The Trouble With Vampires (An Argeneau Novel)

by Lynsay Sands

“Who can say with rogues? They are usually at least half insane,” Santo said on a sigh.

  “Yeah, well, this Dressler sounds like he was wholly insane as a mortal, so I doubt becoming immortal helped that much.”

  “No.” Santo smiled.

  They were both silent, and then she glanced around at the flowers. “Are these all for me?”

  “Sì.” Santo glanced at the blooms.

  Pet nodded but then frowned. “You’re sure I’m not dying?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “You are definitely not dying, Pet.”

  “Okay,” she said with a grin. “I mean, my head doesn’t hurt or anything, so I guess I didn’t hit it as hard as I thought. I just . . .” Pet glanced around the room again and shrugged. “I just didn’t know immortals went so crazy with flowers when a person got a little banged up. I mean . . . who are they all from?”

  “Me,” he said quietly, bringing her gaze back around his way with surprise.

  “All of them?”

  “Sì.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed for a minute and then shifted to her knees and crawled the few feet to the edge of the bed in front of him so that she could slide her arms around his neck. With her mouth just inches from his, she said, “Thank you. They are beautiful,” before pressing her lips to his.

  Santo was still and unresponsive at first as she brushed her lips over his, but when she slid her tongue out to taste his lips, he groaned and opened his mouth. His hands moved around her body to grasp her behind and he lifted her slightly against him as he took over the kiss. He briefly allowed it to get more heated, but then just as quickly caught her elbows and urged her back as he broke the kiss.

  “We have to talk.” His voice was a husky growl that had her eyes narrowing at once.

  “Well, that’s never a good preface to any conversation,” she said dryly, and then pulled away to drop back to sit on the bed. “If you’re about to give me the whole, this has been fun but it’s done speech, write it in a letter and stick it.”

  “What?” he asked with shock.

  “I’m sorry, that was unfair,” Pet said on a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. “Look, it’s okay. I knew you weren’t going to be around long, so if you raided Purdy’s place while I was sleeping, are done, and ready to go, there’s no need for long, drawn-out, kiss-off speeches.”

  “We have not raided Purdy’s place. I am not done, and if I went, I would want to take you with me,” he said firmly. “I will never give you a kiss-off speech, Pet. I want to spend my life with you.”

  “Really?” Pet asked with surprise.

  “Really.”

  “But I’m mortal, and you’re—wait,” she said suddenly as her common sense kicked in. “We can’t—I mean, I like you and all. A lot. I might maybe even be a little bit in lo—” She couldn’t get the word out and grimaced. “But it’s a bit soon to be talking forever, don’t you think?”

  Santo hesitated, and then crawled onto the bed next to her, sat with his back against the headboard, and opened his arms.

  Pet barely hesitated before climbing into his lap and cuddling up against his chest.

  His arms closed around her, and then Santo kissed the top of her head and merely held her for a minute before saying, “Parker’s call scared the hell out of me. He was terrified, of course, and he said there was someone banging around in the kitchen, but he also said there was a lot of blood and that you were covered with it.” His voice was a husky growl as he told her that, but got even huskier as he added, “When we got there, there was sooo much blood. You were covered with it and there was arterial spray across your kitchen cupboards. I thought you were dying.”

  “Oh,” Pet breathed, and then said, “I’m sorry,” although she wasn’t sure why.

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” he assured her. “In fact, it is I who owe you an apology.”

  She felt her eyebrows rise on her forehead and tilted her head back to look at him. “Why?”

  “Because, in my desperation to save you, I did something . . .” His voice trailed off, and then he frowned and pushed her face back down under his chin. He held her like that for a minute, and then said, “For immortals, there is a thing called life mates.”

  Pet waited, but when he stopped there, she said, “I’ve heard you use the term before. I think you said my mom was Meng Tian’s life mate or something. I’m not sure.”

  “I might have, I do not recall either, but in any case, she must have been.”

