Tonight, he had called a meeting of the West Coast Vampire Council to see if any of the members had information on the killings in the East. A rogue vampire was bad news for all of them. He didn’t summon the Council to LA unless there was trouble of one sort or another brewing. And the killings in the East smelled like trouble. Big trouble.
While waiting for the Council to arrive, he let himself think of the night past. He had held Megan in his arms until just before dawn. It was a testament to his self-control that all he did was hold her when his body had urged him to take her while she slept, while his hunger had urged him to feed. Monster he might be, but to take advantage of Megan while she slept was unthinkable. Tempting as she was, he wouldn’t defile her in such a despicable way.
He tucked thoughts of Megan safely away as the members of the Council arrived.
Five members of the Council had been destroyed not long ago. Damon had been killed by Erik Delacourt. Saul had been destroyed by Daisy. Tina and Craig had been terminated by Daisy’s brother, Alex. Rhys had destroyed Mariah for her betrayal. News of her destruction, which had been slow and painful, had spread quickly through the vampire community, a warning to others who thought to betray him.
Rhys surveyed the remaining members of the original Council. The handsome vampire with dark, slicked-back hair and a thin mustache was Rupert Moss. He reminded Rhys of a young Valentino. Rupert kept his lair in Idaho.
The tall, angular vampire with wispy gray hair and pale blue eyes was Nicholas. He had been turned when he was in his late seventies, something Rhys had always found a little creepy. He could understand why humans didn’t want to die, but to be immortal at seventy? What was the point? Nicholas spent most of his time in Arizona.
Julius Romano was a California boy who had started dealing drugs in high school. Of medium height, with brown eyes and short brown hair, he had been turned when he was twenty-three. A red-and-black snake tattoo ran the length of his left arm.
Rhys had appointed four new members of the Council shortly after he’d destroyed Mariah.
Adrianna made her home in New Mexico. She was fire and ice, that one, with her flaming red hair and cold blue eyes. She had a penchant for diamonds and furs and was rarely seen without one or the other. She had been a vampire for one hundred and fifty years, and she reveled in it. Rhys didn’t like her and he didn’t trust her, which was why he had brought her into the Council where he could keep an eye on her. If there was one thing about women he was certain of—it was that the female was always deadlier and more cunning than the male. Mariah had been proof of that.
Mark Winchester resided in Montana. He was a good-looking kid, with his wheat-blond hair and dark brown eyes. Winchester had been a year younger than Rhys when he was turned. Built like a Mack truck, Winchester had been a college quarterback in mortality. He had been turned by an admirer after a football game. Fifteen years later, he was still bitter about having to give up football, but there was no help for it. After all was said and done, there were only so many excuses he could use for constantly missing practice and day games.
Stuart Hastings made his lair in Medford, Oregon, where he had once been a renowned surgeon. He hated what he had become. Rhys couldn’t blame him. For a man whose sole reason for living had been saving lives, becoming one of the Undead seemed like a cruel trick.
Seth Adams had been a Union soldier during the Civil War. He would have died at Gettysburg if a hungry vampire hadn’t found him, bleeding and near death, on the battlefield. Adams resided in Washington.
“So,” Adrianna said, looking bored, “why have you called us here?”
Rhys told them as succinctly as possible about the killings in the East. “Have any of you heard anything?” he asked, glancing around the room. “Winchester?”
“What?”
Rhys shook his head. “Stop texting, and pay attention. I asked if you’ve heard anything about the killings in New York.”
The kid shrugged one big, burly shoulder. “Nah.”
“What about you, Adrianna?”
“Nothing. How do you know it’s a vampire?”
“I know.
“I had an e-mail from an old friend who lives in New York,” Rupert said. “He heard the report on a police scanner and went to the scene. It was definitely the work of a vampire. Neat. Clean. He was positive that an old one was responsible.”
Rhys nodded. An old one. There were a number of aged vampires on the East Coast. Of course, that didn’t prove anything. Few vampires stayed long in one place. “What about you, Julius?”
“I haven’t heard anything, but I say we stop sneaking around and join up with whoever it is.”
“I’m not looking for a war,” Rhys retorted. “I’ve had enough of that. Nick?”
“I haven’t heard anything other than what was said on the news, but to my way of thinking, there’s no point in worrying about it now. Unless the rogue comes here, I don’t see how it concerns us.”
Rhys swept his gaze over the Council. “We’ve lived under the radar for quite a while. I’m older than any of you. I remember what it was like to be hunted by hysterical mobs wielding scythes and torches. It isn’t something I want to experience again.”
“Sounds dreadful,” Nicholas said. “What do you want us to do?”
“For now, just keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear of anything the least bit suspicious, tell me immediately. The last thing I want is a bunch of humans running scared. They might be weak and sometimes stupid, but they’re persistent when they get their tails in a knot. One more thing, there’s a new hunter here in LA.”
“Anyone we know?” Nicholas asked, and then frowned. “It’s not that Blood Thief, is it?”
“No,” Rhys said, grinning, “it’s not her.” Those who knew Daisy had good reason to fear her. In spite of being young and a woman, she had been a force to be reckoned with.
Rhys remembered Daisy well. He had been at rest here, in the pantry of the meeting house, minding his own business, when her brother, Alex, had attacked him. The two of them had been locked in a life-and-death battle when Daisy burst into the room and hurled a bottle of holy water at his head. Rhys had howled in pain and fury as the water burned his skin. With murder on his mind, he had whirled around to face her. He could only imagine how frightful he must have looked, with his eyes glowing like hell’s own flames and his fangs dripping with her brother’s blood. But it hadn’t slowed her down. With a wild cry, she had pulled a stake from her pocket, lunged forward, and driven the damn thing into his chest. Had her hand been steadier, her aim true, she would have destroyed him on the spot.