Immortal Image

By Jaye Roycraft

No one, undead or alive, goes "Scott-free."

The new enforcer for the Directorate of the Undead, Revelin Scott, is normally easygoing. Even his coworkers' snide comments that he's nothing more than Directress Nikolena's "new dog" don't faze him. But when Nikolena instructs Rev to dye his hair, change his name, and go undercover in Baton Rouge to destroy an illegal secret society of vampires, he fears the worst. When he's saddled with Denice Geron, whose brother was an "aberration" the secret society created and then murdered, Rev knows the case will be bad. Denice has information he'll need to infiltrate the society, but her disrespect and defiance test his patience to the limit.

Using information passed to her by her brother, Denice seeks the help of the vampire Brotherhood to avenge her brother's death. But instead of getting what she envisions as the epitome of vampirekind, she gets Sean Ardwolf, a cocky young vampire who looks more like a debauched rock star than Dracula.

Denice helps Revelin/Sean gain access to the société, but the leader, Vangeline, is more powerful than anyone imagined, and even Revelin is drawn into her web of seduction. Denice is his only salvation, but helping him could mean her death. A few days ago the decision for both would have been easy, but now nothing is easy; no one is to be trusted, and there's no going back.

Jaye Roycraft, a former Milwaukee police officer, has incorporated her police procedural knowledge and experience into her books, beginning with her debut novel Rainscape. A combination of romance, mystery, and science fiction, Rainscape was followed by the vampire romance series Double Image, Afterimage, Shadow Image, and Immortal Image and the hard-edged vampire series Half Past Hell and Hell's Warrior. Jaye has presented workshops both online and at conferences, has been a contest judge, and has been a featured panelist at Dragon*Con.

Jaye now lives in Arizona where she is happily retired in the Valley of the Sun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Jan 30, 2003
• ISBN: 9781610260411

Book preview

Other books by Jaye Roycraft

Dance with Me, My Lovely

Rainscape

Crimson Rain

Image Series

Double Image

Afterimage

Shadow Image

Immortal Image

Hell Series

Half Past Hell

Hell’s Warrior

Immortal Image

by

Jaye Roycraft

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

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Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61026-041-1

Print ISBN: 978-1-893896-83-3

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2003 by Jaye Roycraft

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

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Cover design: Debra Dixon

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Man (manipulated) © Macmoss | Dreamstime.com

Man (manipulated) © Stryjek | Dreamstime.com

Background (manipulated) © Eti Swinford | Dreamstime.com

:Eiij:01:

One

REVELIN SCOTT WAS easy. Not in the American sense of being a wanton womanizer, but in the British way of being easygoing. It was no small accomplishment considering he was dead. Well, Undead. Even the sniggering comments of his coworkers that he was nothing more than Nikolena’s new dog didn’t faze him. He did his job—no muss, no fuss—and nothing else mattered. That was the plot as far as he was concerned. It was the only reason for his existence.

But this new assignment was already rank. Any case that started with instructions to visit a beauty salon couldn’t be a good one. Items two and three in his packet of sealed orders weren’t any better. He was to procure a whole new wardrobe and a complete identification kit for a new nom de plume. It could mean only one thing—that the Directress Nikolena had a lot more in store for him than a routine enforcer job.

Dyed, scrubbed, and decked out in his posh new duds, Revelin checked his appearance one last time before leaving to meet with Nikolena. A long sigh escaped his lips. At least the new look and name had been left up to his discretion. His youthful features and average height and build would never allow for true imposing sophistication, but hopefully the blond hair, well-cut trousers, and silk shirt would appease Nikolena’s appetite for elegance until he could return to his flares and flamboyant colors.

An hour later he arrived at the chateau outside Paris that had once belonged to the previous enforcier, Alek Dragovich. It wasn’t the usual place for his meetings with Nikolena—just one more indication that this was to be no average assignment.

Ah, Revelin, my dear boy, how wonderful to see you! she gushed, as if he had dropped by for an impromptu visit rather than being summoned.

