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Chapter One: Wolves Among the Sheep
There were two things that Dominique Janvier knew how to do.
Men and killing, though not necessarily in that order. Sometimes there wasn't even a difference between them, and January had given up a long time ago on trying to separate them. Thinking about such things only made her tired.
An arm snaking her waist reminded her that she was not alone. She'd picked up a guy - quite good-looking even if he was only a human. He'd been so easy to pick up that she'd barely paid him attention, but now he was doing his best to capture her wandering attention again.
His heavy breathing filled her ear. "Come on, baby," he whispered, "let's go back to my car." His other hand copped a quick feel.
Another time, another place, she might have taken him up on his suggestion. Hell, she would have taken him to her car, instead. But not now. He disgusted January, and she wondered why she was in this nightclub again. She'd visited the place three nights in a row, looking for something she couldn't quite find.
Or was it someone?
"Not interested," she said. She disentangled herself from his hold and turned away. It was getting late, and she wanted to get going.
He grabbed her arm. "Hey, hey," he said. He gave her a wheedling smile, one that did absolutely everything to improve his looks and absolutely nothing to change her mind. "Where are you rushing off to? We're only getting started here, baby."
January rolled her eyes. "That's why I'm ending it now."
"Stay a few more minutes. I bet I could change your mind."
She looked at him more carefully. There was nothing bad about his looks. He was the tall, athletic type, and just for a moment, January thought she would take him home. Why not? Uncomplicated fun and she could kill him later if she wanted. Or kill him first and drink his blood. It was all relative, really.
The guy pressed her close against him, taking her silence as assent, and January laughed. Pathetic little worm. He didn't know she was stronger than he was. She could do anything she wanted, and he wouldn't be able to stop her.
Her fingers combed his hair idly. He had blond hair, almost so light that she'd swear he'd dyed it. Not that it mattered much; he was available and willing. Maybe she should just take him with her, and be done with it.
Just like she'd done so many times in the past.
And she'd do it again, too. She had no illusions about that. Some people might pretend they were better than what they really were, but Dominique Janvier didn't bother pretending. She knew people called her a slut, and maybe that was what she was, but so what? They didn't lead a life like hers.
Killing was her livelihood. The Daybreakers could howl all they liked, but organizations like Black Sun existed for a reason. And it wouldn't have mattered if January didn't want to kill, anyway. Black Sun had ways to ensure that the assassins did their jobs. January had learned that lesson once.
The guy's hands wandered, interrupting her thoughts. He kissed her neck, his eyes dropping down to her chest. She almost rolled her eyes again. So predictable. But if she was honest with herself, she'd worn her most tight-fitting top for exactly that reason. The guy was only acting the way she wanted - no, needed - him to.
Nothing irked January more than being ignored.
She couldn't explain it, and she didn't bother trying, but she wanted to be seen. She had to be seen. People could hate or love her, for all she cared, but they didn't forget her. They always remembered Dominique Janvier.
Not exactly a quality that a good assassin should cultivate. Black Sun wanted their assassins to be inconspicuous, but January had never been one to follow the rules. As long as she didn't make mistakes, what did it matter?
"So, where are you from?" the guy asked.
Oh, not one of those "let's-get-to-know-each-other" questions. Sex and conversation didn't go well together. The only reason January ever talked to men was to sleep with them. Apparently, this guy was too dumb to play the game.
"Here and there," she said vaguely. "Lots of places." Hopefully, that'd shut him up.
He didn't get the hint. "Yeah? You've got a Southern accent. Texas, maybe? My cousin lives there, near Austin."
Great, she had a budding linguist on her hands. Of all guys she could have chosen, she'd picked someone who wanted to talk. The irony made January want to laugh.
"How nice," she said, scanning the crowds over his shoulder. There had to be someone who would talk less and act more. Maybe that dark-haired one over there? He had nice blue eyes, but his hair wasn't right. Too dark.
She preferred blond.
And blue eyes too. January's budding linguist wasn't blue-eyed, but the guys before him all were. The last four guys, in fact. It was January's newest trend, and her ever-observant partners had noticed. Hugh had said something caustic, and Gage had said nothing, but January knew Gage had noticed.
Nothing escaped Gage Daviron. He saw everything and that ability had made him the de facto leader of the triad. Other assassins had muttered about that, for vampires traditionally led, but January had gladly acquiesced. She'd known she wasn't cut out to be a leader. Gage could deal with what she couldn't.
