Predatory

by Alexandra Ivy

  Vlad actually looked up from his laptop when Pike walked in. I felt my eyebrows rise and a sweet warmth spread in my stomach when Vlad’s dark brows shot downward, his thin lips pulled into a menacing scowl as his eyes flickered over Pike.

  Aw, Vlad. He cared.

  “I’m sorry,” Pike said, looking from Vlad to me. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

  “He’s not company, he’s my nephew.” I crossed over to Vlad. “Vlad, this is my friend”—my breath caught on the word—“Pike. Pike, my nephew, Vlad.”

  The two men regarded each other casually, critically, before offering each other one of those barely perceptible manly head nods.

  Vlad went back to his screen and Pike followed me to the couch.

  “All right,” Pike said, sitting down beside me. “What’s the big reveal?”

  I saw Vlad stiffen in his spot at the dining table. His eyebrows shot up over the screen, his eyes, wide and accusing, following. “Can you come here for a second, Nina?”

  I beelined over to Vlad and leaned my head in, certain of what he was going to say. “Please tell me your big reveal entails your tits or your ass or something else that won’t potentially ruin my life or make you have to eat Pike.”

  “I know what I’m doing, Vlad,” I hissed. And, because I felt like I should, I added, “And watch your language.”

  Even though I had no idea what I was doing.

  Pike edged to the side of the couch. “So?”

  A knock on the door stopped him and I celebrated my good luck. I snatched open the door and was greeted by Felipe’s strangled cries, his shoulders shimmying under the dead weight of his emotion.

  “Nina, Nina, oh, it’s awful!” He plunged himself into my arms and I was forced to hug him, to think of friend over fashion as a snot bubble popped on my dupioni silk blouse.

  “Felipe, what’s going on?”

  “It’s my Reggie,” he huffed.

  Pike and I shared a very déjà vu look. “What about Reginald?”

  “He didn’t commit the suicide. He—he—he was murdered.” The admittance came out with another rash of hysterical tears and Pike rushed over.

  “What do you mean he was murdered?”

  I knew what I heard at the cocktail party, but Felipe’s crushed face was painful confirmation.

  “I just came from the police station. They did the”—sniff—“the”—sniff—“autopsy. It came back positive. Or whatever you say. My Reggie was murdered!”

  Pike snaked his arms in front of his chest. “First Reginald and now Emerson,” he said just under his breath. He shot me a sidelong glance and I knew exactly what he didn’t say: that I was next.

  We spent the next twenty minutes listening as Felipe filled us in on what the police had told him—which wasn’t much. By the time he left the sun was dipping into the Hudson and I was pacing. Pike grabbed both my shoulders and I stopped my march.

  “What’s up?”

  “What’s up? There is a murderer on the loose. And you and I both know who’s next on his list. Me.” Being mainly immortal I wasn’t all that nervous. But still, getting stabbed or hung would be nothing short of an enormous pain in my ass, not to mention the havoc it would wreak on my wardrobe.

  “I’m not sure that’s what you should be most concerned about,” Pike said.

  I raised a brow.

  “Suspect.” Pike mouthed the word.

  I shook my head. “No, no, that’s just a theory. And a flimsy one at that. You have more motive.”

  “Like I said, Emerson and I barely spoke. The whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing was completely in her head. Emerson and Reginald were both your competitors. With both of them gone, you’ve technically won the competition. That’s your motive.”

  I yanked my shoulders away from Pike and gaped. “Are you seriously accusing me of killing off my competition? I’ll have you know that I would have whipped their asses fair and square. God rest their souls.”

  “I’m not accusing you. I’m telling you.”

  “They don’t think it’s me. They think it’s you.” Pike rolled his eyes and I dropped my voice. “Or me.”

  “How much do you know about Emerson? You said you used to run into her all the time. I know you two weren’t friends but—”

  “But what? I knew nothing about her other than what I told you. I didn’t even know she had a sister for God’s sake until she showed up in my face.” I paused. “That’s it. The sister. We need to talk to her.” I bit my bottom lip. “But she probably wouldn’t talk to us.”

  “Because she was apparently so hysterical?”

