Duncan (Vampires in America #5)

Duncan (Vampires in America #5) Page 43

“Would you like a cup of something hot?” Emma asked Violet. “Or maybe a soft drink?”

“A diet Coke would be good, or—” Violet stiffened as the sound of an engine announced someone’s arrival out front. She raised wide eyes to Emma and looked as if she were trying to decide whether or not to bolt. A single car door opened and then closed after a brief delay.

“That will be Duncan,” Emma said reassuringly. Emma and the others, including Duncan, had agreed it would be best to use his real name. It was unlikely, but if Violet ever happened on his picture somewhere and remembered him, she’d know they’d been honest with her. The most probable outcome of today, however, was that Violet wouldn’t remember ever having met Duncan or any other vampire. Ten days or ten years from now, she could bump into him on the street, and he’d be a complete stranger to her. But just in case something went wrong, they were giving her his real name as a sign of faith.

Duncan knocked on the screen door instead of using the doorbell. Emma figured it was intentional, more like a neighbor come calling than a stranger. She strolled over to greet him, moving slowly and casually, trying not to let Violet see any of the stress she was feeling about tonight’s encounter.

Duncan smiled at her through the screen’s mesh, and Emma nearly staggered as a punch of sheer lust hit her. She’d left the residence only a few hours ago, but it was as if she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t touched him, in ages. He winked at her and she blushed, feeling like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

“Good evening, Emma,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers, his voice stroking her nerves with velvet sheathed fangs. He was looking very handsome this evening, but then when didn’t he? Tonight, however, he’d dressed very intentionally, balancing trusted professional with sympathetic listener. He was wearing dark tan khakis that fit far better than those she’d seen on other men, and hugged his tight rear end wonderfully. A black turtleneck and wool blazer topped off the look, with his neatly tied back hair adding a touch of Bohemian free thinker. No stuffy, unimaginative drone here. You want to talk about vampires? This is a man who will not only listen, he’ll believe you.

“Duncan,” she said, feeling wicked and wanting to be sure he was experiencing the same tug of desire she did. “Good of you to . . . come.” His eyes filled with heat and Emma’s body responded instantly, making her wish they had ten minutes to themselves. That’s all it would take. Up against the wall, just a taste to slake her thirst. But, no. She banked her lust, storing it for later, when they’d be alone again in that big bed.

In the room behind her, Violet coughed softly, and Emma nearly jumped at the timely reminder of why they were all here. She opened the screen door and said, “Come in,” not knowing whether the invitation was necessary or not. Phoebe was a vampire, after all, so maybe the restriction didn’t apply. But she’d forgotten to ask earlier if a vampire’s residence was sacrosanct like a human’s. Darn. If she was going to hang around with vampires, she’d have to start making a list of things she needed to know.

Duncan stared at Emma through the open door. The scent of her arousal filled his senses and he was instantly hard. He forced his body to relax, using every bit of control learned in over a century and a half of living. Still, to make things interesting, he let his arm brush against Emma’s breasts as he went by her. He heard her sharp intake of breath and smiled to himself. She wasn’t the only one who could tease.

“Duncan,” Emma said, somewhat breathlessly, he was pleased to note. “This is my friend Violet.” She walked over to stand next to the other woman who was seated. “I told you about her.”

“Yes, of course,” Duncan said. He didn’t offer to shake hands immediately, but slipped off his blazer and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He took the chair closest to where Violet sat on the sofa, near enough that he could reach out and touch her, but not so near that she would feel overwhelmed by him.

“A pleasure to meet you, Violet,” he said, finally offering his hand. “I hope I can help.”

Violet didn’t move at first. She was a pale little thing. Pretty underneath all that stress, and a complete submissive. He knew what Victor had seen in her, knew why she’d been chosen. He didn’t like it, but he understood. She sat there, frozen, like a soft, gray mouse beneath the eye of a predator, although she couldn’t possibly know how apt that description was. Duncan remained still, not wanting to spook her, letting her do this her way and take her time. She studied him for a few minutes, her gaze going from his offered hand to his face, where it lingered to search his eyes, and then back to his hand. She reached out slowly and let him wrap his much bigger fingers around hers. He didn’t shake her hand, but held it loosely, radiating safety and warmth through that connection, gently persuading her that he meant her no harm.

