by Lynsay Sands
“Good boy,” Marguerite said, and then gave the slightest pressure on his chain. The big dog stepped back from Pet and turned to his mistress as she gestured to Parker and said, “J, this is Parker and his cat, Mrs. Wiggles.”
The dog peered at the boy and cat and then tilted his head and moved it slowly forward until it just rested on the edge of Parker’s thigh next to the cat. Mrs. Wiggles sat very still, her eyes narrowed as Parker reached out to pet the dog’s head, but then unbent enough to lean forward and lick the dog’s snout once before relaxing back on Parker.
“I think she likes him,” Parker said with a grin as he continued to pet the dog.
“I think so too,” Marguerite agreed, returning his grin, and Pet sighed inwardly. Leave it to a cat to be contrary. She wanted it to raise a fuss and try to swat the big dog so she’d have an excuse to take Parker and the cat away. So, of course, the cat liked the damned dog.
“Eat your cookie, Parker. You need to get to bed,” she said quietly after a moment, and her nephew acted as good as gold, nodding and giving J one last pat before turning his attention back to his cookie and cocoa.
When Marguerite returned to her chair and sat down, the big dog followed and dropped to lie at her feet. The moment he did, the woman bent to remove the leash.
“He seems well trained,” Pet commented as Marguerite set the leash on the table. “How old is he?”
“Just over a year old.” Marguerite bent to pet the big beast. “Julius got him for me about three months after we lost his predecessor to cancer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Pet murmured, knowing how painful such a loss could be. They’d always had dogs as kids. She actually missed that.
“Thank you for the hot chocolate and cookie.”
Parker’s polite words drew Pet’s attention to the fact that he’d finished his snack . . . which meant it was bedtime, and she hadn’t managed to come up with an excuse to leave.
“I’ll show you to your rooms,” Marguerite said brightly, getting to her feet.
“Room,” Pet said quickly as she got up as well. “I can sleep with Parker and Mrs. Wiggles. It’ll be less work.”
“As you like,” Marguerite said easily as she headed for the door.
“Sleep well,” Santo murmured.
Pet glanced back at that soft rumble from the big man and saw that the dog had moved to sit by him rather than follow his mistress. She mumbled, “Good night,” as she followed her nephew and Marguerite out of the kitchen, but the truth was Pet didn’t expect she’d sleep at all. Once the house was quiet and she was sure everyone was sleeping, she might even sneak Parker and Mrs. Wiggles out and leave a note with some excuse or other . . . if she could come up with one. She set her mind to that task as she trailed Parker upstairs but hadn’t come up with anything when Marguerite stopped and opened a door halfway up the hall.
“This is the guest bathroom,” she announced with a smile.
“Oh, good! I gotta go,” Parker said with relief, and then hesitated before turning to Pet to offer her the cat and blanket.
Pet took the bundle of blanket and fur and watched solemnly as he closed the door.
“While he’s in there, why don’t I show you the room you will be using?” Marguerite suggested.
Pet hesitated, but then nodded and followed Marguerite to the next room down the hall.
“Here we go.” Marguerite opened the door and led the way inside. “Julius and I are just across the hall, and Santo is in the next room up from this one, so you know where to go if there’s a problem or you need extra blankets or pillows.”
“Thank you,” Pet said quietly as she set Mrs. Wiggles on the queen-sized bed. The cat clawed at the blankets briefly and then turned in a circle several times before settling down like a queen claiming her throne.
“Petronella,” Marguerite said gently, drawing her gaze away from the cat. “We have no connection to the Brass Circle in China. In fact, we work with Enforcers who would hunt members of that group down should they ever try to move their activities into North America. You really are safe with us.”
Pet’s eyes widened incredulously. She’d been trying hard not to think about that boogeyman from her childhood called the Brass Circle ever since spotting the silver flecks in their eyes and recognizing that they were the result of nanos that made them immortal. Obviously, she’d failed. Enough of her thoughts had slid through for Marguerite to read them, and she was trying to reassure her. “I—”
“Hey! You left without me!”
