My Familiar Stranger

by Victoria Danann

  She was about to say goodbye when he pulled his shirt tail free of his jeans and, with his gaze locked on Elora, slowly began unbuttoning his shirt. He watched her eyes fall to where his fingers moved over the buttons. When he finally pulled the shirt back, letting it fall from his shoulders, he revealed an upper body that had been toned by a hard life and, as he had mentioned, no sugar at the time he was infected with the virus. He held the shirt out and she accepted it, barely suppressing the urge to rub the sexy feeling silk between her fingers.

  “Okay. We’re even.” She turned her back on him and walked away without looking back. The nonchalance of her posture and gait wasn’t entirely feigned.

  Baka stood by the fire, shirtless and unmoving, until after the vault was resecured.

  When she stepped over the multiple grooves of the titanium threshold, the tension in the room was so palpable she almost swayed.

  Ram was sitting on a counter, breathing into a paper bag and was so angry he couldn’t even look her in the face. When she had gone to sit within arm’s reach of Baka, he had lunged for the door, spinning the vault wheel and screaming, “Get her out! Get her out right now!”

  Kay had been forced to grip Ram in a bear hug from behind and immobilize him long enough to say, “If she hears the vault opening, it will surprise her. She’ll be distracted and look away from him. We can’t take that chance. You understand me? We don’t have any choice but to let her play it out her way.”

  Ram had stilled and nodded, but, for the first time in his life, was having trouble getting breath. A nurse arrived within four minutes with a paper bag solution. Storm and Kay had wanted him to go to the little infirmary, but a legion of demons could not have dragged him from that room before seeing her safe.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Elora asked looking from Storm to Kay, nodding toward Ram.

  Storm wheeled on her booming. “He’s scared to death! That’s what’s the matter! Every one of us could just…” He held his hands up in a clutching gesture indicating that he would like to strangle her. All the while he was visibly clenching and unclenching his teeth in a most unattractive way.

  Suddenly he turned on Ram, “For every time I have ever called you reckless or psycho or accused you of having a death wish, I take it all back. She makes you look downright timid.”

  Ram lowered the bag from his face long enough to say, “Lay off. ‘Tis done.”

  “Are you okay?” Elora asked Ram. He gave her a murderous glare and went back to breathing through the paper bag. “Wow. It looks like there was some serious drama on this side of the mirror.”

  “Oh! Sweet,” Storm said sarcastically. “Tell me something. Do you care about us at all?”

  Taken aback by that accusation, Elora’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean? Of course.”

  “Ms. Laiken,” Kay began, “emotions were running a little high because of fear. For you. And, from this side of the glass, it seemed like you were sort of asking for it.”

  “It? Asking for it as in getting bit?”

  Kay nodded.

  Elora looked around the room. "So it's Ms. Laiken now is it?"

  She really hadn’t thought she would cause this much anxiety. After all, these were people who hunt vampire every day. Going from face to face though, she saw that those who weren’t downright angry were solemnly grim and she decided she should soft pedal.

  “Okay. I’m sorry if I gave you cause for concern." She looked pointedly at Storm and Ram. “But I was the one in the situation and I had to follow my own instincts.”

  “Cause for concern?” Storm first gaped at her, then turned his face to the wall and let out a roar of frustration. He wasn’t used to containing the sort of emotion that threatens to boil over into torrents of rage. He turned and took two steps in Elora's direction so that he was standing over her. “Inoculations can’t save you if your jugular is sliced in two.” He held his hand in front of her face, thumb and first finger twitching together. “And you were this close. Even you wouldn’t recover from that.”

  Elora’s own temper was beginning to crowd her composure. “That’s just it, Storm. I wasn’t in any danger. I’m sorry you were needlessly worried, but you’re going to have to learn to trust me.” He hissed out his aggravation then dropped his hands to his sides as if to say he was giving up.

  “What if I had told you I was going to rehabilitate Blackie? We both know you would have forbidden me to go near him. Blackie would have been sentenced to live out his life being tormented by that sadist.”

  “Please tell me you are not comparing that thing,” he pointed to the glass, ”to an abused dog! If you’re saying you have plans to domesticate Istvan Baka, then you need to double down on your therapy sessions.”

  She recoiled as she instantly reordered her reality. A moment ago she had thought Storm incapable of deliberately hurting her.

  He knew it was harsh, but he didn’t care. He wanted to shock her into sound judgment.

  Elora narrowed her eyes as her fists clenched while she was deciding whether or not to punch him.

  Ram might have wanted to throttle Elora himself, but his instinct to protect was stronger. He jumped down from the counter and moved in front of Storm so that he stood between them. “That’s enough!” He stayed long enough to make certain Storm knew he was serious, then threw the paper bag down in disgust and stalked out of the room without looking back, taking the door to the stairs instead of the elevator, and letting it slam shut behind him.

  Everyone else stood silent for a time. After awhile, Storm’s breathing started to slow. Kay leaned back against the control cabinet, put his hand over his mouth and shook his head.

  Elora glanced toward the glass to see Baka still standing near the fire, looking at them like he was watching the entire scene play out, hearing every word.