Silent tears filled Violet’s eyes as she relaxed for what was probably the first time since Victor had messed with her mind. Even a cursory probe told Duncan that the dead vampire lord had been crude in his effort to wipe the young woman’s thoughts. Maybe he’d been in a hurry. Maybe he’d intended to come back and do a more thorough job of it. Or, more likely, he’d simply been a butcher who hadn’t cared what damage he did to the humans he toyed with.

Duncan reached out and brushed away a tear that had escaped to roll down Violet’s cheek. “It will all be well, Violet. You’ll see.”

She nodded and bent her head, wiping her eyes quickly before raising her head and firming her chin defiantly. “What do you need me to do?”

Duncan smiled at her courage. When Emma had first told him about Violet, he’d assumed she was a broken woman, someone cast off because Victor had found her wanting. But that wasn’t true. She might be naturally submissive, but that didn’t necessarily mean weak. It was far more likely that she’d survived as well as she had because she was stronger than Victor expected. Her mind had refused the old vampire lord’s manipulation and clung to the truth, despite the cost to her sanity.

Duncan squeezed her fingers slightly. “Just tell me what you remember,” he said gently. “I’ll do the rest.”

Violet drew a deep breath through her nose, her mouth tight with determination. “Is this like hypnosis or something?”

“Or something,” Duncan agreed easily. “But you won’t lose consciousness and you’ll remember everything.”

She studied him again for a long moment, then said, “I don’t remember that much about what happened.”

“Tell me whatever you recall,” Duncan said, and sent her mind a mild suggestion to remember.

“Okay.” She paused for a moment, as if deciding where to start. “The first party I ever went to,” she began, “was with Lacey.”

With every word she spoke, Duncan wove himself deeper into her memories. He was appalled at the mess Victor had left behind. Knots and tangles of memory and half-truths, all jumbled together with things that had no bearing on what Victor had been trying to hide. Duncan was ashamed on behalf of his kind that a vampire lord as powerful as Victor could have been so incompetent, or so cruel. Slowly, he teased out bits and pieces of truth, each new revelation freeing Violet to remember more. He kept a firm hold on her emotions while working, not wanting to cause her any more psychological distress than she’d already endured.

Violet smiled when she spoke about Lacey. “She was so pretty, so full of life. All the men loved her. I used to watch them watching her at the parties. When she crossed a room, heads turned as if she was iron and they were magnets. Or maybe it was the other way around. It never affected her, though. Not like some of the others who got all bitchy and looked down their noses. Lacey thought the whole thing was a game.” She frowned briefly. “But it was definitely a game she wanted to win. She was looking for something at those parties. A husband maybe, or maybe just a rich lover. I never knew her well enough to ask what it was.”

“You’re talking about the parties at Victor’s house?” Duncan clarified quietly.

Violet nodded. “The one in the embassy district, the big white one. Nice place, but the inside was more like a fraternity house than an embassy. It was odd.”

“What happened at these parties?”

She shrugged. “Nothing at first. They were typical Washington stuff. The men were all grabby, especially the married ones, and most of the women didn’t care. Not the young ones anyway. It wasn’t until Victor invited us to the other house, the one in Leesburg that I felt . . . uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

Violet tensed up, and Duncan reached out, soothing her with both his hand and his mind. “No one can hurt you here, Violet. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes. I believe you.”

Her words of trust added a fresh burden of responsibility to Duncan’s soul. It was minuscule compared to that which he already bore, but he felt it nonetheless.

“Thank you, Violet.” He waited a moment, then said, “Why did you feel uncomfortable at the Leesburg party?”

“It was my first time at one of the weekends. Lacey had told me about some other house, in Annapolis, I think, but that had been only one night and everyone left before dawn. The party at Leesburg was supposed to be for a whole weekend. I didn’t want to go, but I remember feeling like I had to, like I’d be disappointing someone if I didn’t. It didn’t make sense, but the closer I got to the date of the party, the more I felt like I had to go.” She shrugged, as if even now she couldn’t understand it. But Duncan did. Victor had clearly planted the suggestion in her mind and let it run.

“I drove down with Lacey, and when we got there,” Violet continued, “there were only a few men—two or three that I ever saw, plus Victor and his guards. I assumed more people would be coming, but except for three other women who arrived right after me and Lacey, no one else came. And when I realized it was just us and those men, I knew what they wanted us for.” Tears began rolling down her cheeks again, but that was the only sign of her distress as she kept talking.