Bane's Choice

by Alyssa Day

  She reached for a bandage, but he stopped her with an amused glance.

  “Oh. I forgot,” she murmured as she watched the tiny puncture mark on his arm vanish. “How wonderful that must be.”

  “Wonderful,” he repeated, and when she glanced up at him, he was staring at her breasts. Her breath stuttered, and she quickly backed away and retreated to her equipment.

  “If I find that your red blood cells are a different size, shape, or color from those of normal human red blood cells, that gives us a place to start. Of course, I’m limited by what I can do here, since we can’t exactly go to the hospital and run tests.”

  She tapped her finger against her chin, thinking. “Too bad, really, because a sample of your bone marrow would tell me so much. But I don’t see how we can do that, just yet, and anyway, if we start here, we can determine what we might want to do next. Does that make sense?”

  He said nothing.

  “Bane! You have to at least answer me—” She turned to face him and saw immediately why he hadn’t replied. He was sound asleep, and Bram Stoker, who’d apparently abandoned her mid-blood-test speech, was sprawled out on the rug next to the couch, out cold with all four legs in the air.

  “And, yet again, I have bored you to sleep. This is not the best basis on which to build a relationship,” she murmured, and then she froze, blood vial still in her hand.

  Relationship?

  With a vampire she just met, she was thinking the R word?

  “Okay, that’s it. I need food. I’m delirious.”

  She carefully put everything on the table and quietly, so as not to disturb them, walked to the door, and slipped out, carefully closing it behind herself. If Mrs. C didn’t have any food handy, she’d order something delivered, but she needed to eat something now and then maybe catch a nap before her brain got any fuzzier.

  There was plenty of time for everything else later.

  The hallway was deserted, but then again, it was mid-afternoon, so probably everybody not human in the house was sleeping. She resisted the urge to go check on Hunter and wandered downstairs toward the kitchen, where she found Mrs. C presiding over a pot of soup and pulling fresh loaves of bread out of the oven.

  “Oh, wow, I might actually faint dead on the spot from how good that smells,” she moaned, leaning against the doorway. “Can I help with anything? And maybe get something to eat? I’m starving.”

  The housekeeper/cook/all-around everything, from what Ryan could tell, was pink-cheeked from the oven’s heat. She smiled at Ryan and waved her to a chair.

  “Have a seat, Doctor. I’ll dish you up a bowl.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t wait on me. I can—”

  “You can sit yourself down and let me enjoy the pleasure of serving food to a lovely guest is what you can do,” the woman said firmly, so Ryan hastily sat herself down and watched as Mrs. C carved a big hunk of steaming hot bread that smelled deliciously of rosemary and put it on a plate.

  Then she handed the plate to Ryan and pushed a ceramic crock and a butter knife across the table. “Get started on that, and I’ll dish you up some soup. Do you like potato leek?”

  “I love potato leek,” Ryan said, and then she was too busy moaning with pleasure as she bit into the bread to talk.

  Mrs. C put a large bowl of creamy soup, chock full of potatoes, leeks, and plenty of herbs, down in front of Ryan with a soup spoon.

  “There you are. Eat up. Would you like some sweet tea?”

  Sweet tea was the Southern drink of choice, but Ryan had never quite gotten the taste for it. It was like drinking liquid sugar with a bit of lemon to her, but she almost felt guilty declining. “Just a glass of water, please?”

  “Certainly.”

  For several minutes, Ryan ate one of the most delicious meals she’d ever had, while the housekeeper bustled around the room, periodically patting Ryan’s shoulder, humming, and placing little plates of fruit, cookies, and a slice of pecan pie on the table.

  “Ahhhh,” Ryan said, contemplating the pie. “This is my favorite Southern food in the world. I could eat pecan pie every single day and be happy.”

  “That’s my grandma’s recipe,” Mrs. C said, finally taking a seat with a mug of tea and her own slice of pie. “Bane always loved it when she made it, so Mama and I made sure to keep up the tradition.”

