Key to Conflict Read online

  “A gutsy heroine, unique plot twists, and sexy vampires add up to one exciting read. I’m looking forward to the sequels!”

  —Robin D. Owens, author of Heart Quest

  The cool fingers that caressed her neck nearly caused her to skid off the road as she hammered the brake, jerking the wheel hard to throw “it” off of her. After some fancy maneuvering that the vehicle was never meant to execute, the car slid to a stop as she leaped out. The engine was still running, but she’d shoved the gear shift into neutral and yanked the emergency brake on. Instantly, she was grabbed and spun around to face a monstrosity. The Vampire had her by her shoulder and her throat, his dark eyes inches from her own, black hair falling over his shoulders like obsidian sheets.

  Gillian gasped. He was handsome, of course. Most Vampires were breathtaking. He’d have been perfect, if you didn’t count the horrible scarring visible on his throat, jaw, and chest where his antique shirt gaped open.

  Holy water. That or direct exposure to some other holy item was the only explanation for why a Vampire would permanently scar. Although his face had been spared, it would have been an agonizing injury. He’d had it thrown on him or applied to him from close range. Probably right before he ripped out the hapless person’s throat, she thought. Like what was about to happen to her if she wasn’t lucky.

  Gill leaned back reflexively, away from the gleaming fangs that snapped together an inch from her neck before the Vampire pulled back and smiled as her fingers tightened on the ruined skin of his throat.

  “Prince Dracula sends his regards, Dr. Key. Consider this a warning as to how vulnerable you really are.”

  He spoke in a hollow but oddly compelling voice, then abruptly released her, dissolving into mist and streaking away into the dark.

  Key to Conflict

  TALIA GRYPHON

  ACE BOOKS, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0745, Auckland, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  KEY TO CONFLICT

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2007 by Talia Gryphon.

  Cover art by Judy York.

  Cover design by Annette Fiore.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 1-4295-3840-6

  ACE®

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  On the chance that anyone else reads this page, those mentioned are indeed deserving of dedications, medals, awards, canonization and significant hoopla.

  For my mother, Eleanor, who told me I should write and didn’t criticize my choice of genre; my remarkable sons, Justin and Forrest, whose unending patience about my time on the computer and unswerving love allowed this book to be written, and for just being great kids who are proud of their mother.

  Laurell K. Hamilton, Christine Feehan, Stephanie Burke, Robin Owens, Sheila English and Rosemary Laurey. I am so grateful for their encouragement, friendship and being invaluable mentors to an unknown aspiring writer.

  Ginjer Buchanan, my wonderful editor. A simple, heartfelt “Thank you” for believing in me.

  Joe Veltre, my agent extraordinaire. Joe, I don’t know how to thank you. You are amazing.

  Darla Cook, my incomparable line editor and dear friend, without your help this truly would not have gotten off the ground. Also, to Ann Tredway, thank you. You started this. I blame you. *Wink*.

  Special thanks to: Charles Randolph, Sgt. U.S. Army Special Operations Command; Jon Eppler, Sgt. U.S. Army Reserves Intelligence Analyst; Steven Mills, Sgt. USMC, Retired, for their invaluable help with technical consultation, military influence and approval.

  And especially, to my best friend, Ali Houghton-Garrett. Your enthusiasm, loyalty, friendship and encouragement have been invaluable every single day.

  Talia Gryphon

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  CHAPTER

  1

  G ILLIAN Key, United States Marine Corps Captain, Special Forces Operative, former flower child, wiseass extraordinaire, also legitimately known as Dr. Gillian Key, Paramortal psychologist, was at the moment…lost. Swearing, she pulled her little rented Opal off to the side of the narrow road to study her map by the overhead light.

  It had been a long day driving deep into the Carpathian Mountains of Romania from Bucharest. She was heading toward the village of Sacele. It lay off the main roads, not far from Brasov, deep in the mountains. Now it was getting dark and the town marked on the map was nowhere in sight.

  The road was edged by dense forest. Tall pines and thick deciduous trees blanketed the landscape, dense but lacking undergrowth from the lack of light due to the forest canopy. There were no discernable landmarks, no lights on the roadway and the encroaching utter blackness was only grudgingly giving way to her headlights. The day was just getting better and better.

