"Do you love her?"

Anger surged to life. How could he dare love any mortal woman? Their relationship would always be doomed to failure and loss. A vampire would always outlive a mortal, many lifetimes over. "How can I love her?" he bit out. "How can I love anyone?"

"The same way any of us can love." Her tone was soft, her voice musical, sensual. It was that voice which had pulled him back from the edge many times. He felt the lure of it even now.

"I've only met her once."

"She must be quite the woman to have captured your attention."

"It's only l.u.s.t." He said the words, but they rang hollow to his ears.

"If you believe it's only l.u.s.t, then you're a bigger fool than I ever knew you were." She looked down to pick at imaginary lint on her skirt. "You realize that mortals can be our downfall?"

"Yes." She abandoned her task, raising her gaze to meet his. "Do you want to die that badly?" she whispered.

"No, not anymore. I have you to thank for that." He moved away from her and toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. "I don't know how to explain it." Burgundy velvet drapes were pulled back to reveal the clear, starry night. The shadows beyond the gla.s.s beckoned his soul and, for the first time in many years, he wanted to curse the night which enshrouded him.

"You don't have to explain, Val," Miranda spoke softly. "You owe me nothing."

"No, you're wrong," he said, his voice harsh. "I owe you everything." He turned to the beauty who stared at him with the face of love. Love that would ease the crushing loneliness of his life. Love he could never return. "Everything."

"You owe me nothing you will not give willingly." Her tone was pained as she rose from her perch. "I'll take nothing you do not offer of yourself." She picked up her cape and moved to stand before him, her cool fingers caressing his face as if committing it to memory. She dropped her hand as tears filled her eyes. "I take my leave of you with a heart filled with love for the boy you once were, and the man you've become."

She vanished, leaving the faint scent of jasmine and a delicate tingling on his skin. His heart heavy, Val turned, his eyes once again searching the darkness of a New York night. How had his life come to this?

Retribution Book II: The Shadow Dwellers

by

J. C. Wilder

Copyright 1999 Lisa Hamilton Previously published by Dreams Unlimited.

Cover Art by Emily Black Cover Art copyright 2001 Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ONL6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com]

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Wilder, J. C., 1965- Retribution [computer file]

ISBN 1-55316-072-X (electronic) ISBN 1-55316-930-1 (REB 100 1200) I. t.i.tle.

PS3623.I45R48 2001 813'.6 C2001-902071-6.

Dedication.

If you are truly blessed, someone will enter your life and demonstrate that courage, strength and dignity are more than just words in the dictionary.

This one's for you Daddy.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank the following people, without whose support there would be no J. C. Wilder.

Carol - Your friendship and wisdom mean more to me than you will ever know.

Julia - For saying "You Can" every time I say, "I can't."

Debbie - For listening to me blather about vampires, were- cats and witches...oh my!

To the Ladies of the Keep - may the Moet always be chilled, may the bonbons always be G.o.diva, and may the DB's always dance in your honor.

Chapter 1.

Current day - London, England Conor MacNaughten gripped his partner's generous hips as he thrust into her. Her magnificent b.r.e.a.s.t.s, highlighted by the harsh noonday sun, jiggled with his movements and with each thrust an excited cry broke from her lips. Damp blonde hair obscured her features as she dug at the tangled sheets with red-tipped claws. The scent of s.e.x filled the air.

Catherine had the best b.r.e.a.s.t.s he'd seen in years, at least for b.r.e.a.s.t.s that were organically grown. Large and pert with coral shaded aureoles and distended nipples, these beauties were a feast for a starving man. And Conor MacNaughten considered himself a starving man. His hips never slowing, he leaned forward, took a firm nipple into his mouth and suckled deeply.

A hoa.r.s.e cry emerged from Catherine's mouth as she bucked wildly beneath him. She reached for him and fisted her hands in his hair. He nipped at her breast, leaving a tiny love bite before lavishing attention on the other as he continued his slow thrusts. Rolling his hips easily as he slipped into her moist heat, he felt the faint tingling in the back of his calves that signaled his approaching o.r.g.a.s.m.

"Conor...."

Mac paused, stifling a groan. While her body was any seventeen-year- old's wet dream, her voice was a definite problem. Shrill and somewhat whiny, it was the voice of a petulant five-year-old, not a mature, s.e.xually adventurous woman. And he definitely was not in the mood to listen to it now. It had been over three weeks since he last had s.e.x and he had some lost time to make up.