Madam, my pleasure, as always. He bowed and knelt to kiss her hand, but she fluttered said hand like a butterfly in flight. Her gold rings winked in the light, and her red nails flashed like a spray of blood through the air.

The only thing that wasn’t bizarre about this briefing was the lady herself. Nikolena never changed. As usual, she was bedecked and bejeweled in shades of gold. Her silk ankle-length Russian rubakha underdress was as simple and flowing as her gilt brocade caftan was stiff and elaborate. The outfit—like the woman—was stately, and though tiny in stature, Revelin never thought of Nikolena as anything but imposing.

Never mind that, she said. Turn around. I want to get a good look at you.

He did as he was told, not comfortable with parading like some runway model, but there was no help for it.

Yes . . . I do like the hair color. I hardly recognize you myself. It looks quite delicious on you, my pet. It suits you.

It should, he thought. He had purposely dyed his natural auburn hair to the same pale blond of Nikolena’s own locks, certain she wouldn’t criticize a color so close to her own. And she didn’t. She grasped a long strand of his hair and slid her hand to just past his shoulders, rolling the hair between her fingertips as though she could absorb its texture and new color through her skin. He felt like some damn Pekingese dog.

Your papers are all ready?

Of course, madam.

And what name have you chosen for yourself?

Sean Ardwolf.

She frowned, and he felt her fingernail rake his chest through the silk shirt as her hand continued its journey southward. Her sharp nails were frequent substitutes for her sharp words. You’re going to the bayou. You couldn’t have picked something . . . French sounding, perhaps?

Madam, I was Director of the Southeast Region long enough to know that there’s more than a few blokes of Scotch-Irish-English ancestry in Louisiana. If you want someone undercover who can pass for French, why don’t you call up Drago or Ric De Chaux? Why me?

Nikolena’s fingers stopped just centimeters from his groin, and all cheer drained from her face. Drago is not available for service, as you well know, my pet. And even if he were, both he and Ricard have proven themselves susceptible to feminine wiles. You suffer from no such weakness, do you?

He was painfully aware of the position of her hand, almost as though she were testing him. But what she said was true enough. Revelin had witnessed two of the most powerful vampires in the world toppled from their lofty stations by lusting after mortal females. He was the new enforcier, the youngest vampire ever to hold such an illustrious Directorate position. He was not about to muck it up over a woman. No, madam. But in order for me to successfully blend into the jungle, isn’t it best I change my spots as little as possible?

Her hand, heavy with gold and jewels, still hovered just below his belt line. Perhaps. As long as you are not recognized for who you really are.

Don’t worry about that. I know my job. He thought for a moment. What did he really know of this job? Madam, maybe if you told me what this is all about . . .

She smiled and dropped her hand. Of course. Sit down, Revelin.

If she had been testing him, the gesture appeared to indicate that he had passed. He drew a deep breath and sat side by side with her, as he knew she preferred, close enough that she could touch him any time she pleased.

"A new société has sprung up in Baton Rouge, very secret and very illegal. The heart of this société is a female who goes by the name of Vangeline. She and her people are creating a small army of aberrations."

Revelin thought about the aberration Marya Jaks, who was mortal, but had vampire blood running through her veins. Marya was a Gypsy whose grandfather Nicolai had been a vampire. After his journey to the other side, Nicolai had continued to bed his mortal wife until she produced a son for him—a dhampir—a mortal with a vampire’s senses. Alek Dragovich had fallen in love with Marya and had forfeited his Directorate standing and his job as enforcier to be allowed to live in secret with her. Revelin had spent a good deal of time with both Drago and Marya, and while he respected Marya’s courage and loyalty, he couldn’t understand how someone like Drago could give up a hierarchy position, built over hundreds of years, just to spend time with a mortal whose blood was forever tainted.

