Nightingale Page 11

  Before he could protest, I cut him off. “The Gerards are here because of me, right? They were following me. Let me deal with them as you promised, and set Alejandro and Nia free.”

  “No.”

  I continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Let Caleb go, too, and I’ll stay here with Mia.”

  His laughter echoed throughout the large, tiled room. “You are still trying to bargain with my things. You are either stupid or brave.” He clucked my chin. “I don’t believe you are stupid. Mistaken, yes. Foolish, apparently.” His expression shifted and his voice quieted. “Brave, definitely.”

  After a second, his brow quirked. “Haven’t you forgotten one?”

  I didn’t dare glance at Laurent. “He stays.”

  Azkuran’s eyes widened then narrowed. “Why is that?”

  Unable to bear his scrutiny, I lowered my head, saying a quick prayer before I answered. “He … hurt you. But, he is still your brother. Let everyone else go, and keep him here.”

  I raised my head and met his eyes. “If you do, I promise I’ll stay here willingly and do whatever you say. We will be a real family—you, Mia, and I.”

  Unmistakable desire flashed over his face. Grateful my gamble was working, I pressed on. I took another deep breath and played my last card, hoping Laurent would one day forgive me. “Put him in stasis. Rehabilitate him.”

  I reached out and took Azkuran’s hands. “Our family could be amazing.”

  Dense silence fell, the weight of collectively held breaths. Azkuran moved his gaze to each of those along the wall, resting on Laurent, before coming back to me.

  “All of them can go except those three,” he ordered the guards, indicating the Gerards and Laurent.

  Shoulders sagging in relief, I let go of his hands before saying, “One more thing.”

  His brows flicked in disbelief.

  “You can’t hurt the ones we’re letting go, and—” I pointed to Laurent, “—you can’t kill him.”

  “That’s two more things,” he corrected. “Very well. Your friends may leave safely.” He jerked his chin at the guards, and they hurried to follow his orders.

  “As for him ….” He gave Laurent a knife-blade smile that sent chills down my spine. “Killing him was never part of my plan.”

  He tapped my nose and his smile widened to a grin. “Once you get over your attachment to those useless Mutts, we’re going to have so much fun, you and I.”

  Twenty-Six

  LAURENT

  Meeting Allie’s worried eyes, he forced his wounded lips into a smile. Before the pod closed, he wanted her to know he understood, and wished he could tell her the truth. He blinked slowly, hoping she would see he approved of her choice.

  Pride filled his chest. It’s what her mother would have done. What he would have done. She was truly their child. As long as Azkuran believed otherwise, she and Mia would be safe. Spending an undetermined amount of time in stasis, undergoing “rehabilitation” in order to protect his family, was a small price to pay. Besides, he trusted Allie. In the brief time he’d known her, she’d proven to be smart, resilient, and generous. If anyone could turn that asshole brother of his back into a decent person, she was the best candidate.

  His thoughts turned to Midnight Ink and the others. He wondered if Gabe had had any luck recruiting the mercenary he’d sent him. For Allie’s sake, he’d paid Luke a pretty penny to clean up the mess with the police. Even though Gabe could handle the cops, Luke was the one who had framed her, so he’d know all the players and pieces.

  As the lid came down, Laurent made a silent promise: If Luke was still alive when he was next Awakened, he’d finish him.

  Dear Reader

  Thank you for spending time with these characters; I hope you enjoyed their story, which still has more to come, including novellas featuring the younger characters, and full novels focused on the adults.

  If you liked NIGHTINGALE, please leave a review at the purchase site or on Goodreads to help others find the book. Every review spurs retailers to raise awareness about the books you enjoy, as well as helps the author to keep writing.

  You can also sign up for my newsletter at https://keriarmstrong.com/contact/ to learn about new releases and receive special offers available only to members, such as free e-books!

  Other books available now or coming soon:

  TURNED

  Sometimes a vampire hunter just can't get a break.

