“You’re not my pet,” I said. Then I opened one of the lower drawers in my desk and withdrew a rectangular gold box. “Wanna treat?”
Dove stood up and held out her hand. “I’m not settling for one truffle. The whole box, or I dress like my maiden aunt.”
She had me. Seeing Dove show up in one of her outrageous outfits designed to inspire both awe and horror was probably the only entertainment I’d have tonight.
“You don’t have a maiden aunt,” I said as I handed over the box of Godiva chocolates.
“Thank you for reminding me that my entire family is dead. And that I have no one on this earth who loves me.” She delivered these lines deadpan, but unfortunately these were also her truths. Dove didn’t have family. Except for me. Not that I would ever admit to the little shit that she was like my sister. I understood the loneliness that lived inside her because it lived in me, too. When my grandfather died, I had no one left, either.
Dove and I were orphans. It was one of the aspects of our lives that bonded us.
Not that we’d ever gone on Dr. Phil and discussed it, or anything.
Dove lifted the lid to the box to ensure that no chocolates had been pilfered. She sniffed. “I am appeased. You will have your show.”
“Excellent.”
She leaned down and tapped the atrocious vampire book. “Chapter twelve,” she said. “Read it.”
“Sure. Right after I finish War and Peace.”
“You are an idiot.” She clutched the chocolates to her chest and spun on her heel. Then she paused and looked over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later. Don’t wear that black lace thing. It’s awful.”
“I love that dress.”
“Which is why you wear it to every function. Burn it, and then explore all those designer clothes in your closet. You’re a fucking billionaire. Act like it.” She swept out of the office and shut the door behind her.
Well, shit. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my temples. I wasn’t really looking forward to getting dolled up and prancing around at this party. Despite my grumbling about the politics involved with running of a college, I had a deep respect for the institution. I had always enjoyed learning, and teaching as well. But what I really loved was getting hip-deep in sand and uncovering the past one tiny piece at a time. Archaeology required devotion, passion, and infinite patience. I didn’t want to seek treasure; I wanted to seek truth. I wanted to understand the past, to find a window into the lives of people who’d lived three thousand years ago, those stalwart souls who had loved, and fought, and cleaned houses, raised children, written stories, built pyramids. Yes, answering the questions about those lives lived so long ago was what I sought. Connections, I supposed.
I glanced at the clock on my desk, and heaved a tormented sigh. The countdown to gala time had begun, and I didn’t want to go home and sort through my closet. After Dove’s crack about my black lace dress—which was modest and pretty, FYI—the hell if I would wear it now.
I looked down at the book. A pink Post-it note stuck out of the top. No doubt Dove had marked the location of chapter 12. Well, it was either explore the theory of ancient Egyptian vampires or start Operation Beautify. Winner: procrastinating with the undead.
When I opened the book, I noticed that Dove had made notations in the margins and had even highlighted portions of text. Say what you wanted about her attitude and style, the girl was smart and studious. And had no respect for the sanctity of the printed page.
As I started to read the chapter’s introductory paragraph, my academic arrogance deflated. The tone was crisp, informative, and wry with humor. Theodora Monroe wrote seriously about her topic while also acknowledging the absurdity associated with it.
I was three pages in, fascinated despite my initial reluctance, when I stumbled across another of Dove’s highlighted portions:
From what I’ve pieced together, there were seven original Ancient vampires. The lines, and powers, of our fanged friends rely heavily on their original maker. The theory is, of course, that if the originator of the vampire line is killed, then so, too, are all the vampires associated with the Family. I believe this may be because the magic of the first vampire connects him, or her, to all their—for lack of a better term—children. Magical strings, as it were, and if those lines are instantly cut . . . ah, I suppose you understand.
The greatest mystery associated with the Ancients is the loss of Amahté. Some three thousand years ago, he disappeared. Some vampires “go to ground,” which means they go into hiding in an underground location for an unspecified time. Some do it to heal from grievous wounds, others to sleep through time, or to mourn quietly the loss of their mortal friends and lovers. I speculate that Amahté has gone to ground the longest. And he must still live if his vampiric children still walk the earth. But who is to know for certain?
Alas, I have not met any vampires who can give me answers to my many questions. My research has been pieced together through numerous source materials (listed at the back of this book), eyewitness accounts, and laborious field research. Evidence is always difficult to gain, no doubt because vampires prefer to remain in the dark (for obvious reasons).
I stopped reading and let the thought of an ancient Egyptian vampire roll around in my mind. It would be unwise to eject my scholarly insight, years of archaeological experience, and jaded mentality for a theory that was ridiculous. And yet . . . exciting. Not that I believed in the bloodsucking undead. Theodora Monroe obviously had an agenda in writing her book, and I knew full well that research could often be skewed to support a particular viewpoint. But what if there really was an Amahté? A king, perhaps. A blood drinker who created a Sekhmet cult. What if Amahté ruled along the same lines of Akhenaten, who brought monotheism to a very reluctant people?
I couldn’t get rid of the idea of a blood-drinking Egyptian pharaoh. The fanged ushabtis offered slight evidence for this outlandish theory. We’d found a very strange crypt. And I hadn’t looked at it from this viewpoint at all. I’d been disappointed to find it empty, sure, but given our time limitation we’d been as meticulous as we could have been in collecting information.