"I know what you’re thinking, my dear, but no, these aberrations are nothing like Drago’s woman. She was born to what she is. These new creatures are made by being forced to take vampire blood, but they aren’t killed, and they aren’t brought over. Highly susceptible to the dominance of others, they are made to do all the nasty jobs that the société vampires don’t care to do for themselves. The aberrations procure humans for blood, sex, and games, and also commit crimes to fill their masters’ coffers, and if any of them are killed or caught by the police, no one cares. You are to join this société, Revelin, become one of them, then cut the heart out of it. Do you understand?"

He nodded, understanding only too well. You want me to be a bloody spy and assassin of my own kind.

Nikolena seemed to take no offense to his harsh assessment of the job. They are not your kind, my pet. These are vile creatures. What they do puts all of us in danger. They must be stopped, and I have no one strong enough to do this but you.

If that was supposed to be flattery, he didn’t feel flattered. He felt used. You have Drago. He has twice my power, and he owes his very existence to you, madam. He would not refuse you should you command him. He paused, and only silence filled the air. But you won’t risk him, will you? You’d sacrifice me a dozen times over before you’d put him in harm’s way.

Nikolena was silent for a moment, her dark eyes as hard and unyielding as black diamonds. The only sign of any internal agitation was the touch she gave him, dragging the backside of one fingernail along his thigh from his knee to his hip. Jealous, my pet? Do you know how envied you are?

She was asking if he had heard the gossip. The slurs. He had. Both Directorate wannabes and those in the Directorate subordinate to his position constantly filled the halls with whispers. Nikolena’s prized pet. The pup with fangs. The mongrel. The latter a reference, he supposed, to his lowly birth. But the barbs didn’t bother him. It came with the territory. I’m aware of what is said, madam.

Drago endured much worse slings and arrows. If you knew the things Drago went through . . . never mind. Drago has earned his peace. As you may someday, should you survive as long as he has. But you will not be without help.

Cor, not an apprentice! Ever since Drago’s final assignment, in which Nikolena had assigned Revelin to work with l’enforcier, Revelin had worked alone. Madam, an apprentice would only put me at greater risk.

Nikolena smiled, and this time it wasn’t one of her smiles of a thousand meanings, but of one very clear message. He wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

Oh, don’t worry, it’s no apprentice. She’s human.

Bloody hell! It was even worse than he thought. Humans were only good for one thing, and that wasn’t providing assistance on a case.

Nikolena continued, not even giving him a chance to protest. "She’s the sister of one of Vangeline’s aberrations. Her brother’s will was stronger than the others. He realized what was happening to him, and he told her everything—told her to find a way to help him. Well, she couldn’t help her brother. He was killed. But she can help us. Most of the information we have comes from her. Use her to get into the société. When she ceases to be useful, well, dispose of her as you will. What’s your expression for it? Oh yes—no muss, no fuss."

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Dyeing his hair blond was nothing compared to this. Saddled with a skirt.

When he opened his eyes Nikolena stood and held out her hand, the signal that he was being dismissed. He knelt before her.

Whom do you serve?

Only you, madam. Only you.

Good. Here are the rest of your orders. She handed him a sealed envelope. The girl’s out in the front hall. She knows what you are, but not who you are, understand? You will be only Sean . . . She hesitated and waved a hand.

Ardwolf.

. . . Sean Ardwolf to her.

He nodded tiredly and turned to go.

Revelin.

He stopped. She glided up to him and reached up to press a cool hand against his cheek. I’ve already appropriated two enforcers from the Brotherhood to deal with the problem. I haven’t heard from either one. I can only assume that Vangeline has either recruited them or sent them to the True Death. You can believe this or not, my pet, but sacrificing you is not something I want to do.

He did believe it, but he was in no mood to be grateful for the scratch behind the ear. He assumed his nastiest dog-grin, one that showed his fangs. To one as powerful as Nikolena, it was blatant disrespect. Oh, I believe you. Yanking my leash is too much fun, isn’t it, madam?

Her features seemed to congeal like cold grease, and her face, so pale and perfect, took on a stiff, waxy sheen that looked decidedly inhuman. Be careful, Revelin. What is given to you can also be taken away. Remember that. That she didn’t respond with a physically painful reprimand to his smart-alecky remark was more proof of her feelings than all her endearments.

