“I… I…” He checked his teeth with his tongue. Shit, his fangs were elongated. Two days into the newbie gig and Dev Nichita gives away the whole bag of cats. “I’m sorry, Marissa, I sustained a groin injury in the fight last night, and…” Well, there went his plan to avoid outright lies. “And it’s acting up under all of the…activity.” Still bent in half, he staggered a few more paces away from her, sweat popping out on his brow. She was really aroused and the scent of that was threatening to tear a hole in his gut.
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, Dev, I’m so sorry. I mean, I saw what you went through that night, and…” She flushed. “You must think I’m a total whore.”
“No…no.” He was actually more worried about what she thought of him right now; he had to look like a complete idiot. “Definitely, no. I just think…you had a couple of rough nights, like I said, and you probably want to feel alive and…and pleasure.” He edged toward the sommelier table and snatched up his goblet, putting his nose over the rim and drawing in a couple of deep breaths of the fruity wine. He checked his teeth again. A little better. “Believe me, I’m feeling the same way.” He carefully straightened. “If it weren’t for my injury, I’d, you know, totally do you.”
The concern on her face gradually faded, then she snorted. “What happened to being a Grade A Good Guy and not taking advantage of me for some hanky-panky?”
“Well, what can I say?” He hitched a shoulder, faking nonchalance. “You’re unbelievably hot, Riss.”
She laughed at that, her eyes sparkling. “Well, I guess that means no sharing the bed tonight, huh?”
“Ah, no big.” He tried to slap a smile on, careful to keep his lips close together, but the expression felt unconvincing. “I’ve slept in that armchair in front of the TV many times.” Just never in the presence of a woman who smelled like the porno version of Jiffy Lube. Shit… He took an unsteady sip of his wine. If he could just manage not to sleepwalk tonight with his fangs out and his cock swinging, he’d owe the Universe a big one.
Chapter Fifteen
Leaving off the studious inspection of his cream cheese bagel, Alex angled a glance at his sister, seated next to him at the U-shaped conference table, and secretly grimaced. Man, Toni was hacked, her jaw set and her mouth tight, her blue eyes flaming. Roth was red-faced, as if he’d just been scolded, which, well…he sort of had been, although not with overt words.
The morning Council meeting had just gotten underway when Beverly Morville, the new jewelry designer, had been ushered in, asking to opt out of her contract. Her exact words had gone something like, “I want to leave this whack town right now.”
Honestly, Alex could understand Beverly’s urgency. Last night, she and the other new residents had received a too-close view of Josnic, and that dude made the spike-faced demon from Hellraiser look like Opie Taylor from The Andy Griffith Show. The sight of Josnic had even shrunk down Alex’s manjiggles a bit. Damage control had definitely been high on the Council’s agenda this morning. Then Beverly had entered, and…
Roth had pulled a Roth. Faced with the loss of a precious Dragon, he’d started to deny Beverly’s request to leave—as in, revert to the old ways of doing things and keep her here against her will. Roth had been mid-denial when Toni had snapped a glare over to her co-leader that had shut him up but quick. Maybe even shrunk his manjiggles a bit.
Alex would’ve chuckled, if, um, that wouldn’t have been a completely wrong thing to do. But who would’ve thought that his little sister would someday be able to make vampires quake in their boots with a mere glance.
He gave his head a slight shake. He’d never forget that day four months ago when, after an insane eighteen-day search for his missing sister, he’d finally gotten Toni back. He’d been the one to set the ball in motion for her escape, but his plans never would have come to fruition if not for ginormous help from Beth Costache and Kimberly Stănescu.
Reunited topside, Toni and Alex, plus four other women called “Dragons,” had holed up in a hotel room, and that’s when the story of the Vârcolac had come out. He probably should’ve treated the info like far-fetched malarkey, but instead, everything that Toni told him made perfect sense—the most sense anything had ever made in his entire life. He finally understood why he’d never fit in anywhere, or why at the age of thirty-five—correction, thirty-six today—he’d never had a serious relationship with a woman. Turned out, he, as a Dragon male, belonged with the people of Ţărână, not topside with regular humans.
