Destined for an Early Grave (Page 2)

There was just one black spot on this pleasure cruise, but I’d kept it to myself. Why ruin our time off by telling Bones I’d had more of those silly, meaningless dreams?

This time, they went unnoticed by him. Guess I wasn’t kicking in my sleep anymore. I couldn’t remember much of them when I woke. All I knew was they were about the same faceless blond vampire from the first one. The one who called me by my real name, Catherine, and ended with the same cryptic admonition – he is not your husband.

According to human laws, Bones wasn’t my husband. We were blood-bound and married vampire-style, though, and the undead didn’t do divorce. They weren’t kidding about the whole "until death do you part" thing. Maybe my dreams represented a subconscious desire to have a traditional wedding. The last time we’d attempted that, our plans were demolished by a war with a vampire who thought unleashing deadly black magic was fair game.

Mencheres met us on the dock. Even though Bones called him grandsire, since Mencheres was the sire of the vampire who’d turned Bones, he looked as young as Bones. They’d probably been similar in human age when they were turned into vampires. Mencheres was also handsome in an exotic way, with a regal bearing, Egyptian features, and long black hair blowing in the breeze.

But what really caught my attention was how Mencheres was flanked by eight Master vampires. Even before I stepped off the boat, I could feel their combined power crackling the air like static electricity. Sure, Mencheres usually traveled with an entourage, but these looked like guards, not undead groupies.

Bones went up to Mencheres and gave him a brief clasp.

"Hallo, grandsire. They can’t be all for show" – he nodded to the waiting vampires – "so I expect there’s trouble."

Mencheres nodded. "We should leave. This ship is announcement enough of your presence."

Reaper was painted in scarlet letters across the side of the boat. It was in homage to my nickname, the Red Reaper, which I’d earned because of my hair color and my high undead body count.

Mencheres didn’t speak to me beyond a short, polite hello as we trotted from the pier into a waiting black van. There was another identical van that six of the guards got into. When we sped off, that van followed us at a close distance.

"Tell me about your dreams, Cat," Mencheres said as soon as we were under way.

I gaped at him. "How do you know about that?"

Bones also looked taken aback. "I didn’t mention it, Kitten."

Mencheres ignored both of our questions. "What was in your dream? Be very specific."

"They’re strange," I began, seeing Bones’s eyebrows shoot up at the plural. "They’re all with the same vampire. During the dreams, I know who he is. I can even hear myself saying his name, but when I wake up, I don’t remember him."

If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said Mencheres looked alarmed. Of course, I was no expert on him. Mencheres was over four thousand years old and a genius at hiding his emotions, but his mouth might have stiffened a fraction. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light.

"How many of these dreams have you had?" Bones asked. He wasn’t happy. The way his lips thinned was no accident of light.

"Four, and don’t start. You’d have set sail for the nearest fortress if I’d told you about them, then you would have hovered over me day and night. We were having a really nice trip, so I didn’t mention them. No big deal."

He snorted. "No big deal, she says. Well, luv, let’s find out what the deal really is. With luck, it won’t result in your losing your reckless life."

Then he turned to Mencheres. "You knew something was wrong. Why the hell didn’t you bring it to my attention at once?"

Mencheres leaned forward. "Cat’s life is in no danger. However, there is a…situation. I’d hoped this conversation would never become necessary."

"Could you just spit it out without a buildup for once?" Mencheres was famous for taking his time beating around the bush. Guess being as old as he was, he’d learned an obscene amount of patience.

"Have you ever heard of a vampire named Gregor?"

Pain shot through my head for an instant, then it was gone so fast, I actually looked around to see if anyone else was affected. Mencheres stared at me like he was trying to scope out the back of my brain. Beside me, Bones ground out a curse.

"I know a few Gregors, but there’s only one who’s called the bloody Dreamsnatcher." His fist slammed down, snapping the armrest off. "This is what you consider acceptable standards of safety for my wife?"

"I’m not your wife."

Bones swung a disbelieving look my way even as my hand flew to my mouth. Where in the hell did that come from?

"What did you just say?" Bones asked incredulously.

Stunned, I stammered.

"I-I meant…in my dreams, the one thing I can remember is this vampire telling me ‘he is not your husband.’ And I know he means you, Bones. So that’s what I meant."

Bones looked like I’d just stabbed him, and Mencheres had that cool, hooded expression on his face. Giving nothing away.

"You know, it always seems that when things are going really well between us, you come along to f**k it all up!" I burst at Mencheres.

"You chose to come to Paris, of all places," Mencheres replied.

"So what? Got something against the French?" I felt a surge of irrational anger toward him. Inside me, a scream built. Why can’t you just leave us alone!

Then I shook it off. What was wrong with me? Was I having a crazy case of PMS or something?

Mencheres rubbed his forehead. Those finely molded features were in profile as he looked away.

"Paris is a beautiful city. Enjoy it. See all the sights. But don’t go anywhere unaccompanied, and if you dream of Gregor again, Cat, do not let him lay hands on you. If you see him in your dreams, run away."

"Um, no way are you going to get away with that vague, ‘have a nice day’ crap," I said. "Who is Gregor, why am I dreaming about him, and why is he called the Dreamsnatcher?"

"More importantly, why has he surfaced now to seek her out?" Bones’s voice was cold as ice. "Gregor hasn’t been seen or heard from in over a decade. I thought he might be dead."

"He’s not dead," Mencheres said a trifle grimly. "Like me, Gregor has visions of the future. He intended to alter the future based on one of these visions. When I found out about it, I imprisoned him as punishment."

"And what does he want with my wife?"

Bones emphasized the words while arching a brow at me, as if daring me to argue. I didn’t.

"He saw Cat in one of his visions and decided he had to have her," Mencheres stated in a flat tone. "Then he discovered she’d be blood-bound to you. Around the time of Cat’s sixteenth birthday, Gregor intended to find her and take her away. His plan was very simple – if Cat had never met you, then she’d be his, not yours."