Without as so much as a "by your leave," he withdrew from her damp heat, and gathered the scattered pillows from the floor. As he bent over, his medallion swung forward on its fine gold chain and hit him on the nose. Impatiently, he tossed it over his shoulder and continued his task, piling the pillows on the bed.

Grabbing her by her waist, he then rolled her over onto the pyramid of silk so that her generous backside now pointed upward.

"What are you...."

He cut her off by gently pushing her face down into the sheets, angling her backside even higher and exposing her glistening inner flesh. He thrust deep inside her once again and her m.u.f.fled squeal of delight emanated from the bedcovers. Taking a firm grip on her hips, Mac settled himself in for a leisurely ride.

Current Day - South of Manchester, England Terror and rage warred within Jennifer Beaumont's soul as she entered the sprawling house. Rage was winning the battle.

The ma.s.sive front door slammed with a heavy thud as she kicked it shut. Her Italian leather pumpsclicked sharply on the marble floor as she barreled toward the double doors of the library. She tossed her purse in the direction of the gla.s.s-topped table in the center of the foyer, where it glanced off the towering vase of pink and white gladioli. The arrangement tottered dangerously before righting itself.

"d.a.m.n his miserable hide," she swore as she wrenched the bra.s.s doork.n.o.b downward. She hit the oak door with the palm of her hand, slamming it backward into the wall with a crash, destroying the cozy scene inside.

The vampire Mikhail stood before the fireplace watching her entrance with an indulgent smile. Hundreds of years ago, she'd thought Mikhail a handsome man. At six feet in height, every inch of it lean-muscled, he cut a striking figure. His pale gold hair was shorn just beneath his ears and neatly combed back to reveal a narrow face with exquisite cheekbones, sharp nose and a full mouth. With his impeccably cut black leather pants that accentuated his strong runner's legs and his flowing white silk shirt, he resembled a golden pirate of old. It was only when she looked into his eyes that she could see his one flaw.

He had no soul. His icy blue eyes reflected only emptiness.

"d.a.m.n your black heart, Mikhail," Jennifer ground out. "You've gone too far this time."

He laughed gently and held his arms out as if he expected a welcoming hug. "Darling Jennifer, is this anyway to greet your master?"

Jennifer could barely control the rage that flared as he spoke. She wanted to scream until the fine crystal of the chandelier shattered, raining down on them in piercing shards. She wished to tear him limb from limb, scattering the pieces to the ends of the earth. She wanted to personally escort his black soul to the very gates of h.e.l.l.

Calling upon her infamous iron will, she restrained herself. Throwing a fit in front of Mikhail would accomplish very little. Indeed, it would only give him the upper hand.

"What have you done?" she bit out.

Mikhail's smiled smoothly, his movements fluid as he picked up a squat Baccarat crystal gla.s.s filled with a thick red liquid. Jennifer caught the scent of chilled blood, like cold wet pennies, as he slowly swirled the gla.s.s.

"I have no idea what you are speaking of, Jennifer," he purred. Never taking his eyes from hers, he took a sip of the liquid. Jennifer masked her revulsion as he swallowed.

Mikhail's smile broadened as he licked his lips and tipped his head slightly in her direction. "Is this an example of your legendary manners, Jennifer? You storm into my home, damage my library wall and so rudely ignore my guest." With one slim, pale hand, he gestured to the woman seated on the couch. "Your mother would be ashamed of you."

Ignoring his jibe, Jennifer's lip curled as she turned to see Gabrielle DesNoir. Gabrielle's brilliant blue eyes gleamed in stark contrast to the whiteness of her long hair and pale skin. Her full lips were painted a shiny blood red. Her finely honed body was clad in a white leather bustier dress, with matching silk stockings and four-inch pumps.

All in all, she was a perfect advertis.e.m.e.nt for an ice princess from h.e.l.l. Gabrielle was well known and not particularly well liked in most vampire circles. Her appeal lay in the fact that her lover, Mikhail, was one of the most powerful vampires on the planet. Very few immortals dared to say no to him. Gabrielle was a young vampire, only about a hundred years old and still learning.

With Mikhail as her mentor, she was far more advanced than the average century-old vampire. She was also known for her lack of scruples, which made her the perfect partner for him.

Jennifer inclined her head in Gabrielle's direction. "Gaby," she acknowledged, knowing how the other woman detested the shortening of her name.

"ChereJennifer, so lovely to see you again." Gabrielle's voice was thick with a French accent that Jennifer knew to be as false as her current hair color.