I will. He bowed to her, but his eyes never lowered. He would not apologize for his attitude, not even to Nikolena. He was at her door when one more thought occurred to him. He half turned. Madam.

Yes, my pet?

Which two enforcers did you send to Baton Rouge?

Justice Smith and Trevor Banks. They’re Brotherhood enforcers, but I temporarily assigned them to be part of my retinue.

He knew the two vamps. They had risen to power quickly in the Southeast Region after the shakeup in the Brotherhood following the ousting of the old Patriarch, Evrard Verkist. Both had been favorites of Nikolena, transferred from the Circle in England to the Brotherhood following the reorganization. Banks was young in vampire years, not even a hundred years old, and had impressed Revelin as being rash. He himself had been called cocky more than once. He had also been called cocksure, the cock of the walk, and a cockroach. Revelin didn’t care—there was a big difference between rash and cocky. Cocky was attitude. Rash was just plain action without thought. What Nikolena saw in Banks was beyond his understanding. Justice Smith, however, was a different story. Smith possessed not only more years but more sense than Banks. Considering how powerful he was with just one good eye, Revelin shuddered to think how much of a force Smith would be now if he hadn’t been so badly injured before he crossed to the other side.

They both know me, madam. If they’ve indeed been recruited by Vangeline, they’ll recognize me, disguise or no disguise. I’ll have no choice but to . . . eliminate them.

She nodded. I understand, Revelin. You have free rein on this—as much discretion as you require.

Discretion. A license to kill. He was beginning to feel like the James Bond of the Undead. He didn’t particularly relish sending his brethren to the True Death, but if Justice and Trevor had gone bad, he had no problem ridding the world of them. Don’t worry, madam. No one goes Scott-free.

She smiled at his oft-used remark. That’s my boy.

REVELIN STRODE down the hall toward the entrance to the chateau. A young woman waited, sitting on a bench with a man he recognized as one of Nikolena’s aides. She stood up as he approached, and the bad feeling he had had all day rose to the back of his throat like tainted blood, sour and vile. He was almost surprised not to see the word trouble painted across her bare midriff, because everything else about her screamed the word. A face that was too young and too heavily made up peered at him through a curtain of dark hair highlighted with none-too-subtle blond streaks. Eyes the color of brown sugar widened for a second before she rubbed her index finger across the skin just below her lower lashes.

He stopped a few meters from her and nodded toward the aide, dismissing him, all the while keeping his eyes on the girl. The vamp disappeared silently, without her seeming to take notice.

Miss? I’m Sean. I believe you’ve been waiting for me.

She crossed her bare arms over her chest. "Sean. Listen, you look like a nice person, but I’ve got jet lag, and I’m tired of being passed around like an unwanted gift. I’m supposed to meet one of them. Can you just tell me how much longer it’s going to be?"

He was not amused. ‘One of them?’

She cocked her head, as if that explained it. Them. You know.

"I am ‘one of them.’ And you are?"

She dropped her arms and nervously wiped her hands on the fabric of her tight hip-hugger jeans.

Oh. Well, you don’t look like . . . I can’t tell the difference. I’m Denice Geron.

Denice. You’re not supposed to know the difference. He stepped closer and extended his hand. Sean Ardwolf.

She made no move to accept his hand, but the steady look in her eyes told him more than her lack of manners. Listen, no offense, but the likes of you killed my brother. I’m here because I have no other choice. This isn’t exactly something I can take to the local cops. But I’m not here to make friends, and if any of you were to give me the correct time of day I’d be floored by the honesty.

The last thing he wanted was this girl crawling on him like she had to have it, but on the other hand, if they were going to be traveling together, he didn’t want her protesting each casual or accidental touch. Better to get it out of the way now. I don’t like this situation any better than you do. But we’re going to be together for a while, and if you can’t even take my hand, I don’t think this thing is going to work. So it’s your call. You want my help or not?