  “Because she might think that one of us killed Emerson.”

  Pike pinned me with a stare and I sighed, dropping my head in my hands. “I will be the hysterical one if I have to go to prison. They make everyone shower together. And you have to wear those stupid plastic shoes!” I frowned, my eyes skittering over the apartment and seeing bars, one of those ugly metal toilets, and a thin cot with four-thread-count sheets.

  And then I saw Vlad.

  Slowly, his eyes came up from behind the screen. “What?”

  I felt a smile playing at the edge of my lips. “She’ll talk to you.”

  “What?” Pike asked.

  I stopped, excitement building in my chest. “She’ll talk to Vlad. He’s young, he’s charming,” I said and glanced at Pike. “He’s not you. She’ll open up to him.”

  Pike looked over at Vlad and then back at me. “No offense to your nephew, but do you really think a girl who just lost her sister to murder is going to suddenly go all boy crazy for him?” He jerked a thumb toward Vlad, and threw in a, “No offense, bro,” for good measure.

  “Well, Vlad’s got—” I paused, biting my tongue before I said the word glamours. A glamour is almost like a vampire pheromone; it attracts humans to us like bees to honey and once they find us . . . well, humans tend to become utterly entranced and allow us to eat them. Usually.

  If you don’t adhere to UDA guidelines.

  Glamours are strictly forbidden according to the UDA-V charter but I am almost completely sure that a glamour for solving a homicide was a way lesser charge than a glamour for committing a homicide. And either way, I’d rather be beheaded by the UDA than spend eternity in a prison cell and an orange jumpsuit.

  “I mean Vlad’s got charm.” I turned toward him and threw on my best version of adorably irresistible Disney eyes. “Please, Vlad. For me?”

  Vlad looked up, eyed me warily. “No.”

  I crossed the room in two short strides and batted my lashes again. “Pweeze?”

  He shook his head.

  I tossed a quick glance over my shoulder, then laid my palm flat on the table, a quarter-inch from Vlad’s hand.

  “Look,” I said, my voice low and dripping with heat. “I made you, Louis.” Vlad didn’t regard me visually, but I could see a stiffness run through his spine as I regarded him by his real, pre-vamp, pre-Count-Chocula-obsession name. “And I will be the first one to take you out.”

  “Can’t. UDA bylaw.” There was an edge of teenage smugness in his words that made me want to kill him just a little bit more.

  “Fine,” I said, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “I won’t kill you.” I snatched my cell phone from where it rested on the counter. “But Kale will.”

  Vlad stood up so quickly his chair thunked to the ground behind him. “Fine!” he said, terror cutting through his eyes. “Just please,” he continued, holding up both hands as if the phone were about to spit bullets. “Whatever you do, don’t call Kale. Please.”

  Now I was smug.

  Pike looped an arm over the back of the couch as he turned to stare at us. “Who’s this—”

  “Never mind,” Vlad and I said in unison.

  I pushed Vlad toward the door. “Come on. Just go over there. Ask her for coffee.”

  “I don’t feel good about this,” Vlad said, pulling on his collar.

  “You’re doing a good thing,�
� I said, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “You saw the way Nicolette lit up when you introduced yourself.”

  Vlad glared down at me and Pike piped in, “Besides, it’s just coffee.” His grin was wide and genuine and I melted just a tiny bit, barely even registering the fact that he could very well be a homicidal maniac.

  I had Vlad in a vice grip and the doorknob in my hand when Pike grabbed my shoulder, his hand warm and heavy. “Wait,” he said, “do we have some kind of plan?”

  I whirled. “Of course we do. Vlad goes out with Nicolette, asks some questions, gains some intel about whether or not Emerson has some horrid, murderous people in her immediate past—”

  Vlad opened his mouth and I shot him a very loving but very deathly gaze.

  “And then he relays it back to us. We find said murderous people and voila! Off the hook.”

  “Sounds awfully simple,” Pike said skeptically.

  “Don’t worry, it won’t be,” Vlad answered.

  Pike and I sat in an uncomfortable silence while Vlad left the apartment. When an acceptable amount of time had passed—about thirty seconds—I sprinted toward the front door and pushed my nose through the crack that Vlad had left open. He was in the hallway and had just knocked on Nicolette’s door.