  Elora was sent to her room to pack. Even though it was snowing, the wind had died. Visibility was good enough to get a whister onto the pad for transport to the airport. She surmised that a whister was very much like the helicopters of her world except that they were faster and quieter. There were six seats including the pilot. Storm took the seat next to the pilot. Kay took a middle seat and Elora moved to the rear.

  Ram followed. His expression had softened toward her. When he arrived at the rear, he reached out in a gesture of affection, smoothed back the locks of hair that had fallen toward her face in the Whister’s breeze, and flopped into the seat next to her.

  A few minutes after they took off she looked over at him and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  For the first time in awhile, she reached up and pushed his hair back to reveal his beautiful pointed ear. He instantly warmed to her touch, physically and emotionally. “Do you have a history of hyperventilation?”

  He looked offended, like she had just trampled his pride. “Certainly no’.”

  “No offense intended. I just wondered if it was an unusual reaction for you.” He faced her and looked like he was about to say something else, but his gaze locked on her lips and stayed there. For a second she held her breath, afraid he was going to lean over and try to kiss her. So she thought to head off a catastrophe and steer the conversation in another direction.

  “Do you think there will be a debriefing?”

  He tore his eyes away from her mouth and flashed one of his mischievous smiles. “I would like that, but I’m no’ wearing briefs. I wear boxers,” he leaned in close, “as you know.”

  She laughed as much because of the way his eyes sparkled as because of the joke, marveling at how easily he manipulated her emotions.

  Ram was finding it harder and harder to be around Elora without claiming her as his mate and this incident had only magnified those feelings. Regardless of how well his intellect was advocating the virtues of going slow, his body was starting to refuse the message. He wanted to simply lock her in a room with him and cover her body with licks and kisses and caresses until she understood that there could not possibly be a future that didn�
�t include him as her male. Her one and only male. For all time.

  In a short time they were on the Learjet headed to New Jersey with a stop in Edinburgh to pick up some passengers. They would be dropped off at Fort Dixon while other personnel either continued on to San Francisco or found other transport. Minerva had been replaced by someone infinitely more personable.

  The fellow Order travelers had already boarded the Edinburgh jet when they arrived. Elora took an empty space on one of the bench seats next to a cute guy with piercing green eyes and jet black hair. It took him less than a minute to direct the force of his considerable, and no doubt well-practiced, charm on Elora.

  “Hi.” His smile created a suggestion of dimples that made him look younger and deceptively less dangerous than he was.

  “Hi, yourself. I’m Elora Laiken.”

  “Caliber Magnus. Call me Cal.”

  She nodded. “You’re a knight?”

  “Nope. Mercenary.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, no,” he smiled, “I’m an alchemist working temp, but I think it sounds cooler to say mercenary.”

  “Hey. Cool is in the eye of the beholder. So, you spin straw into gold or something like that?”

  That earned her a big, husky laugh. “I wish. You going to Buenos Aires?”

  “New York is the final destination.”

  “And what do you do for The Order?”

  “Knight. On probation.”

  His eyes widened momentarily, then lit with amusement. “Well, well, well. I wouldn’t have guessed that one in a hundred years. I suppose that makes me sexist.”

  “I’d like to say that it does, but, since I’m the first knight of feminine persuasion, you would have to be from the psychic department to have guessed.” She couldn’t tell if the look he was giving her was admiration or intrigue or both. “You’re going to Buenos Aires?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “So what’s going on down there? Is it a secret?”

  “Truthfully I don’t know myself. I expect a briefing will await.” He didn’t sound excited.

  “That a French accent?”

  “Belgian.” He deliberately shuttered his eyelids and tried out his most seductive smile. “The real language of love.” Another time or place that cute smile might have made her knees weaken just a little, but, if he wanted to enter a flirting contest with forces of nature like Istvan Baka and Rammel Hawking, he would have to do a lot better than that. “So where are you from, Lady Knight?”

  Something about that question caused a visible shut down. Her smile dropped away and the light went out of her eyes. “Far from here.”

  Cal was sorry he'd asked.

  Storm was still refusing to look at her which made her think maybe she had finally uncovered two flaws: that he could pout childishly and take a long time to recycle. He was sitting in the back in one of the recliners typing on a laptop. When the guy sitting next to him got up to go to the lavatory, she asked Cal to excuse her and slipped into the vacated seat. Storm was not just aggravatingly taciturn. He didn’t acknowledge her in any way.

  “Storm, how long do you plan to be unhappy with me?”

  He looked up and stared straight ahead for an uncomfortable time without looking at her. Finally he closed the laptop and turned in his seat so that he could face her.

  “Look. I’m not going to say I’ve never been afraid. But I’ve never been afraid like that.” His expression softened just a touch. “You. Really. Scared. Me.” That was when she knew for certain that she was not just a get-well project to Engel Storm; that he either loved her as a man loves a woman or thought he did.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t know if she was saying she was sorry because of the scare or that she was sorry because she didn’t feel the same way. She loved Storm. How could she not? Just not in a romantic way.

  He searched her face like he was trying to judge the sincerity of the apology. Finally his broad chest heaved with a big sigh. “Okay. Let’s call it over. Please don’t do it again.”