  “Why?” she asked, leaning back to look up at him again. “What is a life mate? I assumed at the time that it was just another word for wife, but I’m guessing I was wrong?”

  Rather than answer, Santo pressed her face back to his chest and rubbed her back briefly. “You see, it is difficult for immortals to be around others.”

  “Okay,” she said quietly, wondering if the fact that this conversation wasn’t making sense to her was because of her head wound or because he was doing a piss-poor job of making sense. He seemed to be bouncing all over the place.

  “We tend to avoid immortals who are older because they can read us if we do not constantly shield our thoughts.”

  “Are there any immortals older than you?” she asked dryly.

  “Sì,” Santo said with exasperation.

  “How many?” she asked at once.

  “Enough,” he said and she could hear the scowl in his voice.

  “So you can read each other too, not just mortals?” she asked with interest.

  “Sì. Although, an immortal can learn to shield their thoughts. But that gets a bit wearying after a while, and of course, we can read the thoughts of immortals younger than us, which might sound okay, but really . . .”

  “Isn’t?” she suggested when he paused again.

  “Exactly,” he agreed.

  Pet pulled back again and asked, “Why?”

  Santo grimaced. “Because you hear it all. Not just what they want you to hear, or what they think is polite. But everything. And it is sometimes hard to hear what other people think of you. Their worries for you. Their irritation with you. That they think you should stop shaving your head and looking like a wannabe biker. Or that the rings you wear make you look like a pansy.”

  “Who thought that?” she barked, outraged on his behalf.

  Santo waved her question away and pushed her back to his chest. “The point is it can be difficult having access to everyone’s thoughts all the time. Again, you have to shield yourself from their minds to avoid hearing them.”

  “Why aren’t they shielding their thoughts?” she asked at once. “Younger immortals, I mean.”

  “They do. But there are times when the shield drops and thoughts slip out.”

  “Oh,” she said, and then added slowly, “So, immortals avoid other immortals to get some peace of mind.”

  “Sì. But we also avoid mortals because we can hear their thoughts most of the time too.”

  “So, Marguerite isn’t actually reading my mind on purpose?” she asked uncertainly.

  “It is hard to say . . . the older you get, the less effort it takes to read minds. I find I have to actually shield myself or I hear it. The easiest way to explain it is like with a radio. When you first learn to read minds, it takes a while to tune in to the right station. But after a while, you automatically tune to the right spot. For me, I am always tuned in unless I deliberately tune out. For Marguerite, she might still have to tune in, or she might not realize she is always tuned in.”

  “So you avoid mortals to avoid having to tune out,” she reasoned quietly.

  “Sì . . . and because they have a short life span,” he added.

  Pet rolled her eyes. “Well, there isn’t much we can do about that.”

  “No,” he agreed.

  Leaning back, she suggested, “So, basically you’re saying that immortals are a bunch of lonely losers?”

  “Well, I would not put it that way,” he protested, looking disgruntled.

 
When she arched her eyebrows at that, Santo pressed her head back to his chest and sighed. “Sì, fine, perhaps we are,” he muttered. “But all of that is what makes life mates important. A life mate is someone an immortal can neither read nor control. They can relax with them without the constant need to shield their own thoughts or put up barriers against the other’s thoughts. And they cannot control them, so can have a healthy relationship.”

  Pet took a moment to process that and then suddenly stiffened and jerked away from him again. “But you can’t read or control me!”

  “Sì,” he agreed solemnly.

  She stared at him for a minute and then asked, “You aren’t saying that I’m your . . .”

  “Life mate, sì,” he assured her.

  Pet stared at him wide-eyed, not sure what to think of that claim, and then asked slowly, needing the extra verification, “You think I am your life mate?”

  “I know you are, tesoro mio.”

  “But—are you sure? I mean, what if you’re wrong?”

  “I am not wrong. All the symptoms are there.”

  “What symptoms?” she asked at once.