  “What’s happening?” Pike came up behind me, his chest pressing up against my back, his hands resting on my hips. I wanted to grind into him, to toss him to the couch, to experience something other than this constant edginess and suspicion.

  But Nicolette opened the door.

  She was red-eyed and pink-nosed, her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. She immediately straightened up when she saw who her caller was.

  I felt Pike lean closer to me, his lips a hairsbreadth from my ear as he leaned down, his breath warm against the marble cold of my neck. “Damn. She asked him in.”

  “That’s a good sign, though.” I tiptoed—sheerly for effect—weightless, remember?—across the hall and pressed my ear lightly to Nicolette and Emerson’s apartment door.

  “He’s asking her to coffee,” I whispered over my shoulder. “She said ‘okay, how about in five minutes.’ Oh, crap.” I ran back across the hall, smacking chest-to-warm-carved chest into Pike and may or may not have held the stance for a longer-than-appropriate moment. I felt Pike’s arms go around me, his palm on the small of my back. Then Vlad pressed through the door and we sprang apart like a negative charge. Pike’s cheeks were flushed and there was a light sheen of sweat above his upper lip.

  “What were you two doing?” Vlad asked without hiding the suspicious disgust from his face.

  “Waiting for you. What happened?”

  Vlad patted his well-shellacked hair. “We’re going for coffee. Just like he asked.” He pretend-breathed on me. “How’s my breath?”

  “You’re disgusting,” I said. “Have fun. And don’t forget, you tell us everything. And really dig, you know? Pry.”

  Vlad rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He made sure to slam the door when he left.

  I waited for a beat, worrying my bottom lip. Finally, I grabbed my keys, straightened my ponytail, and gave Pike the universal sign for “come on, get off my couch.”

  “Where are you going?” he wanted to know.

  “On a date with my nephew.”

  Pike and I were tucked against a back wall at a tiny round coffee table barely big enough for our elbows, let alone our drinks.

  “You’re sure you don’t want anything? Coffee? Frap-mocha-liscious or however the hell they bastardized coffee?”

  I pursed my lips together and shook my head. “I’m fine, thanks.” I tapped my ever-present travel mug. “I’ve had about all the coffee I could take for the day.”

  And it wasn’t a total lie. The blood bad that I had for breakfast had a distinct, burnt coffee flavor. Made my teeth curl just thinking about it.

  Pike had his elbows on the table, chin in hand. “What kind of woman comes to a coffeehouse and doesn’t at least order a coffee? Or . . .” He pulled a chipped white plate toward him and snatched the muffin from it, his bite leaving less than half the muffin. “A sweet?”

  “The kind of girl who is on a stakeout.” I nudged my chair a half-inch farther away. “Can you try to keep most of that in your mouth?”

  Pike shrugged. “I can’t even hear what they’re talking about.”

  Vlad and Nicolette were seated half the shop away from us, Nicolette’s light waves falling over the back of her chair while Vlad smiled kindly and nodded, all the while shooting dagger glances at us whenever Nicolette looked away.

  “Nicolette is talking about Emerson. She ate a cookie—snickerdoodle, I think—and is now talking about Christmas Eve at her parents’ house. Apparently, Emerson got an Easy-Bake Oven while Nicolette got the Barbie Design Studio.”

  Pike leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. “You can hear that?”

  Heat zinged through me and I felt color—whoever’s it was—washing over my cheeks. “I have really, really good hearing. And I read lips. It runs in the family.” I kept my eyes focused on Vlad but I knew that Pike was staring at me. “Interesting.”

  A good forty minutes had passed and Nicolette told Vlad about being on the cheerleading squad and her college career. Vlad looked adequately forlorn and heartbroken as he mentioned his “ex-girlfriend” and how he came out to New York to mend his broken heart. I was about to gag, Pike was about to drop dead of boredom, and we were no closer to learning anything about Emerson’s private life.

  “Okay, either something happens or I’m going to stab someone through the heart.”

  My throat tightened and my blood froze statue-still. “What did you say?”