  Gillian clamped a firm lid on her seething emotions, turned off the engine, lit a cigarette while rolling down her window, then leaned back in her sea
t to think. It would have been so much easier to fly into Brasov, but some fuckwit at headquarters had deemed it less obvious for her to land in Bucharest for the drive to Sacele. Probably some little desk jockey with no field experience.

  She’d find out who it was and make damn sure they got field experience—under her command. A light smirk crossed her lovely mouth, followed by the ghost of a frown. Easy, girlfriend. Just a flunky following orders. Don’t shoot the messenger or the scheduler.

  “Goddess help me control my temper,” she thought to herself absently as she exhaled the bluish-gray smoke. It wasn’t exactly a prayer, but it was enough to bring her thoughts back into proper perspective. This was not a good time to unravel. She was early, as was her typical practice when going into a new assignment.

  There was plenty of time even if she was a bit directionally challenged. Stop. Think. Act. Okay, fine, she’d stopped. Now she was thinking. Bully for her.

  As she watched the sky darken overhead, Gillian thought about the beginning of her career in Paramortal psychology and as an operative. It all started with a Vampire: her lab partner in a college psychology class. Lovely girl…

  Through her fanged friend, Gill had developed an appreciation for the inner workings of a person of Paramortal persuasion. Lupe was a fairly new Vampire, but was managing to keep it well hidden. This had been before the Human-Paramortal Wars of a few years back when Vampires were still creatures of legend and Werewolves, Fairies, Goblins and Ghosts still only stories to frighten each other with around a campfire or on Halloween.

  No one but Gillian knew what her friend was. It was a night class with a late lab. Gill was taking it because it coincided with her schedule in officer training with the Marines. They were paying for her education as promised, but it was on their time frame. Lupe was her assigned partner and a total bitch. Gillian finally got pissed off enough to confront her after lab one night. Her inherent empathy began flaring to beat hell when Lupe turned at her sharp command of “Hold up, bitch!” Instead of wanting to break the woman’s nose, Gillian found herself wanting to help her.

  It must have shown in her face, because the Vampire softened and burst into bloody tears as Gillian neared. They’d spent the next several hours sitting in a tree on campus with Gillian learning that even immortals get the blues, have problems, experience heartbreak, are dissatisfied with the direction their prolonged lives took them. The next day, Gillian had switched her major from criminal justice to a double major with clinical Paramortal psychology added as her primary focus. Lupe’s problems and needs fascinated her in a way no Human client ever could.

  That had been eight years ago. Now a clinical psychologist with the Marines’ Special Forces, Gillian had never regretted her decision. She’d done well. First as a Lieutenant at the Pentagon assigned as security during the first official Summit between Human and Paramortal delegations. That obligation had forced her directly into a field assignment that had turned out the best for all concerned. It earned her a fast promotion and recognition in both the military and Paramortal psychology hierarchy.

  After her promotion to captain she had been field commander of a crack unit of commandos specializing in black operations: assassination and reconnaissance missions. Now she was an individual operative at present being utilized to infiltrate and report on the activities of small factions of Romanian Vampires who were potentially allied with the Vampire Lord, Dracula.

  The legendary Vampire was rumored to not be content with the current peaceful dealings of the Human-Paramortal world and was trying to stir things up. To what extent and purpose, no one could seem to gather any information on. Hence why she was now on a darkening Romanian road in the very heart of his domain. Probably with a huge target painted on her ass, she thought to herself wryly.

  Her cover for the mission had come as a request from the local Master Vampire. It seemed after four hundred years he had decided that he could use a bit of mental help. Gillian was surreptitiously working for the International Paramortal Psychology Association (IPPA), but was still a special operative. It was a fact unknown to all but one of her closest colleagues in the organization.

  Absently she pushed her thick, long, blonde hair back over her shoulder, thinking she should have tied it up. Expertly removing another cigarette from a pack, putting it in her mouth and lighting it one-handed, she snapped the map flat. Sharp green eyes raked over the lines and contours indicated on the map. It was chilly in the Carpathians this time of year and her exhalation of smoke combined with the breath cloud formed by cold air from the open car window.