  Available Now

  RED DEVILS AND REDNECKS (Coming 2018)

  Demons are raising hell along the border of Kentucky and West Virginia.

  GRAVE DECISIONS (Young adult series for 2019)

  Whether Ellie survives her new school will depend on decisions from beyond the grave.

  1: Enchanted

  2: Entangled

  3. Entranced

  4. Envisioned

  Please turn the page for a preview of MIDNIGHT INK, the first adult-centered book of The Awakened series.

  Midnight Ink excerpt

  Chapter One

  April 1960

  Gabriel Lara spared a glance toward the darkening sky. Black clouds gathered over his family’s cornfield, dark and roiling. A perfect match for his mood. He pitched his cigarette to the ground, smashing the last of the lit end under his boot. The oncoming rain would keep it from smoldering. The thought of a downpour brought his attention to his bladder. Huffing a dry laugh, he stalked over to the trees at the edge of the field and undid his fly. His brain and mouth both felt like dirty cotton, and he shook his head. Man, that was some party last night. He was still draining off the effects.

  A small movement snagged his peripheral vision, and he stiffened, sharply scanning the area. His hearing might be shot all to hell, but he could still see just fine. He yanked up his zipper and swiveled to face whoever was there.

  No one was.

  He stood for a moment then casually reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out the special shades he’d made, and slid them over his face. Now, he could see behind him as well as 180 degrees around the front. He hitched his jeans and strode back into the open field. As the sky opened, the smell of something foul reached his nose, like a combination of wet dog and rotted meat.

  From the corner of his glasses he caught a dark blur coming toward him, fast. It was the last thing he saw before the lightning hit.

  * * * * *

  Present Day

  Caroline Chadwick—a.k.a. Carolyn Wheeler—checked the design once more, scarcely believing what she was about to do. Seven years had passed. Seven years of constantly looking over her shoulder, and she was finally starting to think she could breathe a little easier.

  She lifted the paper from the desk and admired the phoenix she’d sketched. It felt good to create art again; even if only simple tattoo design. But it was a design that held deep meaning for her. A decoration of her soul. She laughed a little. She needed to decorate something. Her current living quarters had a décor she referred to as “Early Dumpster.”

  A far cry from the mansion in Maine.

  She shook her head. It didn’t matter; all she needed was a place to sleep and no possessions to hold her back. Never knew when she might need to pull a runner.

  Sighing, she focused on her sketch. She planned on having the outline of the phoenix done tonight. The rest, she’d have filled in when Lemuel Stanning was dead.

  * * * * *

  Gabe stood at the counter, poring over the accounts, when a discrete strobe of light alerted him to the fact that the door of Midnight Ink had been opened. He shifted his gaze to the side of his special glasses and noted a woman walking hesitantly toward him. A quick glance at the clock showed after 12 am. He lifted his head to get a better view of his customer.

  Little Miss Muffet. That was his first thought. Five foot nothing, curly blonde hair, pink sundress, and upon closer inspection, older than she appeared. He smirked. Another desperate housewife, eager to get her Ho Patch on.

  He raised his brows at her in li
eu of customer service.

  “Are you Mr. Lara?” she asked.

  He nodded curtly. If she already knew his name, this was going to be a piece of cake. He knew her type. He disliked them before he died; he hated them now. But they were useful. Damn useful when he needed to feed, and that raw scratching of his throat said it was supper time.

  She straightened her small shoulders and became as businesslike as her china doll appearance would allow. Meaning, not very.

  “I’ve heard your establishment is the best around, and I have a design I’d like to have on my shoulder.” She opened her small bag and pulled out a piece of paper.

  He didn’t look down. “Shoulder? Are you sure?”

  She frowned. “Yes.”

  “Not your lower back?”

  “No.”

  He watched, amused as a flash of anger lit her eyes and tightened her lips. Well, well. Miss Muffet just got a stick up her tuffet.

  “Are you still open for business or not? I thought you didn’t close until three.”