I glanced at the clock and cursed.
I’d spent a few minutes too long with the book and my thoughts. I grabbed the copy of Vampires Are Real! and my tote and left the office. I locked the door behind me and headed out to my car.
All the while I wondered . . . what if there was a pharaoh known as a vampire king? What if he had begun the traditions of modern-day mythology about the undead? Had my grandfather been wrong about Set’s temple? He’d done so much research, and gone to the Sudan every year since forever for the chance to find something wonderful. Something that could rewrite history.
Ancient Egyptian vampires could rewrite everyone’s history
In one teeny tiny corner of my mind, I wondered, too . . . were vampires real?
I grinned. What a ridiculous thought. Vampires. Real. Ha! Stupid Dove and her stupid book. I didn’t believe in the undead.
I had a front parking spot, so it wasn’t too much of a walk to my car. But it was dark out, and the wind had kicked up, rattling the dying leaves on the plentiful trees. August was sliding toward September, and students who’d spent the summer partying or working were still in serious mode. The later it got in the semester, the less attentive the classes and the more plentiful the on-campus parties.
I put the key into the door of my 1956 Mercedes 190SL. It had belonged to my grandfather, who’d purchased it as an anniversary gift for my grandmother in 1956. Mint condition, baby. It was silver with a red leather interior and a stick shift, and it drove like a dream. It was one of the many items I inherited when Grandfather died. But I would’ve given the car, and everything else, for just one more day with him.
I started to open the door . . . then paused, my fingers resting underneath the handle.
I couldn’t quite figure out what made me hesitate. Then I realized the wind had abruptly stopped.
I
heard an electric crackle, and felt my heart skip a beat.
The parking lot lights nearest to my car went out.
And in the sudden, awful darkness . . . something waited for me.
Chapter 7
Drake
I hid in the shadows of the building, waiting. Moira hadn’t left her office yet. As soon as she did, I would follow her home and ensure that she arrived safely. For close to a week I had slept near wherever she was, in case she needed me at a moment’s notice. When she left the university, getting into her beautiful vintage Mercedes, I would turn into wolf form and run through the forest that bordered the road to her home.
After a week of this, I felt like her stalker instead of her protector. I found myself doing foolish things, like wandering past her table in the coffee shop just to get a whiff of her perfume. I was capable of tracking scents for miles, but the werewolf in me was not satisfied with drawing out that faint scent of dewed flowers from among all the others worn by humans.
The man in me wanted to be closer, too.
Much closer.
The naked kind of closer.
Just yesterday, I stood behind her in the line to get a very expensive latte, and couldn’t resist a swipe of my fingers against her hair. She’d worn it loose, and it was a curtain of silky red. She smelled like she’d bathed in flower petals—a light, crisp scent that made me think of sheets and sighs and . . . well, enough of that.
She did not turn around, and I left right then before I could do something else that would draw her attention to me. Like kiss her until those cherry lips were swollen and those green, green eyes were glazed, and that . . . Down, boy.
This was my last night of keeping an eye on Moira Jameson.
Patsy, queen of the vampires—those who recognized her authority, at least—had called me earlier and said that with Karn apparently in hiding, it was probably best to withdraw our resources to Broken Heart, Oklahoma, our headquarters, and figure out our next strategies for dealing with him. We expected the pyramid to reappear in the desert tomorrow—the “seven days hence”—and others had gathered at Moira’s dig site in preparation.
Karn would no doubt try for the pyramid again. We all knew that he would make his presence known eventually. He’d been popping up and wreaking havoc for the last couple of months. Pain in the ass. Some droch fola—the vampires who were soulless—were relentless in their stupidity. But if Karn was in Egypt . . . then he wasn’t anywhere near New York State.
The most recent Vedere prophecy revealed that the return of the missing vampire ancients, Shamhat and Amahté, would herald a new chapter for the vampires. The prophecy was not particularly secret . . . but the location of the Ancients had been closely guarded. How Karn had learned of their whereabouts remained a mystery. His goal was to get to those long-slumbering Ancients and kill them. He wanted to take their power—and give himself true immortality with the ambrosia that was buried with them.
World-domination plots were so last century.
My thoughts returned to Moira. She was a fascinating woman in many respects. However, she was not very well liked around these parts, though the bits of gossip I gleaned while sitting at the coffee shop and in the library (where she loved to go ravage the sections on ancient Egypt) seemed tinged with bitterness. People who whispered their grievances and spread poison with innuendos were cowards.
Moira was not a coward.
She faced people every day who either hated her or feared her, and she acted as though their sneers and the obvious way they crossed streets to avoid her didn’t bother her at all. She ignored, too, people clustering together and laughing behind their hands. Perhaps these actions did not bother Moira. Constant derision and scorn often built the most durable of shields.
All the same, I wanted to rip off their faces.
I had come to admire Moira. She had grace. Purpose. Beauty.
If I hadn’t known better, I would have said she was a werewolf.
I was the only one dispatched to the college to watch over Moira. Dove did not need protection. She vibrated with the kind of energy that encouraged people to move out of her way or die.