If what Nikolena had told him was true, he’d need her as much as she needed him, but she didn’t have to know that. And she wouldn’t know it. He would remind her only of her needs.

She reluctantly reached her arm out and slipped her hand into his. It felt warm and soft, so different from Nikolena’s cool touch. He wasn’t sure which he preferred. Nikolena’s caresses were provocative, but not sexual. No true desire could exist between two vampires. He’d guessed long ago that Nikolena’s petting was done more for amusement and to establish dominance than anything else. The touch of this girl, as brief as it was, was more unsettling than the brazen actions of the Directress. He held the girl’s hand firmly for a handful of seconds, then relaxed his grip.

There, was that anything to be afraid of?

She snatched her hand away from his. I never said I was afraid of you.

But she was afraid. He could feel it in her touch and taste it riding the air between them. Fear and desire were the two things humans could never hide. But you are. You know it, and I know it. So let’s drop the games and save the playacting for the stage, yeah?

Hey, I’m not the one playing games here. The niceties are your idea, not mine. Can we get out of this moldy castle? It gives me the creeps.

He smiled, in spite of himself. Except for not admitting to her fear, she was indeed being brutally honest. He could stand her dislike, even a small measure of defiance, but he would not tolerate any deception. That was his department.

UNDER DIFFERENT circumstances, a trip to France might be fun. But sitting on a hard bench in a musty old castle and waiting for an audience with a bloodsucker was not Deni Geron’s idea of a vacation. She had wanted to do this—had to do this—but she didn’t like it. Any of it.

When she saw the man striding down the hall toward her she exhaled a long breath. Another lackey. She had had her fill of uncommunicative toadstools like the creep sitting at the opposite end of the long bench. She watched the man walking toward her, and some of her irritation dissipated. He had a smooth, undulating gait, almost like a dancer or performer who was used to being on a stage. At least he’s an interesting-looking lackey. He had sort of a debauched rock star look to him—slender, with shoulder-length, dyed blond hair, and a cold, distant look in his eyes that told her he had crammed a whole lifetime of hard living into a tender span of years that couldn’t be much more than her own age.

Still, as he came to a stop in front of her, not even the cool blue eyes or rock star good looks could dispel her impatience with being put off again by another messenger. Any good manners she possessed at the onset of this journey had taken flight long ago, and her frustration led her to a level of rudeness she didn’t normally display.

When he told her that he was the vampire she had been waiting for, she didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or run screaming. When she had started this quest, she knew she was dealing with the devil to fight the devil—kind of like hiring the meanest gunslinger with the worst reputation to kill the villain who stole your ranch. She had hoped to meet the epitome of bloodsuckers—a tall, imposing beast with broad shoulders, waves of black hair, and lurid eyes that could shrivel the stoutest of enemies. Instead, she got this Kurt Cobain look-alike who wanted to shake her hand. Was he crazy? Did he think she had come all this way to make nice like some kind of vampire groupie? She had no desire to touch this creature, but she relented in the end when he threatened to withhold his assistance unless she did as he asked. And while she strongly doubted he could indeed assist her, he appeared to be all she had.

His touch was cool, not cold and clammy like she had feared, but more than that she was surprised at the actual feel of him. It wasn’t like touching a dead thing at all. There was a kind of force that ran through him that she could feel in the grip of his hand, like a low-level electrical current or an engine running, a vibration that transmitted itself to her and flowed down to her toes. The pulse of raw energy was almost sexual in the response she felt in her own body, and she lodged a mental reminder to touch Sean Ardwolf as little as possible in the future.

SEAN ARDWOLF put her in a car, and though Deni stared out the side window, she hardly took note of the beauty of the countryside or the peacefulness of the late afternoon. A wave of exhaustion swept over her, and if she hadn’t been sitting next to a stranger—an Undead stranger at that—she would have cried. She had risked everything on this venture. She had taken a leave from her job, spent every last penny she had, had literally put her life in