Pet snapped her mouth closed and turned to the door as Parker rushed in. Managing a smile, she explained, “Marguerite was just showing me where we’re going to sleep.”
“Cool,” he said, heading straight for the cat. Cooing soothing words, he gave the animal a gentle pet and then climbed into bed.
“Well, I should go and let you two sleep. Good night,” Marguerite said solemnly.
“Good night, Marguerite,” Parker chirped.
Pet murmured, “Good night,” as well and watched the woman pull the door closed.
Five
Santo knew Marguerite was coming long before she appeared in the kitchen. He heard the whisper of her gown and the sound of her heartbeat before she’d made the bottom of the stairs. J raised his head and watched the door a moment later as he too heard her approach.
“How did you know?” Santo asked the moment his aunt stepped into the room.
Marguerite paused and peered at him with a smile just beginning to bloom on her lips as she asked, “You cannot read her then?”
Santo shook his head. “But you expected that.”
“I did,” she breathed, her smile finally breaking out. “The minute she pulled up in her car and walked up to join us on the front porch with her sister, I just knew she was yours.”
“How?” he asked with curiosity. He hadn’t recognized her at first. Oh, certainly, he’d found her attractive. But that attraction had been distracting enough that, despite Marguerite’s suggestion that he read her, he hadn’t thought to try until they were sitting here at the kitchen table. He’d only done it then because Pet had seemed so stiff and tense. She’d kept her expression composed, but he’d sensed that she was braced to leap up, snatch her nephew, and flee at the first provocation. It had made him curious enough to finally think he should read her. His shock when he’d found he couldn’t . . . Santo still felt that shock again and closed his eyes briefly. His life mate. Dear God, he could hardly believe it. He had waited so long for her.
“It is hard to explain,” Marguerite said finally, drawing his eyes open. “It is a kind of energy that comes off of you both. It is . . . not exactly the same, but . . .” She shook her head helplessly.
Santo nodded solemnly, letting her off the hook. He was about to ask why Pet was afraid, and—more important—if it was because of him, when they heard the front door open and close. J was on his feet at once and rushing from the room with a soft woof of greeting.
“Ciao amico,” they heard from the hall and Santo sat back in his seat and relaxed as he recognized Julius’s voice. His uncle entered the kitchen a moment later, petting the dog as he walked, but straightened as soon as he reached Marguerite. Kissing her firmly in greeting, he slid his arms around her waist and smiled down into her face as he asked, “How is my goddess?”
“Glad to see you,” she said with a smile, placing her own arms around his neck. “Is everything okay at the house?”
“Mmm.” Julius nodded and kissed her again before saying, “We handled the police and then took care of the gaping hole where the front door used to be, and now the boys are watching the Purdy house from there.” Turning to Santo then, Julius arched an eyebrow. “Could you not have merely broken the door open without completely demolishing it? There was not enough wood left to even nail it across the hole. We had to break up a coffee table and a bed headboard and use them. Now we have to replace those as well.”
“I will pay,” Santo assured him.
&n
bsp; “No, you will not,” Julius said firmly. “The Council will pay. We are here on their behalf.”
He didn’t let Santo argue the point, but started to usher Marguerite to the door, saying, “Now I am taking my wife back to bed. You should retire too. You and I are replacing Zani and Bricker at the Peters’ house tomorrow morning. Good night, nephew.”
“Good night,” Santo murmured as he watched them leave. For the first time, he didn’t feel the pinch of envy that normally assailed him when he saw mated couples together. There was nothing to envy. He had met his life mate . . . Now, he just had to figure out how to woo and claim her.
Santo blinked as that thought ran through his mind. Good Christ! He had to woo and convince her to allow him to claim her. How the devil was he supposed to do that? Unfortunately, Santo didn’t have a ready answer. It had been a hell of a long time since he’d wooed anyone. As in more than two millennia. He had some serious thinking to do.