  Ryan slowly put her fork down on the side of her plate. “Hearing you so casually say something like that reminds me how absolutely surreal this situation is. Your grandmother baked this pie for Bane, who looks young enough to be your son.”

  The other woman laughed. “That’s kind of you, but he looks more like my grandson these days. And maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but my great-grandmama cooked for Bane and Meara, too.”

  “And Luke?”

  “No. Luke never came around until the sixties. He was a refugee from somewhere else, from someone very bad, I think, but he never talks about it, and I respect his privacy.” She sipped her tea. “Ah. As cold as we keep the house, I do enjoy a hot cup of tea.”

  The house was quite chilly, but Ryan kept her place cool and hospital temperatures were always low, so she hadn’t particularly noticed it.

  She took a bite of pie and briefly closed her eyes in total bliss. “This is the best pecan pie I’ve ever tasted. You’re amazing.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. C said, dimpling. “I do love baking. I’m not nearly as excited about cooking, but I love making bread, too.”

  “I’d weigh a thousand pounds if I ate here very often,” Ryan said glumly. She ate another bite of pie to cheer herself up, though, so it was fine.

  “You don’t have to worry about your weight, young lady. You have those lovely curves that men love, like I did.”

  “Like you still do, from what I hear about you and Mr. C skinny dipping.” Ryan grinned.

  “Well, that’s as may be. The secret to a man’s heart isn’t only through his stomach, after all. Other organs give you a more direct line, as you’d know, being a doctor and all. Tommy’s not feeling so well today, though.”

  Ryan could feel herself blushing. “I only hope I can be as wonderful as you some day,” she said fervently. “You’re my hero. And if you’d like me to look at Tommy, check his vitals, and look at his throat, I’d be glad to do it.”

  This time, it was Mrs. C’s cheeks that turned pink. “Oh, get on with you. And thanks, but I’m sure Tommy’s fine. He just needed a nap. Lots of excitement around here lately. And I’ll give you pie every day of the week, if you help my family.”

  “Your family?”

  “I’ve known Bane and Meara since I was a little girl, you know. Uncle Bane and Auntie Meara, then. Now, they feel as much like my kids as my daughter does.”

  Ryan took another bite of pie. “Where is your daughter? Does she live here, too?”

  Mrs. C responded with a peal of laughter. “Oh, goodness, no. She’d never be content to keep house for someone. My Molly is studying art restoration in France. On a full-ride scholarship that Bane provided for both her and two of her art student friends, mind you. They live together in an apartment he and Meara bought them in Paris.”

  “That’s amazing,” Ryan said, meaning it. A full scholarship would have made a huge difference to her bottom line. As things stood, she was going to have to sell her grandmother’s townhome and move into a tiny apartment just to pay off her student loans.

  “It certainly is. And the fact that Molly learned French from a native speaker didn’t hurt any when it came time for the interview with that French museum director, let me tell you. She said s’il vous plait and merci beaucoup and there she was, in for the degree and the internship, both.”

  “That’s really terrific. Have you been over to visit?”

  Mrs. C sighed happily. “Not yet, but we’re going over in December for Christmas, and Bane is paying for th
at. He actually growled at us when we said we could buy our own plane tickets. He’s an amazing man, Doctor.”

  Ryan added this story to the cache of information she was gathering on the man who’d invaded her home—and her heart?—so easily. “He certainly is,” she agreed after she swallowed the final bite of pie and stood to carry her plate to the sink.

  “Ryan.” Startled at the intensity with which the housekeeper had called her name, Ryan turned to see that the woman was twisting her hands and frowning.

  “Please don’t hurt him. He…he means so much to us, you see. I don’t…please don’t hurt him.”

  Ryan wanted to promise, but she didn’t know how. What would—or even could—hurt such a man? So she simply smiled, nodded, and patted Mrs. C on the shoulder.

  “I’d better get back up there. Thank you for the meal.”