  “I cannot read you. I cannot control you. I am eating food again, real food, not just the steak and raw eggs I occasionally consumed like a supplement. And I have found my passion again. I cannot keep my hands off you. The depth of my desire for you is most telling. And then there is the shared pleasure and the post-coital fainting too. That only happens with life mates.”

  “Post-coital . . . You mean you faint too when we have sex?” she asked with surprise.

  Santo nodded.

  “Well, damn skippy, you could have told me that,” she said, smacking him in the chest. “I was starting to think there was something wrong with me and I should make an appointment with my doctor.”

  “There is nothing wrong. It is the shared pleasure. The mind is not made to accept so much excitement. It is like a sudden surge of power blowing a fuse. The brain has to reset.”

  “So every time we do it, we’re going to faint?” Pet asked with dismay, and thought that could be a bit inconvenient, not to mention limiting. No chance for quickies if you were going to take an enforced nap every time. And no outdoor sex, sneaking into a closet at a party, no . . . damn. It was going to be straight in-your-house-every-time sex from now on.

  “We will only faint every time for the next year or two,” Santo said soothingly. “After that our brains will adjust to the double pleasure and the fainting will stop.”

  “Double pleasure,” she murmured thoughtfully, and then asked, “Is that what that thing was when I was doing stuff to you, but I was feeling it like it was being done to me?”

  “Sì. You were experiencing my pleasure along with your own. But it keeps ramping up, my pleasure becomes your pleasure, and yours mine, and then it bounces back and forth between us, growing every time like a snowball rolling downhill, and then . . .” He shrugged.

  “And then it hits a wall and explodes and blows your mind. Literally,” she added dryly, thinking of his comparing it to a blown fuse. Frowning, she asked, “Is it something to do with the nanos?”

  “I would imagine so. From all accounts, it only started after they were introduced for those originally from Atlantis.”

  Pet shook her head. “Why would the nanos do that? I mean, think about it, if you and I had just had sex when the intruder entered, we’d have been passed out like flakes and he could have killed us both. It’s not really a smart survival thing.”

  “It is for the overall survival of immortals,” he said solemnly. “We need life mates to withstand our long lives with any hope of not losing our minds. The double pleasure makes for very good sex between life mates and ensures they have a serious reason, even a need, to work things out that otherwise might break them up. They will not find that pleasure elsewhere. So unless they wish to live a lonely, sexless life, they treat each other with respect and work on their relationship.”

  “Still, it seems dangerous,” Pet murmured. “I don’t like the idea of being unconscious and vulnerable every time we do it.”

  “It is fine,” Santo assured her, pressing her face to his chest again. “We just must be careful for the next year or two to only make love when somewhere safe or at home.”

  “I thought I was safe in my home last night when that guy came in and attacked me,” she pointed out grimly. “And what if there is a fire?”

  “Pet, no one is ever one hundred percent safe. Look at your mom and dad. They were attacked and killed at home. But,” he added, holding her head in place when she would have raised her head to look at him again, “I do have a fortified bunker under my home in Italy, with a secret entrance in the bedroom. We can sleep there for the next year or two if it makes you feel better.”

  “A fortified bunker?” she asked, leaning back with disbelief.

  Santo shrugged. “Everyone was building them during the Cold War. Most are gone now, but I kept mine, updated it over time, and it is well stocked and fireproof, with its own water supply.”

  “Why would you keep it?” Pet asked with surprise.

  “Why destroy it when another Cold War or something similar might come around?” he countered, and pointed out, “I have lived many years. Eventually, all hell will break loose, and when it does, I am prepared.”

  “Wow.” She stared at him. “Do you wear aluminum foil hats too?”

  “What?” he asked with confusion.

  “Nothing,” Pet muttered and cuddled up against him again, but after a moment she asked, “So you really meant it when you said you want to spend your life with me?”

  “Sì.”

  She nodded against his chest, but then asked worriedly, “Does this mean you’ll want to turn me?”

  Santo stiffened briefly, and then asked, “Would you be all right with that?”