Pet snapped awake and lifted her head, barely restraining a groan as her neck muscles protested. She was sitting at the top of the bed next to Parker and had nodded off, her head falling forward, so that her chin rested against her chest.
Grimacing, Pet rubbed the complaining muscles of her neck with both hands and peered around the room. She’d left the lamp on her side of the bed lit to help her stay awake. Sleeping had not been on the agenda. While Marguerite’s assurance that they were not affiliated with the Brass Circle had at first reassured her . . . well, talk was cheap. She didn’t know these people. Marguerite could be lying, so Pet had decided she’d remain on her guard until she could talk to the woman again and learn more.
Part of her brain was arguing that Marguerite had no need to lie. As an immortal, or what most people would mistakenly call a vampire, Marguerite could have just taken control of her and made her do whatever she wanted. That being the case, why would the woman waste her energy on lying? But the more cautious side of Pet, and much to her surprise there was a more cautious side, was arguing that it was better to be safe than sorry.
Pet leaned her head wearily back against the headboard and acknowledged that it was a relief to at least be able to think about this stuff now. Knowing immortals could read the minds of mortals, she’d been afraid to even think about the fact that she recognized from their eyes what these people were. She’d feared what they’d do if they realized she knew. In her experience, immortals could be wonderful or terribly dangerous. Pet wasn’t sure yet which kind she was dealing with.
Sighing, she started to stretch her legs out from their cramped position, only to pause at a hiss from Mrs. Wiggles. The cat was why she was sitting with her legs curled up almost under her. Parker had left the damned furball on one side of the bed and climbed under the blankets on the other side to go to sleep. It left Pet the top half of her side of the bed to sit on. Since she hadn’t planned to sleep, she hadn’t considered it a problem earlier, but there was no way she was going to be able to remain in this position all night. Her legs were already starting to cramp.
Muttering under her breath about cats who thought they owned the world, Pet shifted her feet off the bed, careful not to disturb her highness, Mrs. Wiggles, during the process. She carefully stood and paced away from the bed, smacking her mouth as she did. Thanks to sleeping upright, her mouth had apparently hung open and was now dry and nasty.
Biting her lip, she glanced to the door and then back to the bed, fretting over whether it was safe to leave Parker alone while she fetched a glass of water. She’d heard Marguerite and her husband retire earlier, and thought Santo had probably gone to bed too. Still . . .
Pet tapped her foot impatiently, debating the issue, but knew that aside from taking care of her dry mouth, water would help her stay awake. Mind made up, she moved to the door, listened briefly, and then eased it open.
The hallway light was off, but someone, probably Marguerite, had left the bathroom light on and the door open to allow that light to stream out into the hall. Pet slid out of the bedroom, pulled the door silently closed, and then tiptoed to the stairs at the end of the hall.
There was light coming from the kitchen when she turned into the downstairs hall, but it was dim, not the main light. Had Marguerite left a small light on there too in case she came down in search of water? Or was someone still up? Unsure, she approached the room just as quietly as she’d made her way thus far, and-rather than head straight in, she paused to peek around the door frame. Pet froze when she spotted Santo at the kitchen sink with his back to her. It was only now that she could hear the rush of the tap running. He was . . .
Pet blinked. The huge bear of a man was washing dishes while wearing a ridiculous frilly apron, she realized as he turned slightly to set one of the cups on the draining rack. She watched him set it down, and then glanced to his face, just glimpsing the blood bag at his mouth before he turned back to the sink.
Nothing could have stopped her startled gasp when she saw that, or her second gasp when Santo caught the sound and jerked around to gape at her with a half-full bag of blood stuck to his face. It was his expression and probably how ridiculous he looked in the frilly apron that pushed her past her first shock and horror and on to the realization that he was drinking blood from a bag. He wasn’t one of the bad immortals that bit people and drank straight from the vein of their unfortunate victims. He wasn’t one of the dangerous ones, her brain reassured her, but it hardly needed to. Honestly, the man looked anything but dangerous in that get-up, and the expression on his face was priceless. The man’s eyes were wide with both guilt and horror above the bag at his mouth.