  When she glanced back, the housekeeper sat, shoulders slumped, staring down at her hands, and Ryan had the distinct impression that her answer, or lack of one, had been enormously disappointing. She blinked back the tears that suddenly threatened but didn’t go back to try to offer comfort. She was terrible at that.

  No, being a disappointment was very much more in her wheelhouse.

  She stopped and looked at the front door for a long time, thinking of her Prius and escape sitting right outside. Trying to make the decision.

  Stay? Or go, before she lost her heart—and maybe her life—to a vampire?

  Chapter Thirty

  Bane woke up in a cold sweat for the first time in three hundred years.

  And vampires don’t sweat.

  “Ryan!” He bolted up off the couch and called out for her before he was even fully awake, only to trip over the dog, who’d woken, too, and was looking frantically around for whatever the threat might be.

  Bane somersaulted in midair, landed on his feet, and finally noticed Ryan on the other end of the long couch, curled up beneath a blanket, sound asleep. His heart rate and breathing slowed down instantly; seeing her alive and well helped dissipate the terrible memory of yet another dream of her dying.

  His first instinct was to sweep her up into his arms, but the bluish, almost bruised hollows beneath her eyes told him how much she needed to sleep. For her, even more so than for him, the past two days had been exhausting.

  The memory of his dream sent shudders of dread down his spine. Bram Stoker, catching his mood, sat down and started to howl.

  “Stop!” He snapped his fingers at the dog and pointed to the door. The dog, fairly well trained for a not-quite-year-old pup, instantly stopped making that hideous noise and trotted over to wait by the door, panting softly.

  Ryan had never even twitched. She truly must be completely worn out. He’d leave her to sleep while he and Luke went to the club for the meeting. If they teamed up with the Wolf Pack MC, as Reynolds had agreed, they’d have a better chance of finding the warlocks.

  He bent down and kissed her, so gently she wouldn’t even feel it, more for his reassurance than hers. And then he adjusted the blanket around her shoulders.

  “I’ll be back soon, Dr. St. Cloud, and then we’ll explore whatever this is between us,” he murmured.

  She snuggled deeper into the blanket and made a little humming sound that went straight to his cock. What kind of noises would she make when he was finally inside her? Maybe he should stay here and wait for her to wake up, so he could find out.

  Bram Stoker let out a soft woof from the door, which probably meant he needed to go out and water the lawn, and Bane took it as a sign. He opened the door and followed the dog out of the room and then, only hesitating for a moment, turned and locked the door.

  Locked her in.

  If she woke before he got back, he’d catch hell for it, he knew. Dr. St. Cloud was not the type to stand for what she’d surely consider to be imprisonment. For his own peace of mind, though, he had no choice. If she decided to go check on Hunter by herself, and he woke up in full bloodlust mode…

  No. She’d sleep, and she’d be safe, and he’d cope with any consequence when he returned.

  He found Meara downstairs in the parlor, picking out a tune on the baby grand piano. The Steinway had cost him half a million dollars twenty years before, but it made his sister happy, so he considered it well worth the price. She could have afforded a dozen Steinways, but it had pleased him to give it to her.

  When one’s sister was immortal—and a millionaire many times over—finding Christmas gifts became problematic.

  “‘As Time Goes By?’ Feeling sentimental, Meara?”

  “A kiss is never just a kiss, is it, Bane?” She sang along with her playing for several lines and then trailed off. “I don’t know. Seeing you with the doctor has made me feel lonely, I guess.”

  “Jean-Claude was a very long time ago,” he said, wondering why he was suddenly having conversations about feelings with everyone in the house, when his own had only just barely returned from the ashes.

  Meara restlessly shoved back the lace sleeves on her plum-colored silk shirt, and he inhaled sharply and then walked over to take her wrist in his hand. The veins were stark black against her pale skin.

  “You need to feed. Or there must be blood in the house—”

  She pulled her hand away and shook her head, her hair flying with the vehemence of her denial. “You know I don’t drink blood out of bags, Bane. It tastes like plastic, and it makes me sick.”