Deciding it was do-over time, he’d moved down here with his sister for a fresh start, and the first thing he’d done was put his computer skills to work on a very special project: finding valuable Dragons.
As one of the brightest computer geniuses to come out of UC Berkley’s class of ’97, Alex had been recruited right out of college by the DoD, moving directly into their R&D department. There he’d created groundbreaking pattern recognition software, modeling his programs after the arbitrage trading system that large companies used to detect trends in the stock market. Based on this theory, he’d devised “scene change detection” software to help the military organize the incalculable satellite images they collected. It was only a matter of altering the language of this software a bit to use the program to wade through colossal amounts of information—from hospitals, blood banks, private laboratories, medical clinics, and fingerprinting labs—to find women with a unique element in their blood called Peak 8. Dragons.
He’d unearthed fifty Dragons in three months, an overwhelming success compared to the seven women in seven years the community had found without his help. Yep, career-wise he was a triumph. His personal life, on the other hand, was a total flop.
Unlike his sister, who’d had the advantage of getting to know everyone in the community as a plain ol’ Dragon, Alex had arrived as a Royal Fey and, on top of that, in possession of the Străvechi Caiet—a book and guide of the Vârcolac’s ancient history—which meant that he was also a revered Soothsayer. Well…if he could ever boot up his Fey enchantment skill. Such a thing would necessitate him bonding with a Vârcolac female and getting loaded up with the Fiinţă that came out of her fangs…which kind of required that the women around here not be so freaking intimidated by him.
Talk about irony.
Somebody seriously needed to tell these Vârcolac women to take a second look at him. He wasn’t a half bad-looking guy, and, yes, he was smart and generally up-beat. He could even pull off cool when he played the guitar, but he also tended toward tan Dockers and plaid shirts, plus he wore glasses and a pocket-protector, for God’s sake. He himself was loath to use the word nerd, but he certainly wasn’t worthy of the star-struck, hands-off treatment he’d received so far.
Just as fed up with the situation, Roth had finally stepped in and arranged a blind date between Alex and Fey Vârcolac, Jennilith, the most stunning woman Alex had ever seen in his life. The night he’d shown up on Jennilith’s apartment doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, he’d nearly swallowed his own tongue when the copper-haired beauty had opened the door. Certainly, he wasn’t James Bond, but he generally could manage to say more than, “Gleerch” when he reached out to shake a woman’s hand. At least he hadn’t said what he’d actually been thinking: Nice to meet you, and would you mind if I roll around naked in your long hair?
Luckily, he’d gotten over himself enough to enjoy milkshakes and burgers with Jennilith at the community diner. It’d been a nice evening; she’d been nice, the food had been nice, the conversation nice, everything had been…nice. He sighed. Not great, though. No, the only great part was that the other Vârcolac women had finally relaxed enough to talk to him after that. He supposed they figured that, what with Jennilith such a slam dunk as a mate choice, he was off the market and they could chill out around him. Not true…though, damn, why shouldn’t it be true? Jennilith had every quality a guy could ever put on his checklist. Maybe he had no idea what he wanted in a woman.
Alex stared distractedly
at the Străvechi Caiet, set on the conference table in front of him. It was a beautiful book, the cover sandy-colored with a dark blue crescent moon and star shimmering on the middle of it. He ran his hand over it, the grainy texture lightly abrading his fingertips. Sometimes the nonsensical, hieroglyphic-runic-like writing spoke to him. Which would be nice if it were to happen, like, now. Then maybe he could see the future and learn who his mate truly was, and stop agonizing over—
A small electrical spark jumped from the Străvechi Caiet into his hand.
He jumped, his lips parting. His vision zigzagged and his lungs tightened. Trancelike, he watched his own hand slowly open The Book. His heart raced as the page bulged outward, as if it was inhaling a huge breath. On the exhale, it spat the strange lettering off the page, sending it twisting into a small tornado. He stared unblinkingly at it, spellbound. The tornado swirled faster, then slowed, unfolding into a picture. The image was blurry and ragged, but he could make out the figure of a woman. Men, too, large and dangerous—The picture melted into a wash of blood.
