by Lynsay Sands
G.G. shook his head, and swallowed the food in his mouth before pointing out, “You still haven’t told me why you dropped out of uni.”
Ildaria blew out a breath of irritation, but supposed it was only fair she answer his question if she wanted him to answer hers. Raising the drink he’d given her, she took a sip to give herself time to decide what to say. Her eyes widened with surprise when the taste hit her tongue. It was nice. Tasty. Sweet and fruity.
“Good huh?” he said with amusement, and she glanced over to see him grinning as he watched her face.
Ildaria nodded, and took another drink.
“So . . .” G.G. said as she swallowed and set the glass back on the bar. “You dropped out because . . .”
“I didn’t drop out,” she said at once. “Lucian insisted I should switch from night to day courses, but it’s too far into the semester, so I had to withdraw so the classes won’t show up as ‘fail.’ Worse yet, I can’t get a refund on them.”
“Ouch,” G.G. said with sympathy.
“Si.” Ildaria sighed the word and then shrugged. “It’s my own fault, I guess.”
“Why?” G.G. asked at once, and then added, “And why does Lucian want you in day classes?”
“Because he thinks it’s safer,” she muttered, answering the second question first.
“Safer?” G.G. asked on a bark of surprised laughter. “You’re an immortal. Not much can harm you.”
“Si, but—” She broke off with a grimace, and then took a deep breath and explained, “He’s not worried about my safety that way. It’s more that he doesn’t want me to be put in a position . . .”
“He’s worried about you going vigilante again,” G.G. guessed solemnly when she fell silent.
Ildaria’s mouth tightened. “You know about that, huh?”
He nodded almost apologetically. “This place is gossip central, and people seem to like to talk to me.”
She rolled her eyes at that, and took another swallow of the drink he’d given her, enjoying the sweet treat.
“What made you go vigilante down in . . . some city in Montana, was it?” he asked with a frown.
Ildaria nodded, but didn’t bother to say which city. That part of her life was over now. She was stuck in Canada for the foreseeable future. Setting her drink back on the bar, she ran her fingers up and down the condensation on the outside of her glass and muttered, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” he assured her quietly and Ildaria glanced his way, surprised to see the sincerity in his face. G.G.’s expression suggested that what she had to say was the most important thing in the world to him in that moment.
Three
Ildaria tore her gaze away from G.G.’s and swallowed thickly, trying to remove the sudden lump lodged in her throat. It didn’t do much, and after another swallow she gave it up and shrugged. “Do you know Jess Stewart Notte?”
“Raffaele’s life mate. Yes,” he said, nodding. “I’ve met her a couple of times when she was up here with Raffaele visiting family. You lived with her in Montana, didn’t you?”
“Si. Her and Raffaele,” she added with a faint smile. Raffaele hadn’t been able to stay away from Jess once he’d found her. Not surprising for life mates. But it had meant the three of them living in the house Jess had inherited from her parents, instead of just the two of them. Ildaria hadn’t really minded after getting to know the man. She’d even ended up liking Raffaele as a person. Despite that though, she still wished Jess had chosen Ildaria’s old captain, Vasco, for her mate. She’d had the choice between the two, and Ildaria knew Vasco was a good man under all of his swagger. Besides, he’d saved her life more than once and was like family. Well, she supposed she hadn’t let him close enough to be family, but he was important to her. Shrugging her thoughts away, Ildaria explained, “Well, as you say I was living with Jess and Raffaele, but as new life mates they were pretty wrapped up in each other.”
G.G. nodded. “I’ve noticed that happens.”
“Si.” She sighed the word. She liked Jess. They had become good friends despite the little bit of time they’d actually spent together. “But that was okay. I made friends at the uni there. In my classes,” she added.
“Mortal friends you mean,” G.G. filled in for her, getting it.
Ildaria grimaced. “Si. I didn’t want to specify and sound racist or something.”