Just as she got past her dismay, Santo suddenly reached up and snatched the bag away from his mouth. Big mistake, Pet decided, grimacing as the bag tore and blood went flying everywhere.
Cursing, Santo turned and threw the still bleeding bag in the sink, then just as quickly swung back to face her again, his expression now tormented, miserable, and almost hopeless.
Pet couldn’t decide if he looked more like a serial killer or a serial killer’s victim with the blood covering his face and shirt. It was on the counter and floor too, she noted, and shook her head at the mess he’d made.
“I . . .”
Pet raised her eyes back to his face, waiting politely for whatever he wanted to say. But he just gaped at her with such dismay she began to feel sorry for him. He was acting like he didn’t know that she knew about his kind. Surely, he’d read her thoughts as Marguerite obviously had, and knew she knew about immortals? Maybe not, Pet decided when he continued to gape at her, his mouth moving slightly but no words coming out.
Deciding they would be standing there until dawn if she waited for him to speak, Pet finally entered the room and walked to the roll of paper towels that sat on a holder by the coffee machine. Ripping off several panels, she handed a couple to Santo to clean himself up, and then knelt in front of him to quickly mop up the worst of the blood on the floor and cupboard doors with the others.
When she finished and straightened, he was still staring at her with dismay. The paper towel she’d given him was crumpled in his hand and his face and chest were still awash with blood. The man seemed to be completely out of it.
Sighing, Pet tossed her used paper towels in the sink and snatched back the ones she’d given him, intending to clean him up. Unfortunately, he was ridiculously tall, and short of scaling his body like a mountain climber, she wasn’t getting at his face.
“Bend down,” she ordered.
Santo stared at her like she’d spoken Mandarin.
Pet scowled and then heaved out a resigned sigh and walked over to grab a chair from the kitchen table. She dragged it back in front of him and then climbed up on it. Fortunately, that put her face on a level with his and she was able to wipe the blood off his cheeks. But she was aware of the way his eyes burned into her as she worked.
“You . . .”
Pet paused and peered at him in question. When he didn’t continue, she returned to wiping away the
blood, moving from his right cheek down to his chin.
“I was just . . .”
She paused again to meet his gaze, but apparently, he couldn’t come up with a feasible lie. That or he couldn’t bring himself to admit what she’d caught him doing. Deciding to let him off the hook, she said, “You were just having a late-night snack.”
When Santo stiffened, she added, “You’re what some would call a vampire but is really an immortal. You need blood to survive and you get that blood from blood banks and yada yada yada,” she ended on a mutter, returning to her efforts to clean him up.
“You know?” he breathed with amazement.
She met his gaze and said solemnly, “Yes. I know.”
That helped chase the horror off his face, but now he just looked perplexed and she turned her attention to the blood dripping down his neck to give him some time to assimilate what she’d said. But when she began to chase the trails under the collar of his shirt, he caught her hand with his.
Pet froze. He wasn’t hurting her, just holding her hand flat against his collarbone, but he’d moved so swiftly . . . She’d forgotten how quickly they could move, and felt now like she’d wandered heedlessly into a tiger’s cage. Swallowing, she raised her head to meet his gaze.
They stared at each other for a moment, and then he finally asked, “Marguerite?”
“No, she didn’t tell me,” she said, easing her upper body back a bit, and then admitted, “I recognized what you all were the minute I saw your eyes.” Her gaze shifted to his eyes now, and she stared briefly. They were beautiful, as deep and dark as space, with tiny flickering silver stars adding light.
“You already knew about immortals?” He asked the question slowly, as if trying to feel his way to the answers he was looking for.
Noting that his voice was deeper than usual and husky, Pet forced herself farther back from him and nodded. “I’ve known about immortals since I was three or four.”