  “Then take from me.” He held out his wrist, but she shoved it away and leapt straight up into the air, landing lightly on top of the piano in her bare feet.

  “No! I told you five years ago I’d never take blood from family again. Why don’t you listen to me?” Her fangs descended, making her look both feral and hauntingly beautiful. “I’m tired of all of this. The club, the people around all the time. The boredom. I need to have some fun. I’ll go out and find someone to eat later and try not to leave any bodies in my wake.”

  He knew she was baiting him. Knew she’d only take a little from any one human, and that she’d compel them to forget. But, for some reason, she wanted to fight, and the only thing different in their lives was Ryan.

  “Do you hate her?” The words felt like he was ripping them straight from the center of his chest, but he forced them out. Meara was his family. “I can give her up, if you—”

  “No, you can’t.” Her fangs retracted, and she laughed. A real laugh. “You can no more give her up than you can give up drinking blood. You forget, brother, I’ve known you for more than three hundred years. You worked for my father while we were still human. And never once, in all that time, have I seen you act the way you do with the lovely doctor.”

  He said nothing.

  Because she was right.

  Dr. Ryan St. Cloud had stolen her way inside his defenses. Not only did he not know how to push her away, his entire being rebelled at the idea of even trying.

  “Right.” She smiled at him, but with far too much sadness in her eyes, and then she jumped down from the piano and kissed him on the cheek. “Ne t’inquiète pas, mon frère. I’ll get someone to eat. But I’ll wait for you to get back from your meeting, so I can keep an eye on the lovely doctor for you.”

  “Don’t tell me not to worry. Worrying about you is part of the deal. And don’t wait too long. Ryan’s asleep, safely in my rooms, and she’s not going anywhere. Go feed before you spend time with her.”

  “Afraid I’ll snack on your girlfriend?”

  “Of course not.”

  Probably not. It had happened before, though…

  Meara’s eyes suddenly widened. “She’s not going anywhere? You didn’t lock her in, did you?”

  He averted his gaze, suddenly interested in polishing a speck off the piano keyboard.

  Her peal of laughter startled him into looking at her.

  “Oh, you truly are in trouble
. She won’t easily forgive you for that, you know.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” he snarled, suddenly tired of the entire conversation. “Better that she’s angry with me rather than be too dead to be angry.”

  Meara backed away from him a step. “You’ve never been like this before.”

  He blew out a sigh. “I know. I think I’m going insane. I don’t understand what it is about this human.”

  “This woman,” Meara corrected him.

  “Yes.” He thought about it. “I think…I think she’s the bravest woman I’ve ever met. She accepted what we are and marched right in to save the man she thought of as her patient. She came back when she could have been free of us, forever.”

  Meara sent him a sly smile. “Maybe not forever. I was already planning to abduct her for you if she didn’t return. But yes, she has a lot of courage. Maybe too much.”

  “Almost as much as you.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

  “I rather like her, your human.” She sighed. “All right. I’ll feed, and I’ll look in on her, and I’ll even try not to let her know that my pigheadedly stupid brother locked her in his room like a child. How’s that?”

  “I know she’s not a child,” he muttered, and she laughed again.

  “No, brother. You’re the one acting like a child here, jealously guarding a favorite toy. Be careful, Bane.”

  “Always looking after me.” He grinned at her and flicked a strand of her hair, like he’d done when they were children.

  She threw her hands in the air. “Somebody has to do it.”

  He watched her start up the stairs, and then he called for Luke.

  ARE YOU READY?

  Luke’s response came immediately.

  ALREADY OUTSIDE ON MY BIKE. LET’S GO.

  After one long last look at the stairs, Bane headed out the door. They needed to figure out the necromancers’ plan and destroy it. Destroy them. He wasn’t about to let them get a foothold in Savannah or anywhere near his territory. They could stay in the Old World and keep their problems, politics, and death magic on the other side of the ocean.