Her lip curled. Black Sun had placed her into a triad because they feared for her stability. They'd given her two partners instead of the customary one. So it was their doing that Hugh and Gage had become her partners, her watch-dogs.
Were they watching her now?
Suddenly disquieted, January disentangled herself from the guy. She ignored his protests, slapping his hands away. She just wanted to go home.
Now that was a thought that soured her. She shared a spacious apartment with her partners, but it wasn't really home. Not when Black Sun owned the building, and not when they monitored every phone call there. Practically every other person in that building was an informant. The only ones she could trust were her partners.
Her dear watch-dogs. They were close by and January wondered if they'd followed her. Well, what did it matter? She could never go too far from them. Black Sun had made sure of that when they'd set up the partner bonds.
She earned herself one or two wolf whistles before she left the club. Sexist, maybe, but they did boost her ego. It was nice to know her charms were being appreciated.
Even the cop seemed to appreciate her charms. He stood near a car, checking its license plates, but he stopped and gave her a second look. January blew him a kiss, but kept going. She'd had one or two unfortunate encounters with the police. More than one cop seemed to think she was a hooker.
Their hypocrisy amused January. She wasn't a hooker, but the police treated her like she was one. They were always too quick to judge. The Daybreakers weren't any better either. For all of their vaunted sense of justice, they were gutless and witless.
Had she just rhymed? Gutless and witless. January liked that one. She'd have to remember that the next time. She hummed as she walked through the streets.
The club she'd gone to was posh, but a few blocks later, the environs weren't so posh anymore. Not too many taxis, only a few straggly buses. Mostly run-down buildings and strangers with hungry eyes. January could feel their eyes on her. She knew she appeared guileless and innocent. She was their prey, or so they thought.
They didn't know she was the predator.
She wasn't the only predator, though. A car had been cruising for a few minutes now, tracking her progress. January could pick out the mind of the driver. A human male, strong and confident. And if January was any judge, he had sadistic tastes.
Ah, one of those. The night was looking up, and January whistled. She'd worn boots, so she could run if she had to. They were also handy for hiding knives. Even a gun too, for she'd brought one today.
Her sharp hearing caught the car window rolling down. The human was making his move. Any minute now, he would lean out and call to her.
Sure enough, he did. "Lady, you lost? This isn't a good neighborhood."
"I'm not lost. Are you?"
Was that consternation she read in his face? Then he rallied himself and gave her a boyish smile. "Yeah, good guess. I'm not sure where to get to Lake Shore Drive. Can you tell me how to get there from here?"
He'd pulled his car up to her side. He reeked of eagerness, and underneath that, it was pure filth. His mind made January's skin crawl.
She took a few steps forward. "Your license plates are from Illinois. So why don't you know how to get to Lake Shore Drive?"
His eyes flickered. He'd obviously wanted her to be compliant. His anger should have made her afraid, but it only filled her with exhilaration. She was playing with fire, and it could burn, but oh how sweet it was.
"It's my friend's car. Can you please help me out? You're the only person I've seen for a few minutes now," he said.
Score one for him. He was keeping his temper in check. For that, January would reward him with what he thought he wanted. "Since you asked so nicely...well, I suppose I could help you," she drawled. "You can drop me off home."
"I can do that, no problem."
She got inside the car. Her skirt inched up her thighs, but she didn't tug it down. He could look all he liked. It would be the last look he'd have.
"To your right," she said.
He turned right, and a few minutes later, he was still following her directions. He just wanted to lull her before pouncing. Come to think of it, she wanted to lull him too. The thought made January smile. Two predators in a car, and only one of them would survive.
There was a parking garage coming up. It didn't take a genius to know he'd stop there. The neighborhood now was too affluent for people not to notice. But who ever paid attention to a deserted parking garage? Not too many.
January didn't bother screaming. She only fiddled with the handle. It was broken, a predator's old trick. And the gun jabbing her ribs was yet another old trick.
His eyes were fierce now. The beast was no longer hiding. "Move into the backseat," he hissed. He cocked his gun, the sound unexpectedly sharp. "Now!"
"Darling, you need a breath mint."
He snarled, his fist rising.
