Laurell Hamilton - Affliction

He smiled bright in the dark handsome of his face. ‘You almost died, and you’re apologizing because we had to travel out of town at the last minute.’ He shook his head.

‘I want my weapons in the room near me; if we all carry stuff it’ll be quicker,’ I said.

They didn’t argue. We all picked up bags and Lisandro led the way to a door. He gave a knock that sounded like a signal: two short, one loud. The door opened, though I couldn’t see who opened it around everyone’s taller and broader bodies. I was used to being the smallest person in the room and certainly the smallest person when the guards were with me. They deposited the dangerous bags just inside the door, because though the room was large there was barely space for this many new bags.

I finally got to see the hotel suite. I’m sure it had looked roomy once, but with all the coffins in it there was barely room to thread a path from the window to the bathroom. Jean-Claude could have slept in the bed just fine, but two things. One, a lot of the older vampires preferred to travel with a coffin. Two, a maid opening the drapes, by accident or on purpose, would be very, very bad. A lot of the maids were devoutly religious and from sections of the world where vampires weren’t legal and could still be killed on sight, if you could manage it before they killed you. It just wasn’t worth the risk. Some of the newer vamps traveled with mummy sleeping bags. They folded up better in your carry-on bag. Coffins were for vampires who had servants and flunkies to tote and fetch. Jean-Claude had those. In fact, some of the coffins were for the flunkies.

I kissed Nicky good luck as Lisandro led him off to get yelled at by Claudia, about something that wasn’t his fault, but I understood chain of command enough to know that my interceding for him would just piss her off more. Claudia was six foot six, the tallest woman I’d ever personally met, and had the shoulders and muscle to go with her size, though she still managed to look feminine, dangerous but beautiful. With no makeup to grace the high cheekbones, and her long hair usually pulled back into a tight ponytail just like Lisandro’s, she was still one of the most striking women I’d ever met.

Lisandro led them and Edward off to find her and a bed for Edward and his own bags of dangerous toys. Dev poked his head back in at the last minute. ‘You still going to help me clean up?’

I smiled at him, I couldn’t help it. ‘Yeah.’

He grinned at me, and Emmanuel gave him a halfhearted push through the door. ‘You are such a horndog.’

‘Yes, I am,’ Dev said, and the door closed behind them. I turned to see past the bags, mine and the mountain of Jean-Claude’s, and the coffins, to find what guards I’d been handed off to, and smiled.

The Wicked Truth had come as Jean-Claude’s bodyguards. Wicked and Truth were tall, broad-shouldered, handsome, with shoulder-length hair. Wicked’s hair was straight and thick and very blond. Truth’s hair was brown with a slight wave to it. They both had gray-blue eyes, which meant that sometimes they looked blue and sometimes not so much. Once Truth had an almost-beard, nicely scruffy, but he’d shaved it and like most vampires he wasn’t able to grow it out once he’d shaved it, so now you could see that they both had a deep dimple in the square, manly chins. Without the facial hair the brothers looked even more like twins, though I knew they’d been born a year apart. I also knew that Wicked had dressed them both in designer suits; his was a pale gray with a blue dress shirt that made his eyes look very blue. Truth was in charcoal gray with a shirt almost the same shade of blue so his eyes were as blue as I’d ever seen them, so that when they turned and looked at me it gave a startling mirror image, and then Wicked’s arrogant, teasing smile spoiled the illusion. Truth was far too serious for that smile.

Wicked was still smiling as he said, ‘It doesn’t do any good to send bodyguards with you if you keep insisting on hunting monsters without us.’

‘You are a fool, brother,’ Truth said, and moved toward me through the coffins. It looked like an undertaker’s showroom.

‘I had a bodyguard with me,’ I said, quietly.

‘I am a fool,’ Wicked said, ‘and I am so sorry about Ares.’

Truth hugged me, and I let him. I let the strength and solidness of him hold me close. I could trace his shoulder rig under the suit jacket, and my hands found his weapons without thinking about it. The suit jackets were tailored to hide the guns and blades. His torso was long enough that he had a short sword down his back in a back sheath modeled after one I used to hold my biggest blade, though I was short enough that mine was just a big knife. His short sword was longer than my body from neck to waist. I knew that somewhere in his luggage was the great sword, his real sword. He’d fixed up a back harness for it, too, but there was no way to actually wear it concealed, just more modern-looking. His battle-axe didn’t really fit under modern clothing either, but then axes are like machine guns; concealment isn’t really the point, intimidation and blood is the point. He had several smaller axes, too, but only the smaller throwing axes actually fit under modern jackets, and then barely.

I liked that hugging Truth was always an obstacle course in weapons placement. Some of the men in my life probably felt the same way about me, though I wasn’t sure about the ‘liking’ part.

He stroked my hair and just held me close. Truth was a man of few words, which meant he didn’t expect much from others. There were moments when that was a very good thing.

Truth and I pulled back from the hug at about the same time. I looked up into his face and those surprisingly blue eyes and found them grayer than when we’d started the hug. I realized his eyes had changed shade because he was sad, or knew I was; blue-gray eyes did that.

Wicked was at our side now. His handsome face was very serious as he said, ‘We understand what it is like to be forced to kill a friend and comrade in arms, Anita.’

I realized that they meant it. Centuries ago the head of their bloodline, their sourdre de sang , had gone insane and been possessed by a blood frenzy that had spread through all the vampires he’d created, except for the two brothers standing with me. They had executed the others of their line, a bloodline known for its warriors, before the Vampire Council’s executioners could arrive to carry out the death sentences.

I wrapped an arm around Wicked’s waist, while still having a loose arm around Truth. They hugged me together, but it was Wicked who bent over for a kiss. He was the bold one in certain areas.

‘We were never allowed such liberties with our Dark Mistress,’ a man’s voice said.

We turned, and it was one of the executioners sent to carry out that death sentence oh so long ago. Mischa was one of the Harlequin; he had been Graziano, one of the early names of the Dottor or Doctor in the Italian Comedy . He’d spent centuries wearing a mask that matched that name. The only people who saw his real face had been those he spied upon or those he killed. His real face had been the last sight on earth for thousands, maybe millions. Some of the Harlequin were more than two thousand years old. You could rack up a pretty impressive kill count in that space of time.

Many of the Harlequin were what real spies looked like: nondescript for their day, or their country. Real spies weren’t James Bond; you didn’t want to stand out or attract too much attention. If you were well known enough that bartenders all over the world knew you preferred your martini shaken and not stirred like old-school Bond, then you were a stalking horse, not a spy. You were sent in to attract attention so the real spies could be sneaky and find out things, or assassinate from the shadows and then vanish back into those shadows.