The Marquis (The 13th Floor)

Chapter 3


There was no point trying to sleep. Marc might have blamed the coffee on another night, but the reason tonight was Vetis. What was he going to do?

He kicked back in his well-worn recliner and flicked on the television. The extra-large chair was just big enough to cradle him comfortably. A few gray hairs he refused to believe were his decorated the dent where he rested his head.

The early morning news anchor droned on about a failed assassination attempt on one of Indiana’s governors. Marc paid little attention. That wasn’t the work of Hell, and certainly not of Vetis. It might be Hell’s luck that the governor survived, though.

Vetis would do what he promised. If it were any other city, Marc would’ve pushed down his territorial instincts and left, not caring about the consequences. But Carmine wasn’t like any other city in the Midwest. She was a gem nestled halfway between Indianapolis and Chicago. More importantly, Mae lived there. She was born, grew up, went to college, and started her business in Carmine.

Then there was Kiral. Marc couldn’t tie up the vampire and leave him in his apartment to keep him safe. There were times he wanted to do so, but Kiral could fight his own battles, and Marc had to trust he would continue to do so.

There would be no running. There would be no hiding in his apartment. The 13th floor would protect him, but not Mae and the city.

Marc didn’t have an army. He didn’t have the power he once had. He was old and tired, becoming too much like a human. The thought made his heart hammer in his chest. Maybe the Grand Marquis would have a heart attack and he wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.

It was an idiotic thought. A human fear. He shook his head.

He would fight. He’d find something, or someone, that could help him. Vetis would expect brute strength. Marc would have to use his wits.

He felt sorely lacking in that area right now.

There was a pounding at his door. Marc bolted out of the chair and instinctively reached for a sword no longer by his side. His fingers flexed.

He shouldn’t be so jumpy. No one could access this floor except those who lived there, and he knew each of the five other tenants. Being the first one to live on the seemingly nonexistent 13th floor, he deemed himself the landlord even though the building itself seemed to be doing a good enough job keeping out those unwanted.

It was likely Kiral, still itching for a hit. Sighing, Marc walked over and opened the door.

Xanthus pushed his way in with a limp woman in his arms and laid her on the couch. Harriet was barely conscious, and she was smiling. Blood trickled down from a bite wound on her neck. A growl rose in Marc’s chest.

“Where did you find her? Who did this to her?”

“In the stairwell.” Xanthus’ tone was cold and clipped. He folded his arms with fisted hands under muscled biceps. “It was that vamp. I knew he was bad news.”

“Damn him.” Marc’s fury bubbled, and he barely repressed the urge to hit something. Taking a deep breath, he slowly let it out. He squatted beside the young woman, taking her cool hand in his. “Harri, you okay? How badly did he hurt you?”

“Kiral,” Harriet whispered.

“Yes, I know. We’ll take care of him—”

“No.” She squeezed his hand as her eyes fluttered wide open. “You let him be. He didn’t hurt me. He stopped in time. It was ... it was wonderful.” Her eyes closed with her dreamy sigh and another smile.

This time the noise rumbling in Marc’s chest was more of a groan than a growl. The silly girl was high from the bite. Kiral must have found a junkie to snack on after Marc saved him from Vetis. This was unacceptable. He couldn’t let the vamp stay in the building if he’d fallen off the wagon.

Harriet’s hand went limp in his. She’d sleep the day away and regain her senses when she woke. Marc laid her hand on her stomach with a gentleness that his big hand rarely experienced and stood.

“The vamp fled to his apartment.” Xanthus hadn’t moved. His gaze drifted to the news on the television.

“Stay with her while I go deal with him.” Marc didn’t wait for the young man to respond. He was almost blinded by Xanthus’ honor whenever he opened his psychic vision to him.

Marc stormed out of his apartment and down to the far end of the hall. The lights flickered as if feeling his anger. Heat surged through his body, hotter than even when he faced off with Vetis. He pounded on the door numbered 1306.

When Kiral opened the door, Marc slammed his fist into his face. Kiral staggered backwards and caught himself on a chair. Marc came at him again, but the vampire didn’t fight back. He held up his hand, licking at his bloodied lip.

“Marc! Stop! I didn’t kill her. It’s—”

Marc hit him in the gut, and when Kiral doubled over, he dragged him up by his hair.

“You junkie scum. That girl lives here under my care.” He hissed. The world was fuzzy around the edges. He wanted to break every bone in the vamp’s body, fill his guts with stakes, and leave him on the roof for the morning sun.

“She lives here? On this floor? I’ve never seen her before.” Kiral’s tone was strangely like Harriet’s, dreamy and happy.

Marc narrowed his eyes. He could smell Harriet, Harriet’s blood on the vampire, but nothing else. It didn’t mean much. His senses weren’t the best lately. Yet he had seen Kiral high and this wasn’t it. Unless he picked up a new drug, or rather drugged victim of choice.

“You’ll leave her be. You’ve traumatized the poor girl enough. What’s gotten into you? You drink something?” Marc released the vamp, but didn’t move away. “I saved your ass earlier and you run off to find another hit?”

“No.” Kiral shook his head, black hair flying about. “No, I didn’t. I wandered around for a while, and it was a fight. I felt like I was losing my mind. I’d come so close. If you hadn’t—” He cut himself off and then smiled. “I came back here and when I ran into her in the stairwell. Oh, she smelled like nothing else in this world. I couldn’t help myself. And I swear, I swear she didn’t fight me. It was as if she wanted it too. She’s better than any high. She’s like tasting heaven.”

Marc’s jaw clenched as his hands slowly opened and closed. He wouldn’t dare say anything about Harriet and how she lived. That was her business. And her tasting like heaven, well, neither of them would know about such a thing as he did. Nothing on earth came close to such a feeling. And to top it off, one day they might know the feeling, but Marc never would again.

He looked away, down to the floor. Chest tight, and rage, sorrow, and regret waging war.

“I need to see her, Marc.” Kiral’s plea brought his attention back to the situation at hand.

“Just leave Harriet alone. She has a tough enough life without you stalking her.” Marc pushed the vamp back and turned to the door. He paused, and said over his shoulder, “She’s all right. After a good rest and a meal, she’ll be fine. Go clean yourself up and forget about her.”

“Harriet? Like the old woman across the hall? Is she her granddaughter, or great-granddaughter?”

“Let it go, Kiral.” Marc shook his head, more at himself than the vampire. He shouldn’t have said Harriet’s name. Where was his head? Kiral was an addict. They didn’t just let things go. He knew the type. Vetis was one of them.