G.G. blinked. “By mentioning that your friends were mortal?”
“Well, you can’t call anyone anything anymore without offending someone. Every time I learn the rules, they go and change them.”
G.G.’s mouth twitched briefly with amusement, and then he pointed out, “So, you were explaining why you went vigilante?”
Ildaria grimaced, but nodded and said, “Well, as I said, I had mortal friends at uni. Three of them, like I have here.”
“You have friends at university here?” he asked, eyes widening.
“You needn’t sound so surprised. I’m a charming person,” she informed him a bit testily.
That brought a laugh and he shook his head. “I’m just surprised because you haven’t been here long.”
“Almost two months,” she told him and shrugged. “That’s long enough to make friends.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed soothingly.
“Hmm.” She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, trying to figure out if he was patronizing her, and then let it go and said, “Anyway . . . So, one of those friends was a lovely girl named Alicia. She was beautiful, sweet, funny and super smart. And she never missed class. I mean, never. She could be hacking up a lung and sneezing up a storm, Kleenex in every pocket and trailing her like bread crumbs, and she’d show up for class.”
When she paused briefly to take a sip of her drink, G.G. nodded to let her know he understood. Swallowing the sweet drink, Ildaria set down the glass and continued. “But then one Monday, she didn’t show up for our Business Analytics course.” Her mouth tightened at the memory. “I meant to call her that night to check on her, but . . .” Ildaria shrugged unhappily. “Between full-time classes and my full-time job waitressing, I forgot.”
“Life gets busy,” he said in an understanding rumble.
“Si, it does,” she agreed on a sigh. “But when she didn’t show up for the Thursday Mergers and Acquisitions class we had together, I headed straight for her dorm the minute class was done.” She ran one finger over the condensation on her glass again. “Apparently her roommate came back to the room after class on Monday to find Alicia’s things gone, and was told she’d dropped her courses and moved home.”
When she paused again, G.G. made a sound in his throat that was part growl and part hum. As if he suspected what was coming wasn’t good and he was already angry at whoever was at fault for this unexpected occurrence.
“Alicia’s family lived in a small town an hour outside the city,” Ildaria continued quietly. “I waited until the next day because it was so late, and then I drove out to see her. Her mother answered the door, asked me to wait a moment and then went to find Alicia. She came back a few minutes later and said very apologetically, that Alicia didn’t want to see anyone.” Ildaria swallowed at the memory. “I could tell she was upset. That she wanted to tell me something to soften the blow of her daughter’s rejection, but didn’t feel it was her right.”
“So you put the mind whammy on her,” G.G. guessed.
Ildaria turned to him blinking. “Mind whammy?”
“You know, when you immortals read and control us mere mortals to get what you want,” he explained, his voice a tad dry.
Ildaria grimaced at the description. Immortals could read the minds of mortals, as well as control them, although she did that as little as possible. For instance, she hadn’t tried to read G.G.’s mind yet and wouldn’t without a reason, and she was glad she hadn’t, since the man obviously had some resentment about the practice. Probably, she thought, because he’d been the victim of it a time or two what with owning not one, but two nightc
lubs that serviced immortals. And since she hated it when older immortals read her, she could understand, so she let his attitude go for now, and nodded unrepentantly.
“I read her mother’s mind to find out what was going on.” She didn’t leave time for him to comment on that and continued. “The Thursday before, after the last class we’d had together, Alicia had been attacked on her way back to her dorm. She was raped and beaten . . . badly. She’d fought back and earned a broken arm, cracked ribs, so much vaginal tearing they’d had to sew her up, and there was a question as to whether she’d see out of one eye again.”
“Christ,” G.G. breathed, sagging slightly next to her and setting his half-eaten second burger back on the plate. “Did they catch the bastard?”
Ildaria shook her head. “Not yet, and they probably won’t. There were no witnesses, and Alicia’s memory is messed up so she couldn’t give much of a description . . . If she even got a good look at the guy before he half blinded her with his beating.”
