Soulmates - Liv Rancourt Page 0,1

minutes after eight, I park my Escalade in front of a secluded Spanish-style compound, made more private by a riot of foliage concealing the house from the street. It satisfies Jacques’s perversity to pay gardeners to create something he’ll never see in the daylight.

I pause, testing the air. Evil has a scent, though even the worst humans rarely disturb me. They’re too easy to take down. I pay attention to weres and shifters because they can be trouble. Some of the lesser magicals, like harpies, revenants, and pixies, are a pain in the ass, but it’s the necromancers and demons I really have to watch out for. Necromancers play with the dead, which makes me vulnerable in a way I have trouble counteracting. And demons? Jesus, just keep me away from the spawn of Satan.

All the way up his long driveway, I vow to listen to Jacques’s line of bullshit and leave without making promises.

We meet out by the pool, under an overhang growing thick with grapevines and white dragon fruit flowers. Their scent is heavy, cloying, and the moon is the brightest light. Jacques is paler than usual, with dark smudges under his eyes. Vampires don’t suffer illness easily. His appearance—along with the sudden summons after so many months—makes me nervous.

Jacques stifles a cough. He once told me he’d had to choose between death and undeath, and while the turn made him stronger and more vigorous than he’d ever been in life, he hadn’t been able to shake the lingering effects of the disease that almost killed him.

“Jacques.” I pause a few feet away from him.

“Sit.” He gestures to the cushioned chair opposite a low table and sits. On the table, there are two champagne flutes half filled with blood. “I took the liberty of pouring us a beverage.”

He might be my maker, but I wouldn’t have survived all these years without a healthy sense of suspicion. I didn’t watch him pour the blood, and if he slipped something-or-other in the glass, I’m done. He may or may not have a reason for wanting me truly dead, so I lift the delicate crystal and pretend to sip. It smells like blood—hell, it smells a lot better than the shit I get in the bag—but I don’t trust the situation.

The pool is a mirror, reflecting the flickering torches that line the perimeter.

“You’re late.” Jacques stops and coughs hard into his fist. The smell of blood strengthens, and it’s not from our drinks.

I shrug. “Traffic in Santa Monica…” I let the sentence drift. Anyone who’s spent time in LA really doesn’t need to hear the details. Traffic sucks. It’s a thing.

“Looking good.” His smile stays in place, chilling me with his joie de vivre. “It’s been too long, my friend.” He raises his glass.

I tap his glass with my own. He drinks. I sniff, making it quick and subtle, then fake a sip. “You look well.” His suit is midnight blue, perfectly tailored. His shirt and tie are the color of moonlight. I do my best not to get trapped in the cold light of his silver eyes. He owns me, fair and square. I just need to wait it out, to see how he wants me to repay my debt this time.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you since…” He pauses, stabbing me with the memory. He hasn’t seen me since Connor, since I lost the one thing that made this endless life worth living.

I force myself back to the present, though the past claws and scratches. “It’s been a while.”

He relaxes, gently twirling his glass between his fingers. “How’s business? Club doing well?”

“It’s fine.” At least things look okay when I bother to read the monthly statements.

“Drink up, Trajan. I have a situation that needs your attention.”

I fake another sip. “Figured.”

He shifts sharply, clasping his hands, his knuckles nearly brushing my sleeve. “I figured you’d figure.” Again with the chilling smile. “I need to put that big body to work, give you something to do besides feel sorry for yourself.”

It takes everything I have not to respond to his jibe. He has no idea what I’d shared with Connor. None.

“Look at you. When’s the last time you fed? Properly fed?”

I stare into the ruby liquid in my glass, the torchlight flickering across the surface. I have a deal with a blood bank. Yeah, the stuff is old, but I can get it cheap.

“Fine. Be that way.” Jacques sets his glass down gently. A young woman walks out of the house.