  She gave him a smile which, as a perfect example of seeing-what-you-want-to-see, he took as a promise.

  “Have you called home?”

  He looked perplexed. “Home? Oh, you mean Jefferson Unit.”

  “Yeah. I guess I’m the only one who calls it home.” She looked a little dejected and he was sorry he had pointed that out.

  “Yes. I called.”

  “Did you ask about my dog?”

  “No. I didn’t think to ask about Blackie, but I’m sure we would have been told if there was a problem.”

  Satisfied with that, she grabbed a pillow and blanket, and settled down to sleep the trip away.

  Ram had been sneaking glances at the exchanges between Elora and first Cal, then Storm. The best part of him wanted to insert himself into the dialogue while subtly (or not) moving her farther away from the other men. The worst part of him wanted to throw the would-be rivals from the plane and laugh as he watched them fall.

  His resentment of Storm’s pursuit of Elora, in particular, had been steadily growing from an annoyance to a rasp that grated on his nerves.

  Instead of dialing up a frat party movie, he started an internet search with the term “romance”. The first result was Masspedia which meant they told you way more than you wanted to know without offering much useful information. Following that was a site called romancingyou.com with the description, “make plans for romance with romantic ideas for date nights, anniversaries, romantic travel, and romantic getaways”. Seemed like a good place to start. At least they made liberal use of the word “romantic”.

  When he came to the musical references he started thinking about how enthusiastic he had been to share his love of metal with her. She had been open-minded and receptive while he had scoffed and been dismissive to the point of rudeness when it was her turn to name her favorites. Great Paddy. He really was botching this!

  ***

  CHAPTER 14

  Thinking the incident might be never-ending, Elora was subjected to yet another stern lecture from Sol, but not a reprimand since her handling of the Baka interview was not a violation of any specific order. And since no actual harm had been done. Causing your friends grave anxiety is not against any specific rule.

  She watched the airbot playback of her conversation with Baka in Sol’s office. It revealed that the sexual tension between Baka and herself crackled with energy that shot the viewer through with palpable sparks. Even when viewed through the dispassionate filter of a cold, two-dimensional screen. She’d been expecting a threat to her life, not to her sexual integrity. But there it was in glorious, living color. Perhaps she wasn’t technically entranced, but she was clearly susceptible to Baka’s charm and Baka was... what? Given his six hundred years of experience, she was way out of her depth in trying to figure out what game he was playing.

  She learned that he would be arriving the next day to initiate his part of the cooperative effort. Monq’s research team had identified the epicenter of missing persons and established that the abductions were originating at or near a club at 39th and Broadway called Notte Fuoco.

  Notte Fuoco was a megaplex playground for young singles with a sprinkling of divorced, middle aged men eager to spend child support money on younger women in exchange for a night of pretending they were still young and attractive. The club was a hot spot utilizing three floors referred to as street level, club level, and Underground. The street level section was a bistro with reasonably priced, nouvelle cuisine.

  The club level featured the Millennium Room serving up the latest in chic cocktails and deejay dance music with a four-four beat, heavy on the snare.

  The Underground offered live music, covers, and original bands. With the generous application of special sound proofing insulation in the floors and between the walls, extravagant acoustic design in the building renovation, and two heavy glass door foyers separating the glass elevator from the venues, each of the two below-street levels cou
ld contain its own musical experience without bleeding into the other.

  Making fine use of Baka’s history with stringed instruments, The Order used some special contacts to arrange for him to work as the house bass player for the Underground. The former bassist was overjoyed with an all expense paid vacation until further notice.

  It was an ideal situation for Baka. His constant presence wasn’t just explained, but expected. And, though it’s often an expression of mystique for bass players to appear bored, they don’t miss much from the vantage point of the stage. His only uniform consisted of gray lens glasses, light enough to see, but dark enough so that no one could follow his eyes and guess what caught his interest.

  The contract stipulated that Baka would remain free while performing the duties outlined for a period of three months or until such time as The Order declared the assignment complete and recalled him, conditional upon strict adherence to a synthetic blood diet and checking in with his contact once a day. Said parole officer was to be Sovereign Sol.

  After the additional dressing down by Sol, Elora was informed that probationary freedom was granted as agreed. Storm proved that he was over his mad by suggesting a trip into the city for a celebration dinner. Sol hijacked the plan saying he might as well make it a working evening; to take the rest of B Team and scout Fuoco Notte while he was at it. Storm was deflated since he had been thinking in terms of an evening alone with Elora, but a protest would have meant a public proclamation of intent to date. Which was premature. So he agreed.

  Since Elora had not experienced night life in this world, or any other for that matter, she was at a loss as to what to wear so she sought help from Elsbeth who was the personification of party central.

  They borrowed a short, red skirt from a friend of Elsbeth’s in the Operations Office which was even shorter on Elora because of her height. No one had high heels even close to her size, but Elsbeth insisted she could noir up the black boots with patterned stockings. Elora was doubtful about the look, but decided she had no choice but to trust the only one of the two of them who had experience with club clothes. She wore her black silk sweater that zipped up the front, but zipped it just to the top of her black lace bra.