  “Which is only a few hours away. Let me see what you’ve got, and I’ll let you know if I can get to it before I close.” He held out his hand, and she gave him the paper. The design was simple, elegant. A phoenix captured in a few Zen strokes.

  He frowned slightly. “Where did you get this? I don’t accept work from other shops, and I don’t do pirated designs from the Internet.”

  The light of battle re-ignited in her eyes. “It’s my own design.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  Her mouth dropped in a short imitation of a gaping fish. She snatched the paper from his hand, opened her purse, jerked out a pen, and in a few slashes, produced an outline of his face on the back of the paper. She thrust it across the counter at him. “It’s my own design.” Her tone was acid.

  Impressed despite himself, his mouth quirked. “My apologies.”

  She stared at him, unknowingly earning more of his begrudging respect the longer she met his eyes. Most of her kind only maintained eye contact with him to signal their lust, and Miss Muffet definitely wasn’t sending that vibe. Which he was surprised to find disappointed him slightly.

  Amused and intrigued, he motioned toward his workstation in the back. “I believe we have time.” When she hesitated, he smiled, careful to hide canine tips. “If you still want to.”

  Her chin raised a fraction. “I do.”

  After giving her the standard paperwork and a pen, he gestured toward a chair where she could fill it out. The tight muscles of her ass moved against the pink dress as she walked, drawing his appreciative gaze. She definitely kept herself in shape.

  Probably tennis lessons at the country club her North Shore hubby provides.

  Yep. She was slumming it tonight. Her stick-straight posture and perfect bone structure proclaimed her well-bred trophy material. The type who, at her age, only came in here with their pool boys or drunken girlfriends, desperately trying to recapture a youthful rebellion that never existed.

  Even though her toned muscles and sweet curves pronounced her an adult, she appeared fragile sitting by herself. Vulnerable. Why was she in the city alone at this time of night? An unfamiliar wave of protectiveness surged, causing a scowl to form on his face. Not my problem.

  Another flash from the door strobe caught his eye. An inebriated young man wearing khaki cargo shorts and a camo t-shirt wobbled into the shop.

  Without a thought, Gabe placed himself between the newcomer and the woman. “What do you want?” It wasn't a friendly question.

  The younger man squinted up at him, alcohol coming off in waves. “Your time is coming.” He pointed at Gabe then jabbed a thumb at himself. “Our time is coming.”

  Gabe clamped down on the tiny frisson of alarm that had hit him as the kid spoke. What could this asshole possibly know? “Oh, yeah? What time is that?”

  Drunk guy smirked. “Time for the creatures of the night to rule the world! You with us, vampire?”

  Us? Vampire? Gabe’s eyes narrowed. He scanned the street beyond the kid. It was empty. Sniffing the air, he detected lots of booze, but nothing that wasn’t human. A slash of pity pulled down Gabe’s lips. The idiot was likely some drunken frat brat who’d seen “The Lost Boys” one too many times and somehow got mixed up in the wrong company.

  “Sorry, Not-So-Bella Lugosi. Your ‘time’ is to get out of here now. I don’t work with drunks.” He frog-marched the kid back out the door and locked it behind him. The wannabe stumbled over to a streetlamp and wrestled a cellphone from his shorts before weaving his way down the street. Gabe waited until he was out of sight before turning back to his other customer.

  Her already large blue eyes were even rounder.

  “Sorry about that.” He shrugged. “You get all kinds at night.”

  He noticed her gaze drift to the locked door. “Just a precaution. If we’re starting your work tonight, it’s better to keep out the riff raff while I’m working. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can either unlock it, or you can come back during the day and work with one of my assistants.”

  As he made the offer, he told himself the tiny hope she’d stay was caused by his survival instinct, nothing more. He was hungry. She was human.

  Not a good combination for him; an even worse one for her.

  She worked her full, pink lower lip between her teeth for a few moments before she nodded. “I’d like to do this tonight.”