  Pet grimaced. “Well, that depends. Is it painful?”

  “You will not suffer any pain,” he assured her firmly.

  “Oh.” Pet sighed with relief. She was thinking it would be some terribly agonizing deal. “Well, I guess maybe I could . . . I mean, you know, if things work out and stuff.”

  “Pet,” he said solemnly.

  “Yes?”

  “I thought you were dying when we got to your apartment last night.”

  “Yes, you said that.”

  “Sì,” he breathed out, and then took a big breath in and admitted, “But what I did not tell you was that in my desperation to save you, I turned you.”

  Pet pulled back slowly to stare at him. “What?”

  “I turned you, cara. There was so much blood when we got there. I thought I only had moments to save you, and I . . . turned you there in Parker’s room before Marguerite could tell me that the blood was not yours.”

  Pet blinked. Thought. Blinked again, and then lunged out of his lap.

  Santo immediately began to follow, babbling rapidly in Italian. Every other word seemed to be her name, though. She was quite sure he was apologizing or explaining or begging, she wasn’t positive which, but she didn’t stop until she’d reached the dresser and the mirror above it. Leaning forward then, Pet stared at the silver flecks floating in her irises.

  “Damn,” she breathed.

  “Pet?”

  Stepping back, she whipped the huge T-shirt up and off and then examined herself expectantly in the mirror, only to sag with disappointment.

  “What is it, tesoro mio?”

  Pet sighed and gave a shrug. “I was hoping I’d have grown boobs, and maybe get some more curve on my hips or something.”

  “Your breasts are perfect,” Santo growled, moving up behind her. “And I like your hips.”

  “Do you?” she asked, meeting his gaze in the mirror, and watching as his hungry gaze slid over her body. The silver in his eyes was growing, she noted, and then shifted her gaze to her own eyes and saw that they were silvering too. Pet stared at them with fascination for a minute before grinning and saying, “It’s kind of li
ke having an erection on your face, isn’t it? I mean, everyone knows what you’re thinking about when your eyes go silver.”

  She saw Santo’s eyes shift to meet hers in the mirror and his expression became uncertain.

  “You are not angry with me for turning you without gaining your permission first?”

  “No. You thought you were saving me,” she said gently, and then grimaced and added, “Mostly what I’m feeling is horny. Is that bad?”

  Judging by how quickly he was suddenly pressed up against her from behind, his arms sliding around her so that his hands could cover and fondle her breasts, Pet guessed he didn’t think so.

  “Oh, God, tesoro mio, I was so worried you would be upset with me,” he muttered, pressing kisses on the top of her head as his hands caressed her. “I do not deserve such a wonderful . . .” he nuzzled her hair aside and nipped at her ear gently “. . . beautiful . . .” his teeth scraped down her neck, and then paused so his lips could gently suck the tender skin “. . . forgiving . . .” he caught her chin and raised her face to kiss her passionately, and then picked her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed, whispering, “. . . woman.”

  Eighteen

  Pet woke up splayed on Santo’s chest, her head tucked under his chin, her hand curled up in front of her mouth, and his hand resting next to it, flat on his chest. She studied that hand that had given her so much pleasure, and then at the rings on his fingers, and eyed them with curiosity. She’d never really looked at them before. They were all silver or white gold, she wasn’t sure, but they looked like old silver. The one on his pinky was smaller than the others. It had a ruby in the middle and writing above and below it that she thought said Bruni and Notte. The other three rings were much larger. Two had the same image on it, two people on a horse, and Bruni and Notte on them too, but the third ring had what seemed to be a family crest and some kind of Latin inscription.

  Pet stared at them silently for a minute, but then stiffened as she recalled that she was immortal now, they’d just had unprotected sex, and he was very fertile.

  “What is it?” Santo asked, apparently awake and feeling her sudden tension.

  “We didn’t use protection,” she said, pushing herself up to peer at him with alarm. “And I’m immortal now, and you’re fertile, and it only took one try for Dardi.”