And then January struck. She twisted the gun upwards, breaking his wrist. She grasped his throat with her other hand. Her nails gouged the skin, digging deeper and breaking through. Blood blossomed under her nails, and she leaned forward, licking it off. The blood tasted sweet and January tightened her grip.
His face was turning purple. An unattractive purple, she was sorry to say. He clawed at her hand desperately. "It's a bad idea to threaten a vampire, darling," she advised him. "But don't worry - it's the last mistake you'll ever make."
His head rolled back. She'd rendered him unconscious. She unhooked her fingers, licking the blood off. After her fingers were clean, she studied him. For a beast, he was rather handsome.
January ran a fingernail down his ruined neck. A vein pulsed under the skin, and she was transfixed. There was nothing sweeter than killing, but sex came close. Sex gave her almost the same rush as drinking blood. Her two favorite activities, and she never felt so alive as she did whenever she did them.
Her smile faded. Gage and Hugh had been keeping such a close watch on her lately, and more often than not, they'd stopped her from killing as often as she would have liked. They were keeping her in check, and she knew why. They were afraid she'd fly apart. If she couldn't kill, it had to be sex then.
The only way she could feel alive now.
Sometimes January thought she was dying inside, and that no one ever paused long enough to notice it.
His killer crouched next to him. Andrei Sangre's blue eyes never flickered as he yanked the stake from the body. It vanished inside his coat pocket. He cast a cursory eye over the room. Chairs were overturned, curtains hung askew, glass were smashed, and holes were in the walls. But before the fight, it'd been a luxurious apartment.
Apparently Black Sun paid well.
The thought made Andrei grimace. There was no honor in assassination, not when the victims were innocent. He himself was an assassin, he supposed, but all of the people he'd killed had justly deserved death. Not to mention that they'd never be tried by the humans' legal courts. So it made him the sole judge, the jury, and the executioner.
He glanced at the body again. Normally, he'd have gotten rid of it, but for this one, why bother? A Night Person would find the body soon. The fight had hardly gone unheard. Andrei had heard sounds from the adjoining apartment that had abruptly ceased. The neighbors, at least, would check after he'd gone.
Andrei went to the window. It was a five-floor drop, not that it mattered. At most, he'd get a sprained ankle if he jumped. He opened the window, letting fresh air in.
Something caught his attention, but it was only a reflection. Moonlight shone down on framed pictures on the table near the window. An impulse drove him for a closer look. With a gloved hand, Andrei picked up one of the pictures. Unfamiliar faces, all of them, save for three.
Gage Daviron, Hugh Wilcox, and Dominique Janvier.
They appeared younger in the picture, and Andrei realized that they must have belonged to the dead assassin's training group. Only nine had survived the training, but now it was seven, courtesy of Andrei Sangre. He'd taken out the assassin's partner forty minutes ago.
And he was just getting started. Twenty-two more assassins to go before he exacted justice for the Paxton family. Black Sun had sent assassins to wipe out the Paxton relatives, and they'd done a very thorough job. Now it was up to Andrei to hunt them.
He put the picture down. The faces were unsettling him, and he suddenly wanted to get out of here. He swung himself out of the window, balancing himself on the ledge, and looked down at the snow-covered grass. Luckily, the apartment wasn't facing the street, so there were no witnesses.
Andrei let himself fall.
Cold air rushed past him. For a second, he felt like he was flying. He bent his knees slightly, so to absorb the shock better. He landed lightly, his ankle twisting a bit. Not too bad, but he'd have to take it easy for the next few minutes.
Once he got inside his rented car, he drove for two hours before he stopped at a hotel. A real luxury since he'd slept mostly in the car. The only good way to track the targets was to follow them, and he'd been on foot. Now he could rest.
He showered and then made a quick call to a government agent to report on his progress. After that, he turned the TV on and ordered room service.
As he waited for the food to arrive, he flopped back on the bed. He was too tired, he thought. Six assassins dead in a week. He'd ambushed the first two in Pennsylvania. Then the next four in Virginia, but only after he'd tracked them down and studied their general movements. After that, it'd get harder.
The living assassins would be forewarned now. They'd suspect he was after them, and they'd go into hiding. To kill them all would probably take months. Still, he'd known that even before he'd volunteered. He didn't regret it.
But did he regret making an alliance with Orestes?
