by Jaye Wells
My cheeks burned. Had I really looked that bad?
“Mother, that’s enough. Raven’s right. It’s not that you looked bad before. But the all-black thing was a little standoffish. But now. Now, you’re . . . pretty.”
The burning in my cheeks increased, only now it was due to embarrassment rather than anger. No one had ever called me pretty. Kick-ass? Check. Sexy? Check. But pretty? Never.
“Look, can we go already?” I said to cover my reaction to his compliment.
A slow smile spread across his face. Gone was the guy who sounded like he would rather get a sharp stake in his heart than go out with me.
“Absolutely.”
Chapter Ten
“Stop staring at me, and keep your eyes on the road,” I demanded twenty minutes later.
His gaze swiveled back to the road. “Sorry, I just can’t get over it. Has anyone ever told you that you look like Angelina Jolie?”
I snorted. “Yeah, I get that all the time.”
“I mean it. You look really good,” he said, meeting my eyes.
There went that damned blush again.
“By the way,” he said, looking at the road again. “I’m sorry about today.”
Now, I could have approached this two ways. One, I could have ripped into him and made him beg for forgiveness. Or, two, I could have played dumb and let him dig himself into a deeper hole—before I made him beg for forgiveness.
“Oh? For making me mad at breakfast? Don’t worry about it,” I said, staring out the window.
“No. Not that,” he said hesitantly.
“Then you must mean for making me go out into the sun even though it terrified me. Think nothing of it,” I said with a wave of the hand.
“Thanks, but that wasn’t what I meant either,” he said, his tone impatient.
“Well then, Callum, I have absolutely no idea what you think you need to apologize for.”
“Cut the shit, Raven. You know damned well what I mean.”
I turned to him then, ready for the kill. “You mean for kissing me?”
He stopped the car at a red light and turned toward me. His eyes almost glowed in the darkness of the car. “No, that I most definitely am not sorry about.”
His words gave me pause. I could feel the tables turning on me as I sat there, and I didn’t like it one bit. I opened my mouth to put him in his place, but he cut me off.
“If I am sorry for anything, it’s that I didn’t keep kissing you instead of answering that phone.”
My mouth dropped open. “What? Of all the nerve! You’re apologizing for not kissing me more?”
“Damn straight, sweetheart.”
“You’re going to need a larger car. This one isn’t big enough to hold both your ego and your fat head!”
The light turned green. He punched the accelerator, a smug smile on his lips.
“Protest all you want, but I figured you out. At first I thought you hit me because I took the call from your father. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized you were pissed because I stopped kissing you.”
I sputtered, unable to form coherent words powerful enough to tell him he was the biggest idiot on the planet.
“Act indignant all you want. But you’re forgetting something—I was there. That was my ass you were grabbing. You want me.”
“Stop. The. Fucking. Car.”
He laughed. “Nope.”
“Callum, I swear to the goddess, if you don’t stop this car . . .”
“You’ll what?” he challenged.
“I’ll, I’ll . . . I don’t know what, but it will involve pain and your balls.”
He laughed again. “As intimidating as that is, I’m afraid you’ll have to spare my balls. We’re here.”
That’s when I became aware of my surroundings again. He pulled up to the valet stand in front of a three-story Victorian house. Before I could argue with him anymore, a valet guy pulled open my door and offered me a hand.
“Stuff it,” I said, getting out on my own. The bewildered kid stepped back immediately.
“Uh, welcome to Empire, ma’am,” he muttered and scurried back to the stand.
Callum, in the meantime, had walked around the car. He tried to take my arm, but I yanked it back.
“Try it again, and you’ll pull back a bloody stump,” I growled.
He chuckled and held out a hand, indicating I should precede him up the wide steps to the front porch of the house.
“Where the hell are we anyway?” I threw over my shoulder as he followed me.
“You’ll see,” he said.
I stomped across the wide planked porch to a pair of French doors. Before I reached the threshold, a man in a tuxedo opened them for us.
“Welcome back to Empire Grille, Mr. Murdoch.”
“Thanks, Phillip. Is our table ready?”
“Of course, sir. Ma’am, if you’ll follow me?”
Phillip led us through a dimly lit entryway. I didn’t really know what to expect, but I was shocked when we entered the next room. What must have been a parlor when the house was a residence had been turned into a lovely dining room. Chandeliers glowed overhead, making the crystal and silver on the tables sparkle. In the corner sat another man in a tux playing a violin. Well-dressed patrons chatted and laughed over glasses of wine. The aromas of juicy steaks and spicy pasta dishes wafted through the room. My mouth started watering instantly.
I expected Phillip to lead us to one of the tables in that room, but he continued on to a narrow staircase. As Phillip started up, I glanced at Callum. He nodded and touched my back, indicating I should follow. I jerked away from his touch, but I could still feel the heat from his fingers on my back. Instead of focusing on that, I concentrated on climbing the steps without tripping.