“Right,” G.G. said unhappily. “So she won’t feel safe on campus with him still out there.”
“No,” Ildaria agreed grimly, and then added, “Although I suspect she’ll never feel safe again whether they find the guy or not.”
“So she dropped out of her classes and retreated to her childhood home,” G.G. murmured, sounding sad.
“No. Alicia had only gotten out of the hospital the morning I went to the house. It was her mother and father who had packed up her bags, moved her things out of her dorm room, and signed her out of her classes,” Ildaria corrected him, and then added, “Although, probably at her request.”
When he grunted at this, she continued, “Anyway, at that time she had a long road of recovery ahead of her and while her mother knew Alicia would heal physically, she was afraid that she wouldn’t mend mentally and emotionally. Alicia was shutting down and shutting everyone out. Her mother was very scared for her.”
Ildaria took another drink of her Tahitian Treat, recalling the worry and fear of Alicia’s mother and her own rage and pain on learning what had happened.
“Did you fix her?” G.G. asked quietly.
She raised her head and eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”
He snorted at the question. “I know a lot of immortals. I know your abilities. Did you wipe the memory from Alicia? Help her get over it?”
Ildaria let her breath out on a gust of irritation and then shrugged. “I did what I could.” When he raised his eyebrows at that, she admitted, “I’m not old enough, or maybe it’s not practiced enough, that I was able to wipe her memory.”
“Practiced enough?” he asked with interest.
“I don’t read minds unless I have to,” she explained. “It feels . . . intrusive. Besides, some of the things you hear when reading the minds of others can be . . .” She paused and shook her head with disgust, and then explained, “Mostly the only minds I’ve read are those of would-be donors.”
“Donors?” G.G. asked, his eyes narrowing. “Immortals haven’t been allowed to feed off of mortals since shortly after the advent of blood banks. Not in North America anyway.” After a pause, he added thoughtfully, “And Punta Cana is in the Dominican Republic, part of the Carribean, which is also in North America.”
“Si, but the South American Council covers the Carribean, Central America, and South America too. Basically anything below the United States. It’s just called the South American Council to simplify matters,” she explained, and when he merely raised his eyebrows, she added, “But it’s not allowed there either . . . unless you take a boat out into international waters. Neither North American, nor South American rules apply if you’re in international waters.”
“Right,” he said grimly. “And you did that? Took people out on boats and fed on them rather than using immortal blood banks?”
They weren’t really questions, and he wasn’t looking very pleased at the thought. In fact, he was starting to look at her like he found her distasteful now. Ildaria didn’t know why that bothered her, but it did and she quickly explained, “Not by choice. The Dominican Republic has some pretty corrupt people, both mortal and immortal.” She paused briefly, and then added, “I suppose they have corruption here too, but the difference is that Lucian Argeneau isn’t corrupt. But down there, the head of the Council, Juan Villaverde, is very corrupt. And greedy. He owns a good portion of the beachfront property, but wants more, and inland property too if it’s in a lucrative area. Of course, he’s had no problem purchasing the property he wants from mortals. He just controls them and gets them to sell. But he can’t do that with the immortals who have owned and had shacks or huts on the land for ages. The other immortals would protest. Besides, some are old enough to be able to resist him and have held the property for a hundred years or longer. Long before they became tourist traps. So Juan has resorted to using other tricks to get what he wants.”
“Tricks huh?” G.G. said grimly.
“Yeah. Some work, some don’t, but the latest trick is that he bought up all the blood banks down there and has jacked up the prices on blood to the point that less affluent immortals are having to choose between buying the blood they need, or paying their mortgages, or taxes, or rents, or hydro if they have it. He’s forcing people out of their homes, taking them over and—” She broke off, shaking her head with disgust at the memory of what the man was doing to her neighbors and people she cared about.