Some Daybreakers thought Andrei had made a deal with the devil. They all regarded Orestes with a healthy amount of fear and awe. To them, he was a Black Sun councilor, one of the Nine to run the organization. He was enormously wealthy and powerful. Indisputably brilliant, yet the greatest enigma Andrei had ever known.
The most dangerous opponent Andrei had ever run across.
The irony was that Orestes hadn't harmed him. When they had met weeks ago, he'd let Andrei and the Daybreakers leave his casino in peace. He'd provided information and helped Andrei with the search for David Conant. He had even let Andrei probe his mind. An astounding act of trust, especially when Andrei could have easily destroyed his mind.
A fool's act except Orestes wasn't a fool.
More than anything, Orestes was calculating. He'd tested Andrei more than once. He'd captured Eva Chasseur, the woman Andrei had loved, and turned her over to him. Then he'd stepped back and watched Andrei. And of course, he'd profited from Andrei's killings. Orestes wasn't a fool and never would be.
Andrei didn't doubt Orestes was already dreaming up ways of how to get rid of him. Their deal expired after all the Paxton family's assassins died. Orestes might offer him another deal, but he wouldn't take it. There was only so much Andrei could tolerate.
The knock at the door jolted him out of his reverie. Room service was here. After he tipped the hotel employee, he started eating.
While he ate, he flipped through the dossier on Orestes. The government had handed him a list of information they'd gathered. They'd tried their best, but it wasn't enough. Orestes covered his tracks too well.
That left only one option. Andrei dialed Jonathan Conant's number. Conant was the only Night Person Andrei trusted enough to work with. The Daybreakers were generally good people, Andrei had found, but sometimes their purposes just didn't suit his.
A minute later, Conant answered. "Hello?" he said.
"Sangre here. I need information."
"About?"
One thing Andrei liked about the man was that Conant seldom wasted his time. Conant didn't ask him why he wanted the information, just assuming that it was important. He was pure business and Andrei liked that too.
"Black Sun. Orestes in particular. I need everything you've got on him."
Conant's chuckle was dry. "You've come to the right man, then. Do you want information about the organization itself too?"
"Yes, that'd help."
"How do you want me to send the information? Email, fax, or mail? It's up to you."
Andrei thought for a moment. He'd check out tomorrow, so mail was no good. "Can you email me? Send it as an attachment."
"No problem, but it'll take me a while to scan everything. Expect an email from me sometime tomorrow."
"Thanks." Andrei almost ended the conversation, but then he said, "Actually, could you fax me some information now? Email me the rest."
"Got a number?"
"Hang on, let me find a fax."
He'd seen one downstairs; the hotel had a small internet room complete with faxes and printers. He grabbed his key card and went downstairs. His memory hadn't failed him. After paying the front desk for the use of a fax machine, Andrei retreated to the room and gave Conant the number.
The fax machine sprang to life. Andrei wandered over to it, seeing pages spewing out. He glanced through the pages. Conant had done a stellar job. "I owe you one," Andrei said. "How's your family doing?"
He could hear the smile in the man's voice. "Doing just fine. David seems to be adjusting well - no problems whatsoever."
"Good." If there was anyone who deserved a break, it was Jonathan Conant. He'd seen his wife killed and his son abducted. And then as a paralyzed cop, he'd struggled to hold his fledgling family. "If there's any problem, let me know."
"I'll do that. Call me if you need help again."
They said their goodbyes, and Andrei took all of the papers back to his room. The food was cold now, but he didn't care. He ate while he read. Conant had scanned some Daybreak reports on Black Sun, mostly about Orestes, and even reports from Black Sun itself. A list of Orestes's kills - Andrei had almost forgotten that the man had been an assassin once - and another list of his enemies. As expected, that particular list was long.
What he gleaned was intriguing. Every Black Sun councilor was given a particular territory. They all were expected to expand business in their territories. The task of regulating Africa had fallen to Orestes. The reports weren't explicit, but Andrei was able to read between the lines. Black Sun had hoped Orestes would fail.
It took Orestes only four months to conquer Africa.
Within a year of being granted Africa, he'd vanquished all of his rivals and monopolized crime. Not content with his success, he'd started meddling with the other councilors' territories. The world worried about Africa's oppressive political climate and national poverty, but little did they know that Orestes was the true power there. Such was his power now that he could afford to stay in Las Vegas.
Andrei's mouth quirked. He didn't doubt that given time, Orestes would emerge as the one running Las Vegas. Already, with three very lucrative casinos, Orestes had gained influence. He intended to rise, and rise he would.