“No!” He slammed out of his chair, swaying to his feet.
His exclamation was met with a startled silence. The ten other Council members turned to stare at him.
He stared back, wide-eyed, his breathing audible.
Toni’s gaze shifted down to the Străvechi Caiet, open on the table before him. Her expression sobered. “What did you see?”
“K-Kendra Mawbry…she’s in trouble.” He pressed his fingers to his temples, his head throbbing. The Om Rău knew about her. Someone like Beverly Morville could return safely to the top, but not Marissa, Hadley, and Kendra.
He heard Toni exhale a breath. “How? Kendra agreed to go live with her mother outside of California.”
His stomach was so tight it hurt. “It doesn’t look like,” he said on a raspy breath, “she’s going to make it out of San Diego in time.”
Chapter Sixteen
Alex staggered upstairs on woozy legs. He leaned against his bedroom door for a long moment, one hand braced on the picture of the Eiffel Tower, the other gripping the Străvechi Caiet, his knuckles tense. Jesus, he’d never had such a clear vision before…or such a disturbing one. His head felt packed with wet clay. He drew in a slow, steadying breath, then finally pushed into his room and—
He came to a dead halt. Oh, no. The vision had messed up his brain; he was hallucinating. There was a mirage of plants all over the place, scattered everywhere among the Louis the XVI furnishings: ferns, Pothos, creeping charlies…
A small female yelp came from one corner of his room.
He swiveled his head, blinking owlishly behind his glasses.
Luvera Nichita materialized from behind a tall Ficus. “You’re not supposed to be back yet.” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth and furrowed her brow at him.
“The Council meeting…broke early to see to a matter of… What’s going on?”
“Well, um, I know you like plants, so… Ta daaa!” Luvera spread her arms and sang out, “Happy birthday!”
He scanned his bedroom again, his legs still a little tofu beneath him. “I’m not delusional?”
Luvera giggled. “No.”
Holy cow, he couldn’t believe this. The plants were fakes, of course, but excellent reproductions, and there were so many. Luvera had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble and expense.
She clutched her hands together. “I know that half the fun of plants is probably puttering with them, so if this is stupid, I can—”
“No! This is amazing, Luvera, seriously.” He set the Străvechi Caiet on the small table by his door. “I’m standing here like an idiot because I’m stunned.”
Blushing with pleasure, she smiled widely. “Oh, good.”
His stomach danced sideways as he focused helplessly on her smile…or, more specifically, her fangs. Damn, if there was ever a man who was meant to get together with a Vârcolac woman, he was that guy, because the sight of a pair of sweet, sharp fangs totally lit his gas burners. Not that he had any business eyeballing Luvera’s fangs. Her canines, or any other part of her for that matter, weren’t up for grabs. Of all the Vârcolac “pals” he’d made recently, Luvera had never so much as hinted she might want to be anything more than his friend. Which was a real bummer. She was super easy to talk to, and they got along great, usually ending up laughing their butts off whenever they were together. More times than not, he found his rear end planted on a barstool at Garwald’s Pub during her waitressing shifts just so he could shoot the breeze with her.
“How did you know I like plants?” he asked, stepping over to his wet bar and fingering the yellow and green leaf of a Pothos.
“I saw a picture in Toni’s office of you and her and your mother on New Year’s Eve. It was taken in your living room, which happened to look like a jungle.”
“That’s how you figured it out?” Who did that? What kind of woman so carefully studied a picture just to better understand a guy? His pulse slowed and an odd pressure awoke near his heart. Luvera was something special, so gentle and thoughtful and compassionate.
She didn’t even know how great she was; that was the awful part. She dressed like such a drudge most of the time, her clothing shapeless and unfashionable, her rich sable hair knotted in an ugly bun on top of her head, no makeup. Maybe she thought she wasn’t pretty. She was, though, really beautiful, her pearlescent skin as unblemished and pure as the girl herself. Her features were porcelain-like, the delicate bones of her face making her luminous silver eyes seem enormous. It gave her an air of permanent vulnerability that oddly managed to piss him off, as if he knew the whole world was just waiting for an opportunity to take advantage of her. And he, a man who generally ran about a quart low on testosterone, felt an astonishing compulsion to give anyone who would dare such a thing a knuckle sandwich.