  Trying to ignore how sweet that lip might taste, he let her get back to her papers while he went behind the counter to text Laurent about their drunken visitor. When she was ready, he took the paperwork and saw her name: Carolyn Wheeler.

  After leading her to his work area, he said, “Okay, Carolyn, show me where you want your lovely design.”

  She indicated the visible area of shoulder near the right strap of her dress. He was glad he’d already put on the face mask—a precaution he insisted his artists use, though his kind didn’t need it—because his fangs elongated at the silky expanse of her skin.

  Down, boys.

  With some effort, he shut off the response wracking his body. Reminded himself that he’d fed earlier tonight—college students buying parental disapproval with Daddy’s own money—and it helped ease the hunger in his throat that her soft pulse had aroused.

  Didn’t do jack for the boner in his pants, though.

  He shifted on the stool and gave that other lengthening body part a stern, ‘Down, boy’ also.

  “How does your husband feel about you getting inked?”

  She turned her head, the look she gave him frosty enough to ice windows. “I don’t have one.”

  Well, now, didn’t that just make his one-eyed soldier snap back to attention? He moved hard against his seat, trying to punish the thing into submission, but at the rate it was growing, he’d have to give it a goddamned court martial. “Divorced then? Raising three kids in the suburbs with a hefty alimony check?”

  She reared back before the needle touched her shoulder, and he had to jerk his hand to keep from hitting her with it.

  “How dare you? You know nothing about me!”

  He shrugged. “My mistake.” The fire in her eyes increased the heat in his loins exponentially, proving to himself, at least, that his nonchalance was a lie. Everything about his attitude was a lie. What was wrong with him? He was rarely so rude—or so aroused.

  Carolyn pulled the strap back up on her dress and stood in a huff. “Never mind. I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

  He laid a hand on her arm, surprising himself, and she stiffened. With his other hand, he pulled the mask down from his face. “I apologize,” he said, uncomfortably aware that he meant it. “I was out of line.”

  He held her back when she tried to move away. “I’ll do this one for free, to make it up to you.” What the fuck? As soon as the offer left his mouth, he inwardly cursed and dropped his hand from her arm. There went that misplaced chivalry again. He didn’t pander to her kind. And he sure as hell didn’t work fo
r free. But he’d already said it. He couldn’t renege.

  Her breath hitched, and her eyes narrowed to slits of suspicion.

  Not wanting her to leave, he put on his most innocent mug, the one he sometimes used to lure in his meals. He hadn’t responded to a woman like this in years, decades even—hell, who was he kidding? He didn’t think he’d ever responded like this. He closed his eyes briefly and drew in a deep draught of her scent.

  God, she smelled good. That had to be it.

  Opening his eyes, he noted that she continued to examine him, a tiny line between her brows as she stared at his glasses.

  “Where are you from?”

  He pulled back, surprised and disappointed by the question. So disturbed, in fact, that his usual smart-ass comebacks failed him. “What do you mean?”

  “Were you born in the U.S.?”

  “Yes.” He spat out the one word, and felt his eyes harden with a coldness that could outstrip the AC. Man, he had to get a grip. He didn’t know if she’d asked because he was Latino, or if it was because ….

  He gave himself a mental shake. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t freak out every time he had speech difficulties, or whenever some low-life thought having ancestors from south of the U.S. border made you less than human. He almost laughed. If only they knew.

  Thinking Little Miss Muffet might be guilty of racism upset him more than he liked. He searched her frank gaze, and with a strange rush of relief, he ticked one item off his list. Despite her “All American White Bread” appearance, she didn’t seem the cross-burning type. There was no disgust in her eyes, only an assessing intelligence that clipped his gut.

  There was only one other reason she might have asked, and he wanted to derail that train of thought before it ran through her pretty little head. Most people didn’t put two and two together, but he wasn’t taking chances.

  He forced a sheepish smile. “I guess you’re picking up on my old Southern twang. Most of the time it doesn’t show.” He drew out the accent.