the equivalent of a nuclear bomb ready to go off at the slightest provocation. I've never seen so many otherworldlies gathered in one place at a time, not even in the PSS. With that thought, I couldn't help but wonder what the Scientists would do if they stumbled upon this gathering.

  Probably die a horrible death, my inner voice said with glee.

  Diggy moved us forward, towards the biggest cluster, a gathering of about a dozen, and that's when I spotted him, headed like a raging bull toward us.

  Chapter Eleven

  I stiffened, and Diggy turned, his posture stiffening as well. It wasn't something I would have noticed before, but all those hours in the Low Lands with him had given me an insight into his tells, his masked expressions. His hand clenched the glass as he raised it to his lips and took a sip. We both watched the man approach. Even some of the guests paused to look and murmur.

  Archer.

  I wondered if Diggy would have come in this direction if he knew we'd be intercepted – something for me to mull over later. Archer's aura wasn't yet in range, but the menacing vibes he oozed reached us. Or me at least. I didn't know if Diggy was empathic, he'd never answered that question. But some people around us sure were, because the moment I sensed it, a few of the guests retreated, putting space between themselves and the strong vibes emanating from him. Those who did whispered to their companions behind palm-covered lips.

  He looked angry. His eyes moved around us, scanning the people present, met mine. They were still the same pitiless black holes, as cold as a winter's night in a place that never saw daylight once. His steps were feline, stalkish-like. He oozed danger, a wave of predatory pheromones emanating from him like angry waves, battering at my nerves. More guests stepped away, pulling others with them, and I recalled the day I'd met Remo, the way his power had battered my senses, making me want to recoil.

  Was this how he acted in public, or did he just want to make sure he was the biggest, meanest, baddest and most powerful being in the room? Gone was the fragile man I'd helped escape from the PSS. The changes were subtle, but the result was drastic. The dark circles under the eyes, the sagging shoulders, even the white hair – the ravages of the PSS's treatments – were gone. His hair was a pale yellow, glossy and shiny. He stood tall, shoulders straight, whereas back then, Archer was incapable of even standing on his own. His eyes were the same, ancient orbs that saw all the way into the soul.

  Whatever the PSS had done to him, he'd suffered horribly. The kernel of pity I felt for him was unexpected. Even if today, here, he looked like a powerful thirty-some-year-old tycoon. Restored to his full power, he felt, though didn't resemble, Remo Drammen down to a pat, sans the dark vibes.

  I glanced sideways at Diggy and wondered if he'd ever compared Archer to Remo Drammen before. It made me wonder what, exactly, Remo Drammen had been.

  I shifted my gaze to the woman beside him – it was a couples ball after all, and surprise, surprise, his companion was none other than Elizabeth, my fake mother. The thought brought Mwara to mind, but the couple behind Archer and Elizabeth sucked every clear thought out of my head like a vacuum.

  Because, shit, that was Logan Graham. With a very pretty redhead dressed in a slinky, slutty blood-red low-cut dress that barely covered the essentials. My dislike of the woman was instantaneous.

  Logan's eyes met mine, his head inclined in acknowledgement, shifted to Diggy, did the same before returning his attention back to the woman beside him.

  And that was that. With a hand hooked around his arm, the woman led him away. Elizabeth glanced at them long enough to shoot daggers at their backs.

  When their auras flickered into range, the tiny shimmer I caught in Elizabeth's aura could have been imagined, or the effect of the strong lighting. Archer's in contrast, morphed into that shiny silvery-blue, undisguised.

  I supposed now that the Humans had outted him for what he was, there was no need to disguise himself.

  Elizabeth was dressed in a nice pale-blue cocktail dress with sparkles around the wrists and neck, and an air of disdain like a mantle around her. She looked as elegant and sophisticated as ever, except for a tightness to her eyes and lips, a hardness that hadn't been there before. Was there trouble at home? Was Mwara acting up?

  Archer spared me a glance before shifting his gaze to Diggy. This close, the menacing vibe scraping at my senses felt forced, unnecessarily brutal. Staged, though I couldn't say why I had that impression.

  “Douglas,�
� he said curtly, pausing five feet away.

  Nearby, people watched from a safe distance. A couple with brown auras that I'd passed by earlier came closer, eyes focused on Diggy and Archer.

  “Gerome,” Diggy replied, raising his glass in salute. The tension in Diggy's shoulders was visible only because I knew where to look. His posture seemed relaxed, his tone nonchalant.

  I took a sip of water and tried to block Archer away. Shifting my attention to Elizabeth, I was caught off-guard by the hostile glare she was shooting me. True, we hadn't parted amiably, but if someone should be holding a grudge, it should be me, not her.

  “It's good of you to have joined the cause,” Diggy was saying. “Though I must admit, I didn't think you'd be attending this ball.” Small, polite talk.

  “We were already in town. Might as well get it over with,” Archer replied. “Where is Vincent?”

  Oh, but he looked pissed. Lucky Vincent wasn't here, because it looked like Archer had a bone to pick with him.

  Diggy shrugged a shoulder. “He's around, I suppose. Haven't seen him yet.”

  Archer's eyes shifted to me, black, pitiless, depthless.

  “Why aren't you with him?” he demanded to know.

  I stiffened at his biting tone, a rebellious streak sparking to life. No matter what or who he was, there was only one thing I cared about when it came to Archer: he was the one who gave the scientists the green light.

  “I don't see how that's your concern,” I countered.

  Diggy's brow furrowed at me, but said nothing.

  Archer's jaw tightened, his eyes flaring with anger. He turned to Diggy and demanded the same, his tone stiff and cold. “Why isn't she with Vincent? She's supposed to be spending time with her own, learning our ways.”

  “Everyone's got their assignments. We take them as they come.”

  Archer's eyes narrowed, anger rippling from him in hammering blows. “Assignments? Is Vincent her instructor, or are you?”