At the top, Phillip indicated I should precede him through a doorway to another room. The private room was, in a word, gorgeous.
My eyes narrowed as he sat us at the small table next to a large window. A few blocks down, the state capitol glowed, surrounded by oak trees. Candles on the windowsill and on the marble mantel, as well as the blazing fire in the fireplace, were the room’s only light. It was a setting designed for privacy. Or seduction.
Callum chatted with Phillip as I quietly seethed. When Jorge said we were going out, I figured we’d go grab a beer somewhere. I had no idea Callum was going to take me to what was probably one of the nicest restaurants in the city. I gazed down at my outfit. The peasant skirt and white blouse seemed too casual for this place. I hated that flash of insecurity.
After Callum ordered a bottle of wine, Phillip left, discreetly closing the door behind him.
I didn’t waste anytime. “You’re an ass!”
He merely chuckled. “I thought we’d already established that.”
“How dare you insinuate that the only reason I was angry today was because you interrupted that pathetic kiss. Because seriously, Callum? I was relieved when the phone rang.”
“Oh, really? Then why did you punch me?”
“Because you kissed me!”
He placed his elbows on the table and leaned in. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t recall you protesting during the kiss.”
“I was just trying to figure out where I wanted to punch you,” I said lamely.
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me! You had no right to kiss me.”
He leaned back and regarded me for a moment. Then he said, “You’re right.”
Well, color me surprised.
“Huh?”
“Look, I was as surprised as you were when it happened. It’s not like I went outside planning on kissing you. In fact, most of the time I’m thinking about throttling you.”
I ignored the last part because frankly I felt the same way about him.
“So why’d you do it?”
“Honestly? I guess I kind of got carried away in the moment. There you were so excited and happy. It was refreshing,” he shrugged. “Anyway, it was
a mistake.”
I shoved down the disappointment I felt at his admission. In its place confusion stepped in.
“Wait, so what was all that bullshit in the car about me begging for it?”
He ran a hand through is hair. “I don’t do apologies well. And when you started acting like you didn’t even remember what happened, it bruised my ego. I figured the easiest way to deal with it without making either of us more uncomfortable was to piss you off.”
I sat back in my chair, chewing over what he said. While I didn’t like his methods, I kind of understood his reasoning in a weird way.
“So, you agree the kiss shouldn’t have happened?”
He nodded. “I think we should just chalk it up to a mistake and move on. It’s not like we’re actually attracted to each other, right?” He laughed as if he’d just told the funniest joke ever.
I laughed too, but it was forced. It wasn’t that I was attracted to him. But part of me wanted him to be attracted to me.
“Of course we’re not attracted to each other. I mean I barely want to be in the same room as you most of the time.”
“Right,” he said with a strained laugh. “So we just forget it ever happened and focus on getting through the next few months without killing each other.”
I nodded, wondering where the wine was. For some reason I was parched. My prayers were answered when the waiter hurried in with a bottle after a brief knock. As he poured the pinot noir he rambled on about the specials.
I watched Callum out of the corner of my eye. For an ass, he looked kind of good. The grey pinstriped suit emphasized his broad shoulders, and his crisp white dress shirt contrasted nicely with his tanned skin. Then I reminded myself that everyone looked good in candlelight. Of course, my warped mind decided at that moment to wonder if he thought I looked good too. Stupid mind.
I grabbed my wine glass and took a sip as the waiter left. The oaky aroma and smooth taste were like heaven.
“That’s nice,” I said with a sigh as the wine warmed my insides, helping me relax.
“Listen,” Callum said, twirling the stem of his glass in his long fingers. “I’ve been thinking about this whole project. I know it’s only been a week, but you’re doing pretty well.”
“Yeah,” I said with a grimace. I didn’t want to be “doing well.” Doing well meant I was changing.
“What?” he asked, looking confused by my sullen response.
“Nothing,” I said, reaching for a piece of the bread the waiter left. I tore off a piece and shoved it into my mouth.
“I have to admit I didn’t think you’d last the week. Hell, I didn’t think you’d last two days,” he chuckled, apparently completely unaware of my rising agitation.
“But you’ve done well. I mean you still have a long way to go, but . . .” He shrugged and took another sip of wine.
“Is that what you told my father?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He nodded. “Yeah. I told him that, all things considered, you were coming along nicely. He didn’t— Never mind.”
“He didn’t what?” I demanded, even though I could already guess what my father had said. “On second thought, don’t bother. I can tell you what he said. He didn’t believe you, did he? Then he reminded you of all my faults and told you I probably wouldn’t last another week. Am I right?”
Callum winced. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“Don’t worry about it. My father has never been my biggest fan,” I said, taking another slice of bread and tearing it into crumbs.
“What’s the deal with you two anyway?” he asked, looking genuinely interested.
“I don’t want to bore you with the details.”
“C’mon,” he goaded.
“We just see things differently is all,” I said with a shrug. “He’s all gung ho on pushing the Brethren doctrine of democracy and living in harmony with the hairless apes. And I think everything he says is bullshit.”