  Coming to Romania to counsel this particular Vampire, Count Aleksei Rachlav, seemed like the best way to get the inside track on Dracula’s plans. That was, if the Count knew anything.

  Gillian’s very public persona, bolstered by the Marine Corps and her membership in IPPA had brought her to Count Rachlav’s attention. He had placed an ad in one of the IPPA’s trade journals requesting therapy. He preferred a psychologist to come to him, all expenses paid.

  There was an additional ad from Romania, placed by another family, the Boganskayas, requesting help for a bothersome Ghost. Gillian wanted both clients, as they were in close proximity to each other. There was no telling what a Ghost might know, so she’d requested this assignment. The IPPA had assigned them to her and she’d left at the earliest opportunity after informing her contact, Dr. Helmut Gerhardt, where she was off to.

  At the moment, as she continued driving down the darkened roadway, surrounded by thick, foreboding forest, she wondered if this was one of her brighter ideas.

  “Sacele should be just a little up ahead” she thought crossly as she studied the map, which unfortunately was in Romanian. Who the hell knew? She tossed the map into the passenger side, where it fluttered to the floor. Starting the engine again, she released the brake, shifted into gear and rolled on down the road.

  Ahead on the left, after a short jaunt around some hairpin curves, she could see lights from a rather large area where the road abruptly forked. Straight on was darkness, so she veered onto the left fork, throwing gravel as she downshifted and gunned the engine, rivaling an Indy driver in skill.

  Pulling into what looked like a gravel parking lot, she angled the car toward a cottage with the porch light lit and lights on within the structure. It looked like she was on a large estate rather than anywhere near a town. Unlike any of her male counterparts, Gillian was not opposed to asking for directions. She turned sharply, then backed up, parking with the nose of the car toward the exit. Never hurt to be too careful.

  She stubbed the cigarette out, yanked the handbrake and killed the engine while she opened the door. Eight years in the Corps had taught her efficiency of movement, to combine several motions into one. Sometimes it kept you from getting killed. It only took a moment for her to flare her empathy around and determine that nothing with talons or fangs lurked in the immediate area around the cabin. It was a habit, but a habit that had saved her life on more than one occasion.

  Visibly relaxing, she cast Nile-green eyes up to the cloudless sky. Her breath fogged out of her mouth, part cigarette smoke, part exhalation. It was chilly, but the snows had not yet come and the sky was velvet black, the stars glittering on the obsidian field.

  She took a brief moment to admire the magnitude of stars before booting the door shut and walking purposefully toward the structure, which looked like a very large quaint cottage. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see what appeared to be a castle farther up the drive, but it looked dark and foreboding. There were lights here, and her empathy wasn’t flaring…yet.

  Hearing noises within, she knocked on the door and waited while footsteps headed her way. The light on the porch helped not to blind her as the door opened to a brightly lit room, but the man who opened the door made her reflexively reach for the gun she no longer wore openly at her side.

  She stood her ground but inwardly flinched. He was tall, very tall. Ebony black hair fell in waves over his br
oad shoulders and silvery gray eyes appraised her from beneath elegantly arched brows placed on a harshly beautiful face.

  The supernatural power radiating from him raised the hair on her arms and her nerves screamed at her to run. Vampire. No doubt in her mind. No Human ever looked like that. Probably one of the Count’s entourage.

  The sensuous mouth opened and a deeply toned, liquid-velvet voice, beautifully accented, caressed her. “How may I help you, Miss…?”

  The fact that he spoke English was interesting but not surprising. If he were an older Vampire, he was probably fully fluent in several languages. Vampires could read Humans like books, generally. The older and really powerful ones could get uncomfortably inside your mind if you weren’t paying attention.

  He had assessed her completely within a heartbeat of opening that door, she had no doubt. It was something fanged folk just did automatically without thinking, like breathing…Oh, wait.

  Gillian found her voice and nerve at the same time. It would not do to look scared or broadcast nervousness. She snapped her metaphysical shields down firmly, flashed a winning smile, then answered him.

  “For starters, I need to know where the hell I’ve gotten myself lost to so I can find my way back.”

  Her spontaneous grin struck a chord in the male as he felt her fatigue and irritation but also her warmth and authenticity. She was genuinely lost, honestly perturbed, but she was polite.