I liked her.
The other humans Eva had glamoured were also students here, but we had no cause to concern ourselves with their memories. Their minds had been far more malleable than Moira’s and Dove’s . . . and most had been asleep when Karn sent his minions to the campsite. The one called Ax had presented a somewhat larger challenge, but eventually he remembered just as Moira and Dove did: They had found an empty crypt and had returned to the States hopeful that next year’s dig would bear fruit.
Eva had thought the false memories of an archaeological find would better hide the real memories of uncovering the pyramid and being attacked by Karn.
I felt a growl low in my throat. Karn. The way he had taken Moira, threatened her. He deserved to die for laying his filthy hands on her. My sense of dread had been building all week.
Or maybe it was my attraction to Moira that coiled like a snake in my belly and caused my foreboding. I could not have her.
But I wanted her.
I heard the clip of boots on the sidewalk and straightened. I knew the beat of Moira’s shoes on concrete. She strode around the corner, confident and beautiful, her red hair pulled into a casual ponytail. She wore a short-sleeved T-shirt with the college logo on it, tight jeans, and an old pair of cowboy boots. She carried a monstrous tote, and as always, her expression suggested she was deep in her own thoughts.
She seemed unaware of her surroundings, and as far as I could tell from my weeklong observations, she never seemed to show interest in detecting potential danger. Being on home turf made her complacent, even though she was surrounded by enemies. If I had the opportunity, I would show her how to protect herself better. She seemed quite capable with guns, but did not carry one on campus. Perhaps she would feel too tempted to use it on the college personnel.
But a gun would not help Moira against a vampire, a fact she would know if she remembered what had happened in the desert. A paranormal being such as Karn would not find a gun much of a deterrent. Vampires were by and large derisive of weapons that were incapable of chopping off their heads. A bullet was a mere nuisance.
I silently tracked Moira, pausing as I caught the scent of . . . parchment. Vampires smelled like old books in a library to werewolves. It was not unpleasant, but it was distinctive. I scanned the area.
There, in the trees that lined the right side of the main parking lot, was a vampire. The red glow of his eyes gave him and his intentions away. Moira headed to her Mercedes. Just as she reached the driver’s-side door, the vampire sent out a wave of power that sizzled the parking lot lights.
Moira paused and stiffened, obviously aware now that something was wrong.
I moved toward the trees as swiftly as possible without giving myself away, but the vampire had scented me, too. The moment I knew he was waiting for me to come at him, I gave up stealth and went for speed.
“Sorry, mate,” he said as I entered the trees, “the girl’s already mine.”
“I found her first,” I said. Then I punched him in the throat.
Chapter 8
Moira
The hairs rose on the back of my neck. I could hear the hushed sound of my own shallow breathing, and my heart went from erratic to spastic.
For an odd moment, I had the terrible feeling that if I moved even the slightest bit, something big and scary would attack me. Fear was a stupid, irrational thing, and I knew it. But still I was frozen, my fingers trembling on the car door handle, my other hand clutching my tote.
I heard a big, quick swoosh . . . then . . . nothing.
Silence enveloped me, and it felt thick and strange, like wet cotton had been stuffed into my ears.
I took a breath and then whirled around, ready to swing my bag at an intruder—and let me tell you, that Theodora Monroe book added substantial heft.
I was alone.
The wind tickl
ed at my hair, sudden and playful, as if it hadn’t abandoned me. Then the parking lot lights flickered back on.
My heart rate, however, remained at a steady one thousand rpm.
Because I was stubborn, I took a minute to study the area, to try and determine what had been behind me. I glanced up at the steady blue hue of the light, and made a mental note to get those damned things checked.
Then I slid into my car, eased the tote onto the passenger seat, and carefully started the motor.
By the time I reached the street that led to my house, my heart rate was normal and I could breathe again.
I had no idea what had happened. Maybe reading about vampires before venturing out into the dark had messed with my mind.
In any case, I had more important matters to worry about.
Like what to wear.
• • •
I stood near the table laden with mini quiches, puff pastries, and prosciutto-wrapped melon. I held a champagne flute while I mulled over the selections, even though I’d already filled my plate four times. What? They were tiny plates. Every so often I would look at the open double doors that led into the ballroom.
Where was Dove?
She was never on time, but being late always made her arrival spectacular. Still, we were nearly two hours into the gala and Dove hadn’t showed. That wasn’t like her. Half an hour, yes. An hour, maybe. Two hours? Never. Sheesh. Had she tripped on those outrageous shoes and broken her neck?
I slipped into a corner, pulled the cell out of my beaded wristlet, and called Dove. The phone rang and rang, and finally voice mail came on. “Apparently I didn’t want to talk to you,” she intoned. “Leave a message. If. You. Dare.”
Oh, I dared.
“Where are you? Are you okay?” I hissed into the receiver. Then I realized I sounded like worried Mama Bear. “I’m bored! I’ve eaten my weight in quiches, and you’re supposed to prevent me from doing that. If you don’t call me in the next five minutes, I’m going to the dessert table without you. I will eat all the cheesecake, Dove. All of it.”
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