Jennifer turned back to Mikhail. "Where is she?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." He braced his shoulder against the ornate fireplace mantel.

His eyes gleamed with the golden glow from the leaping fire. He reminded her of a sleek jungle cat readying to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. While he might decide to make her his next victim, she wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Who's missing?" His expression was bemused.

"Miranda of Glencoe."

Jennifer didn't miss the spark of satisfaction that flared in his eyes before he feigned surprise. "Really?

Miranda is missing? How dreadful. My love," he addressed Gabrielle, "when was the last time we saw Miranda?"

Gabrielle rose from the couch with her unearthly grace and moved toward her lover. "Well, I think it may have been a few years, at least. Maybe it was at Kitty Von Helgen's birthday party? She'd just turned 371 though she doesn't look a day over 40." She reached Mikhail's side and took the gla.s.s from him, then turned to Jennifer. "I don't remember seeing you at that party. Weren't you invited?" She took a drink, her sharp eyes watching Jennifer over the rim of the gla.s.s.

Jennifer struggled keep her expression impa.s.sive. "I hope the next time I see Kitty Von Helgen it will be to spit upon her rotting corpse," she spoke evenly. Ignoring Gabrielle's start of surprise, she turned her attention back to Mikhail. His icy eyes were amused. "You've gone too far this time, Mikhail," she warned.

"Dearest Jennifer, you wound me." He placed a slim hand over his heart as if her words had dealt him a mortal blow.

"How can I wound someone who is not human?" She glanced from Mikhail's amused gaze to Gabrielle's self-satisfied one. They were presenting a united front. Maybe now was a good time to put a crease into it. A little dissension in the enemy's ranks was a good thing when faced with open warfare.

"Both you and I know that I could never actually hurt you, Mikhail." Jennifer moved over to a navy leather wing chair and settled herself on the arm. Carefully she arranged her burgundy skirt, allowing Mikhail a flash of thigh. She swallowed her revulsion as she felt his interested gaze sweep her flesh.

"However," she leaned against the back of the chair, her posture deceptively casual. The v-neck of her blouse gaped slightly, allowing Mikhail an un.o.bstructed view of her black lace bra. "We both know that would be a waste of time and energy." Mikhail smiled faintly. Gabrielle hissed her displeasure as her lover's gaze lingered on Jennifer's exposed flesh. Mikhail ignored her. "What do you want from me, little Jennifer?"

"The truth." Jennifer shifted so her blouse once again obstructed his personal peep show. "Renault found evidence of drugs and he saw you and this she-cat steal Miranda away. I want to know why you have done this. As you know, Miranda is an old and dear friend of mine and quite naturally I am concerned for her welfare."

Mikhail's smile faltered and then returned in full force. "So much for stealth, my dear," he said to the bristling Gabrielle. He looked again at Jennifer, "And here I thought I was being so clever."

Jennifer wasn't fooled. Mikhail was not a stupid man. Unbalanced and reckless yes, but never stupid.

He'd wanted Renault to see him and Gabrielle take Miranda. She was as certain as she knew her own name that this little "slip" was a part of his plan. Now she just had to figure out the purpose of his actions and how to get Miranda out of the middle of it. "What have you done with her?"

"I have her hidden away, somewhere safe."

"I want to see her."

"No," Gabrielle snarled. "You cannot see her. Now you toddle off and tell Val..."

Jennifer glanced at Gabrielle, concentrating briefly on the crystal gla.s.s in the other woman's hand. A second later it exploded, raining blood and crystal over both Mikhail and Gabrielle, who erupted into shrieks while Mikhail looked pained.

"Really Jennifer, Baccarat crystal. Was that necessary?" He retrieved a snowy white handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabbed at the front of his ruined silk shirt. "I think you have damaged enough of my possessions for one day. First you damage the wall by throwing the door open, now this."

"You f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h," Gabrielle snarled, her accent changed from stilted French to harsh Brooklyn tones.

Jennifer noted with some satisfaction that the exquisite crystal had cut deeply into the woman's hand.

Blood flowed from the wound and if it was possible, she looked even paler than before.

Jennifer laughed shortly, "It isn't as if you won't heal." She rose from the arm of the chair, fixing Mikhail with her stare. "I meant what I said, Mikhail, I want to see Miranda before this goes on any longer."

Mikhail tossed the blood-soaked cloth into the fire with a hiss. "Fine. I will...."