“So you don’t see any redeeming value in trying to get along with mortals?”
“It’s not the getting along with them I object to. It’s the trying to become them I have a problem with.”
He laughed. “We’re not trying to become mortal.”
“Really, Callum? What separates you from an average guy besides the fact you need blood to supplement your diet?”
“Well, there is the small issue of immortality.”
“What kind of treat is that? Have you seen these people? They live in a freakin’ rat race. And you want to do that for eternity?”
“I still don’t get what you have against them.”
Before I could answer, the waiter came back to take our orders. I had forgotten to look at the menu he’d left earlier. However, Callum insisted on ordering for both of us. Normally I would have taken him to task for going all alpha male on me, but when he ordered two rare steaks, I decided to let it slide.
The waiter left. “You were saying?” Callum prodded.
“Actually I wasn’t. This whole conversation is boring. It’s not like I’m going to change your mind.”
“It only seems fair that you give your side. After all, you’ve had the Brethren philosophy shoved down your throat all week. Why not take this chance to explain your theories to me?”
I took a deep breath. For so long, people had been preaching to me about how I should think. I wasn’t used to someone actually asking me what I thought.
“What year were you born?” I asked. He looked surprised but didn’t question my reason for asking.
“In 1698.”
“Hah, you’re just a baby.”
“How old are you?”
“Four hundred and eleven.”
“You’re the only female I’ve ever met who brags about being older than someone else,” he chuckled.
“Whatev. Okay, so you were born where? Scotland?”
“Yes, near Inverness.”
“Oooh, ever see Nessy?” I asked.
“Be serious,” he said.
“What?”
“The Loch Ness monster is a legend.”
“Uh, hello? So are vampires.”
“Hmm. I never thought of it that way. Well, no, I’ve never seen her,” he said. “And what does all this have to do with you telling me your theories?”
“It has everything to do with it! My father is a logical man. He sees things in black and white. Me? I believe in shades of grey. I don’t think science and rational thinking can explain everything. You think our kind is the result of a genetic mutation, right?”
He nodded. “Logan is actually working on proving that theory. But, yes, we believe we’re basically genetic cousins to humans.”
“See, you all believe it, but there’s no proof. So who’s to say my theory that we were placed here by the goddess for a special purpose is wrong?”
He refilled my wine glass as he mulled that over. “For one thing, we have proof that genetic mutations exist. And frankly, your theory requires a lot more faith in the unseen than ours does.”
“And what is wrong with faith?” I asked, leaning forward. I was surprised to find I was actually enjoying the debate.
He snorted. “Faith is what has kept humans busy killing each other for centuries. It’s an excuse people use to justify all sorts of horrible behavior.”
“That’s true,” I said, rolling the stem of my glass between my palms. “But an awful lot of horror has been committed in the name of science, too.”
He nodded. “Agreed. So what is your specific theory?”
“I believe that the goddess Diana put us here—” I began, only to be interrupted by the waiter returning with a large tray.
The savory scent of grilled steaks and the earthy aroma of baked potatoes filled the room. My mouth watered. I’d slugged down a couple of bags of blood when I got home from the spa, but I hadn’t eaten real food since breakfast.
The waiter left after distributing the food. We busied ourselves with loading our potatoes
and chatting about how good everything looked for a few moments.
The meat was so tender I almost didn’t need a knife. I moaned when the flavor burst on my tongue.
I looked up to see if Callum liked his food only to catch him staring at me with his fork frozen halfway to his mouth.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said quickly and stuffed his first bite into his mouth.
After chewing for a moment, he said, “You were about to tell me about the goddess.”
I had been so busy enjoying the meal that I forgot all about our conversation.
“Oh, right. How familiar are you with mythology, the goddess Diana in particular?”
Nodding, he said, “Goddess of the hunt.”
“Yes, in Italy, there are witches, called the strege. According to their beliefs, they were created by Aradia, daughter of the goddess Diana, to help combat the forces of Lucifer.”
Callum’s eyes started to glaze over, so I got to the point.
“What if we were created by Diana as well? What if there is some divine plan for us?”
He perked up then. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what if we aren’t here as some freak product of nature? What if someone or something created us for a higher purpose?”
“I was around a long time before the Brethren Sect was created. I remember the chaos that existed. The superstition. The violence. My own father was a victim of those who wanted vampires to keep to themselves,” he said, tension clear in the set of his jaw.
“I don’t know if we have a purpose anymore than a mortal can know for sure what his purpose is. But what I do know is things are much more peaceful now that we have come together under the laws of the sect.”
“So you’d prefer to just accept that things are easier this way than question whether things are right?”
“Who are you or anyone else to say what is right?”
“Ah, but my father is perfectly content deciding what is right for everyone, though. Do you honestly think anyone on that council would dare question him? Who do you think wrote those laws?”
“Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s agree that your father is dictating the laws . . .”