Ildaria took in a deep breath, let it out, and then continued. “One of his sons, Vasco Villaverde, doesn’t agree with what his father is doing and wanted to help those of us the most affected by his father’s actions. So in an effort to get us the blood we needed, he geared up his old pirate ship, and—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” G.G. interrupted. “His old pirate ship?”
“Vasco’s five hundred years old or something and used to be a pirate back in the day,” she told him with a crooked smile, and then added, “Well, a privateer . . . maybe.”
G.G. was silent for a minute, his eyes dancing with interest at this news, but then grunted and waved for her to continue.
“So, he geared up his old pirate ship, welcomed any immortal who had trouble affording their blood to join his crew, and . . .” She hesitated and then sighed and said, “It’s kind of a tourist thing. There’s a program where people go out to swim with the sharks and stingrays. When they return to the landing site, they watch a sort of pirate dance/fight routine and are encouraged to buy from stalls with local goods,” she explained. “While they’re watching the show, our crew, dressed like sexy pirates move—”
“Sexy pirates?” he interrupted. His voice was serious, but there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.
Ildaria grimaced. “I wore black leather thigh-high boots, a black leather bra and matching short shorts or skirt, and either a pirate hat or a head scarf . . . and a sword of course.”
“Of course,” he murmured, his gaze sliding over her as if he were imagining her in the costume she’d just described and liking what he was seeing in his mind’s eye.
Ildaria wasn’t one to blush, she was too old for that, but she was quite sure she was blushing now under his gaze. She also felt oddly warm and a little breathless. Clearing her throat, she tried to ignore his attention and quickly added, “The guys usually went topless, or with an open vest, or an open peasant top with long sleeves, tight leather pants, boots, a pirate hat or head scarf, and a sword.”
“Right,” he said slowly, but didn’t sound all that interested in what the guys were wearing. She was quite sure he was still stuck on her costume.
Clearing her throat, she continued, “Anyway, the crew would move through the crowd, picking donors and inviting them on the pirate ship for a tour to feed the sharks.”
A lot of the twinkle left his eyes then. In fact, he looked a bit grim when he said, “The sharks, huh?”
Ildaria sighed and shrugged unhappily. “We did take them out to see and feed sharks if we could find any. We also served them
cheese trays and punch made with really watered-down alcohol in it.”
“Watered down because you didn’t want to drink alcohol filled blood.”
He sounded angry again, but she ignored that and nodded.
“When did you feed on them?” he asked grimly.
Ildaria shrugged uncomfortably. “We weren’t supposed to feed on them until we reached international waters. That was the whole reason behind Vasco doing this. To get us the blood we needed without leaving us homeless, or having to go without it until we were so desperate that we inadvertently attacked a mortal on land and were executed.”
G.G. was silent for a minute, his gaze disapproving. “You weren’t supposed to feed on them until you reached international waters,” he murmured her words almost thoughtfully, and then said, “But you did, didn’t you?”
Ildaria’s mouth tightened. “What? Now you’re a mind reader?”
He shook his head. “No. But you said you ‘weren’t supposed to,’ not ‘we never fed on them until we reached international waters,’” he pointed out in a low rumble.
Ildaria’s mouth twisted at that and then she looked away and sighed. “I usually did wait. I always tried to. But there were three, maybe four times when one or the other of the idiot mortals managed to corner and try to rape either myself or one of the other women.” Her mouth firmed with anger at the memory, and she confessed, “Those ones I fed on early and in the most unpleasant way I could think of.”
G.G. didn’t comment at once, and after a moment she huffed out a breath, letting go of her anger as she said, “Unfortunately, I couldn’t leave the memory with them so it was really a stupid, useless thing to do that taught them nothing and endangered both myself, and Vasco, who didn’t deserve that kind of trouble.”
“Then why did you do it?” G.G. asked reasonably.
Ildaria hesitated and then shrugged unhappily. “I couldn’t help myself. I just . . . I really hate men who think they can just take what they want and rape a woman.”