  Pike held up his hands. “Sorry—too soon? Too soon.”

  I felt my mouth drop open then slammed it shut again, certain that Pike was talking about stabbing in general—not staking a vampire through the heart.

  And I don’t know if that made me feel better or worse.

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  “What?”

  Pike let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. The motion caused his semifitted black tee to rise just the smallest bit—just enough to expose a thin, two-inch trail of jet black hair leading from his very kissable belly button and disappearing into the gathered elastic of his boxer shorts. I licked my lips.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Well . . .”

  I did my best to tear my eyes from that happy trail, to tear my mind from what lay beneath.

  “Tell me about your family.”

  Nothing will pull you out of a fantasy like an incredibly sexy man asking you to talk about your family.

  “Not much to tell,” I said simply. “Mom, dad, sister, two brothers.” I shrugged toward Vlad. “And Vlad.”

  “What kind of name is Vlad? I assumed you were French.”

  I felt my beaming grin go from ear to ear. I loved it when a man recognized my elegant French upbringing—especially now, more than a century and a half after the fact. “You did?”

  “Yeah. French or Spanish—‘La’ Shay.’”

  Well, he was pretty enough to be a little bit dumb.

  “My sister married a Hungarian,” I lied. “Vlad is a pretty common Hungarian name.”

  Pike’s brows went up. “Interesting. I thought it was Russian.”

  It was storybook vampire cliché! I wanted to scream. Which was why Louis LaShay chose to adopt the annoying Dracula moniker later in his non-creative vampire life.

  “Look, Vlad and Nicolette are on a date.” I snaked a tongue over my bottom lip, my number one tip in my arsenal of man-without-pants-prep. “Why don’t we stop talking family and start talking fantasy?”

  A single eyebrow rose over Pike’s dark eyes and his lips quirked into a smile that stood halfway between innocently interested and sex god with a naughty spot. “Fantasy, huh?”

  I nodded slowly, resting my chin o
n my hands, letting a flow of my dark hair spill over my shoulder. If I had a whipped-cream topped coffee—if I could stomach such a thing—I would trail an index finger through it. Instead I leaned just a touch closer to Pike, letting my long hair tickle his arm.

  The temperature in the coffeehouse rose by ten degrees.

  “Well . . .” He let his voice trail off in that half-gravelly, all-sexy way, his eyes cutting from mine to wash all over my body with an appreciative grin. “Vlad wants you.”

  I squelched a snarl. “That’s disgusting. We’re French nobles! Not Alabama hillbillies! You’re into some sick—”

  Pike rolled his eyes and pointed. “No, Vlad, for real, wants you.”

  I whipped my head toward where he pointed and this time, didn’t bother toning down the snarl. Vlad stood up and walked toward the restroom; I followed at a furious pace.

  “What do you want? Don’t you know I was—” I paused, cleared my throat, and straightened. “Please tell me you’ve called this little summit because you found out something good.”

  Vlad shrugged, all unaffected teen. “Sorry I interrupted your attempt at a fang bang, but this is going nowhere. All Nicolette wants to talk about is Christmas in Norman Rockwell-ville and her stupid Barbie Design Studio.”

  I arched a brow. “Barbie Design Studio?”

  Vlad shrugged. “I don’t know. Apparently Emerson got the Easy-Bake Oven. Look, I’ll give her five more minutes and then I’m taking her home.”

  “Five more minutes?”

  Vlad whipped out his iPhone. “And this time counts.”

  Five minutes—to the millisecond—later, Vlad was tossing a few crumpled bills on the table and opening the door for Nicolette.

  I groaned. “So, that was a waste.”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . we never got to talk about your fantasy . . . or your fears.”

  I was drained, cranky, and the sickly sweet smell of pastries going day old was making my stomach churn. As sexy as Pike was, the borrowed blood running through my veins was almost gone and all I wanted was an US Weekly and a vat of O Neg. “Maybe another time.”

  Pike sucked in a sharp breath. “There is something we haven’t tried.”

  I was waiting for him to say sex. Or kissing. And I was cursing myself for wasting all that good blood when it could have been rushing to my—