“Well, thank you, Luvera,” he said softly, crossing his room to give her a deep look. “It means a lot to me that you would go to such trouble to find out what I like.”
Her blush reappeared. “O-oh, it’s nothing. I…” She fiddled with the frond of a fern. “I like to give people what they want—I mean, to know what they like.”
“Well, that’s very caring.”
She laughed, an uncomfortable bubble of noise. “It probably comes from watching my parents fail at it.” She ran her teeth along her lower lip. “Every year my father would give my mother a gift for her birthday: red sweater, red scarf, red shoes.”
“Let me guess.” Alex inched his brows upward. “Your mother doesn’t care for red?”
“Hates it.” Luvera picked at a hangnail. “He never bothered to figure it out, though, not once during their whole marriage.”
“Men can be dense about those things.” He paused, studying some wispy strands of hair sticking up from her bun. “But, I’m sorry, it sounds like they weren’t happy.”
“No, not often.” She looked up and smiled weakly. “I think, not ever.”
“Isn’t that unusual for Vârcolac marriages?” From what he understood, the biological bond inherent to Vârcolac couplings tended to create strong unions.
“Very unusual,” she said. “Although…I think there’s a secret story behind it. Years ago, I was snooping through my mother’s dresser—just being a nosey teenager—and I found a crumpled letter to her from some man named Ştefan Dragoş. It was dated 1877, the year that the slaughter of Vârcolac in Romania forced the breed to flee. In the letter, Ştefan apologized for not being able to go with her. It was…gosh, so poignantly worded, it sounded like he’d loved her, though he never actually said it. I’m guessing my mother’s heart was broken, and I’ve tried over the years to be sympathetic to that, so I can maybe better understand why she’s the way she is.”
You mean, a bitter, mean-spirited, and rigid old woman? Alex compressed his lips into a tight line. Broken heart or not, Pettrila should treat her daughter better. Luvera deserved it. “You should move out,” he told her, his tone more sharp than he’d i
ntended, but that strange, fiery protectiveness had risen up in him.
“I know,” Luvera sighed out. “I want to…I’ve tried, but…Well, it’s complicated.”
He felt himself getting angrier. It wasn’t complicated at all. Pettrila prohibited it. Not out of devotion to her daughter, but because of her pompous pride. God for-freaking-bid an unmarried woman bearing the name Nichita should live outside the home, according to Pettrila’s prehistoric social rules. It was so unfair. “You have to get out from under that woman, Luvera. You’re such a great girl, but the way your mother treats you is sucking the life out of you. I mean, just look at you.” He gestured at her baggy clothing. “You’re so pretty, but you—” He clapped his mouth shut with a clack of his teeth Oh, no. That had come out super wrong.
He watched a taut swallow work its way down Luvera’s throat, and wanted to perform some percussion maintenance on his own head; bang it with a hammer until the damned thing worked properly again.
“I’m sorry,” he said hastily, “that didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean it like… I meant it as a compliment, that…that you’re pretty, but, um…” Someone knocked on his door. He hesitated. Damn.
“It’s all right.” She sent him a smile that was forced and so obviously for his benefit that he decided he should stick his head in an oven instead; the hammer was too good for him. “I understand what you meant to say.”
He tucked his lips in at one corner. Lying wasn’t her forte. The knock sounded again. Muttering a curse, he crossed to his bedroom door and opened it.
“Happy birthday!” Jennilith exclaimed. “I hope I’m not bothering you, Alex, but I wanted to come by and give you this.” With a flourish, she held out a wrapped package.
“Oh, hey…thanks.” His cheeks warmed. “This is turning into a regular celebration.”
Jennilith craned her neck into his room. “Wow. Look at this place.”
The Community Series, Books 1-3 Page 44