The Daybreakers had taken Orestes's rise hard. He'd prevented them from being a visible presence in Africa. They were everywhere, but he'd driven them out from his territory. Now that he was in Las Vegas, the headquarters of the Circle Daybreak, what would he do? Did he intend to destroy Circle Daybreak? He hadn't tolerated them in Africa, so why would he tolerate them in Las Vegas? If that was truly his intention, it would mean war.
Orestes wasn't a mere crime lord. He was more than that. There were two vacancies on the Black Sun council, and there would be a third soon. As a part of his bargain with Orestes, Andrei had promised to kill the councilor Yuri. Only six councilors would be left. It was the perfect opportunity for Orestes to take Black Sun.
Gunther D'Sver currently ran the council and by extension, Black Sun. Under D'Sver's long leadership, Black Sun had prospered. But under Orestes, it would become a weapon.
After Andrei set the last page aside, he sighed. Nowhere in the reports had Conant said anything about Orestes's past. It remained an enigma just like the man himself. To this day, Orestes was still the only assassin to have voluntarily joined Black Sun. He'd also requested that he be allowed to chose his name, and from that day, he had become Orestes.
And he'd let his past die.
It exasperated Andrei. How possible was it for Orestes's past to stay hidden? What had the man done for a living before he'd joined? Orestes looked young, but he'd been with the organization for twenty-seven years. Surely, he had people who knew him from somewhere.
Eva had known about him, though. She'd hinted that Orestes had been a priest once. A prince, soldier, slave, and assassin too. Assassin, yes - that had been verified. But what about those other claims? To be all of those, he'd have to be long-lived or an Old Soul. Shapeshifters lived longer than humans, but they weren't immortal. Only dragons were, and Orestes certainly wasn't a dragon. So he was likely an Old Soul, but Andrei didn't think it fit Orestes. Only Eva knew the truth, and she was now dead.
Dead because Andrei had killed her.
Andrei closed his eyes. Could he ever stop thinking about her? How could he still want her, even miss her? She had made a fool out of him and betrayed not just him, but the government too. Andrei had told himself a thousand times that he'd had no choice but to kill her. If he hadn't, the government would have done the job.
His appetite was gone. He pushed the food aside and stared up at the ceiling. Maybe he'd loved her for what he thought she was, but it still didn't matter. He had loved her. And now he was finding it extremely hard to forget Eva Chasseur.
He turned over on his side, but Eva's ghost followed him. She curled up on the bed, watching him with bright, sardonic eyes. Her smile was no longer what Andrei remembered it as. Not tender and loving, but vengeful and triumphant. If she'd intended to punish him beyond the grave, she was doing it very well.
"Leave me alone," Andrei said.
She didn't. Of course she didn't.
Her ghost haunted him all night.
A voice came to him, distantly. "What do you dream about at night, I wonder?"
Eva Chasseur had asked him that. She'd meant to annoy him and she'd succeeded, but now she was dead. He had won, but he still remembered her sly question. It refused to leave him alone, and more often than not, Orestes found himself pondering. He had never thought the answer very important, but now things had changed.
The Nine were no more. Andrei Sangre had killed Zohra and Heloise, and the others were in hiding, and the rival organizations were smelling blood. The situation was such that it required a strong person to hold Black Sun together. Conversely, a strong opponent could destroy Black Sun. Sangre seemed determined to take on that role. Somewhat fitting, considering his last name.
And Orestes intended to oppose him.
A discreet cough suddenly reminded him that he was not alone.
Orestes didn't turn. "What is it?"
"Will you take Irina's call?" his secretary asked. "She's called three times in the past hour, demanding to speak to you."
It didn't surprise him that Irina, his fellow Black Sun councilor, was so frantic. America was her territory, and thanks to Andrei Sangre, she'd had more problems in the last two months than she'd had in years.
"I'll take the call."
His secretary pressed a button and quietly left the room, closing the door after her. Only after she'd gone did Orestes speak. "Problems, Irina?"
"What do you think?" Irina hissed. "You've refused to return my calls, and you haven't showed up at the last three meetings. The others are beginning to talk. They think you don't want to be a part of Black Sun anymore. We have a problem, Orestes. More than one."
"Why would it be my problem?"
A new note entered her voice. "So it's true then? You don't want to be on the council anymore? You know what that means?"
"I don't intend to let them terminate me."
"You've planned ahead for this, haven't you?"
"That would be telling."
"Don't make jokes. The situation's volatile and your jokes won't help. You need to reassure Gunther and the others that you're still with us."
"I seldom joke, Irina."
"I'll be damned," she said finally. There was some awe in her voice. "You do want out of Black Sun. Or are you eyeing D'Sver's position? If you are, then don't expect to live, Orestes. We're all watching you."
"Is that a threat?"
"Do whatever you want, but remember, we're watching."
Long after their conversation had ended, Orestes remained by the window. Las Vegas was a city of night, and the lights would dazzle until the morning. Sometimes, Orestes thought that was why he'd relocated here. He'd had business reasons, but aside from that, the city never slept.
He'd never slept well. A severe case of insomnia, not to mention his work, kept him awake. He'd even resorted to taking medication, but it left unpleasant effects. There were spells, but he didn't trust witches. Not that the spells would have helped much. When he did fall asleep, he always woke up. He suspected that he dreamed, but he never remembered any of his dreams. Not that he wanted to remember, of course.
"What do you dream about at night, I wonder?"
That question again. Ever since Eva Chasseur had died, Orestes had heard it everyday. It mocked him just like she'd mocked him. He was glad she was dead. She'd known too much and overplayed her hand. Arrogance had made her too bold, and she'd paid for it. Rightfully so, for she'd been too arrogant.
The thought almost made Orestes smile. Vampires were so arrogant that they'd forgotten how to be afraid. It was past time they relearned.
He'd have to deal with Black Sun first. Since Zohra and Heloise were gone, that left D'Sver, Irina, Vashti, Yuri, Walker, Eric, and himself. D'Sver, as the leader, was the strongest, but if he died, Yuri would be his replacement. It was necessary that Yuri die. Strike at the snake's body, not at the head.
It wasn't that D'Sver wasn't dangerous. Gunther D'Sver was a competent leader and in his long years, he'd made Black Sun what it was. Competent, yes, but he wasn't enough. He played it safe, never risking much. He was getting old and it was time for him to go.
Not yet, though.
There were better candidates. Yuri and Walker, for instance. Walker now had Australia and Asia as his territories. Too much for someone to hold. Vashti was part of D'Sver's trinity as Yuri was. She was a good choice. Irina and Eric weren't as significant as the rest, even though they held North and South America, respectively.
How fortunate that Yuri would die soon. Andrei Sangre had promised to kill him, and Orestes intended to hold Sangre to that promise. Not that Sangre needed reminding - he was the sort of person who kept his word.
He was also a mystery. He'd literally vaulted out of nowhere into prominence. With four major kills to his credit, he'd made himself a player. His true motivations were unknown and his allegiance uncertain. Eva Chasseur had referred to him as her pet hellhound. And they'd been lovers, Orestes could tell. But then Sangre had proved himself to be separate from his lover by killing her. So he owed his allegiance to someone else.
A shame Sangre wasn't a mercenary. If he was, Orestes would have bid for his services and won. Not too many people could outbid Orestes. His position as a Black Sun councilor did have its benefits.
Neither did Sangre seem to be a Daybreaker. He'd stormed a Daybreak safe house to get to Heloise, who'd taken sanctuary with them. His assault had left almost everyone severely injured. But after that, he'd actually helped them out from time to time. Orestes's spies had reported that he met with them occasionally.
Sangre had even come here twice. The first time to kill Eva Chasseur, then the second time to collect blood samples. It had amused Orestes to help him out. After all, it cost him nothing, and it provided entertainment.
Well, not exactly. Sangre's last visit had proved to be expensive. He'd killed twenty-seven Night People. Some of them had worked for Orestes. It had taken some effort to cover up the blood and bodies, so the police wouldn't notice. The Daybreakers in Chicago probably had a devil of a time covering up Sangre's kills. He'd stayed there for a month, and according to unofficial reports, Chicago's Night World population had dropped markedly.
Now he was gone. Orestes's spies didn't know where he was. They'd tried to follow him, but he'd shaken them loose. Orestes had expected nothing less. He only read newspapers and kept an ear open to rumors. Sangre had a tendency to leave a trail of blood and bodies.
Orestes turned away from the window. He went to his desk and sorted through the reports. They didn't mention any suspicious deaths. Sangre had to be somewhere. He couldn't have just vanished.
Wait, there was something. Orestes read the report carefully. Two assassins had died in Pennsylvania. When they hadn't called in, the organization had sent out someone to look for them. Judging from the condition of their bodies, they'd been dead for three or four days. Their killer remained at large.
Their names were familiar. Orestes didn't recall meeting them, but hadn't they been on the list he'd given to Sangre? He'd supplied Sangre with a list of assassins who'd killed that human family's relatives. A sore subject, that. The councilors were incredulous that three of their assassins should defect and flee to be with humans. As if to add injury to insult, the assassins had become damned Daybreakers.
If there was anything Orestes hated, it was Circle Daybreak.
Circle Daybreak disgusted him. Or rather, the witches disgusted him. They were glorified humans; they didn't deserve to be Night People. They bleated about justice, but in turn, they conspired with vampires to oppress shapeshifters. Hypocrites, all of them. The only good witch was a dead one.
Eva Chasseur had said that the witches had cursed him. For what, she hadn't said, and Orestes didn't know if he believed her. But if it was true, then he'd repay the witches. Let them see how they liked it.
Orestes read another report. Another two assassins had died in Virginia. Once again, the killer was nowhere to be found. That made four dead assassins. It was a fair bet that it was Sangre. There were other suspects too, but Sangre headed the list.
There wasn't anything Orestes could do now. He gathered all of his reports and straightened the stack before leaving. He glanced towards the door, making sure it was shut. The door wouldn't open unless he unlocked it. His security system was first class. The spells didn't hurt too.
His personal elevator, in the far end of his office, took him up to his suite. No other elevators in the hotel went to the top floor. That was only for him. Each hotel he owned had the top floor given over to his use.
The suite was almost empty. It was tastefully decorated, of course, but it wasn't his doing. Orestes had told his secretary to get an interior decorator, and she'd done everything. She'd picked out the color schemes and furniture. As it were, the suite was modern with white and black colors.
Huge fireplaces dominated almost every room, but the hearths weren't lit. The temperature was set low and it was cold in the suite, not that Orestes cared. He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it on a couch.
Orestes poured himself a drink. He drew the curtains and stared outside the window. He had a higher view of the city than he did in his office. The view never changed, but perhaps that was why he liked it. His life was so inconstant that it was comforting to know that something stayed the same.
It was his fault, he supposed. He requested frequent memory wipes, more than anyone else in Black Sun. A personal record to be proud of.
He knew people wondered. Not just Black Sun, but also Circle Daybreak and what seemed like every Night Person. They all wondered why he'd chosen to join Black Sun and given up his memory. The only person who didn't think about it was Orestes himself. All he remembered was that he didn't want to remember.
And that was good enough for him.
He went to the kitchen and made some dinner. A very late dinner, to be sure, but again, he never followed anyone's schedule, only his own. As he ate his steak and potatoes, he thought about Andrei Sangre again.
Sangre needed to be dealt with. If Orestes's suspicions were correct, Sangre was killing Black Sun assassins. Orestes didn't particularly care about their lives; after all, he'd given Sangre a list of their names. But it was somewhat annoying that the assassins could not even stop one vampire. What did that say about them?
The organization needed to revise their training program. Cut down on the number of children being taken and take them at younger ages, Orestes thought. It was easier to train them, not to mention less costly. A more radical idea was to abolish the program. Hire only contract killers, independent of Black Sun. The soulmate principle had already done its damage.
Sada Tompkins had started it all. She'd met her soulmate and defected to Circle Daybreak. Her fellow assassins killed her, but later, her example inspired Luther Warren to escape. That little incident resulted in four dead assassins and three traitors. D'Sver should have had come down hard on the traitors. Only Yuri had suggested killing the human family, but that was a weak and belated gesture.
If there was anything Orestes hated, other than Circle Daybreak, it was incompetence.
Irina was right. Orestes wanted D'Sver eliminated. After twenty-four years on the council, he was done with waiting. He would restore Black Sun to its glory. There was no one else who could do the job, or rather no one else who he trusted. So the task fell to him, and Orestes would make Black Sun great.
He cleaned and put the dishes away. Then he took his drink and wandered back to his living room to study the view again. This time, he did not see the lights. He only watched the buildings and people.
The city would be his.
And Black Sun would be his.