by Zoe Forward
When had this happened?
With a throat clear he began, “Is it all so bad you see suicide as the only way out?”
She continued to stare at him with her eyes wide as if uncertain of her next move. “I wasn’t—”
“Maybe you could put killing yourself on hold for right now,” he interrupted. “Let’s go get a coffee or something and we can talk.” Distract and delay. That usually worked to calm someone from their determination. Somehow he had to work into conversation she was half wolf, a sure way to make her more suicidal. Best to delay on that truth.
“Coffee? Like Starbucks?” She shook her head and glimpsed at her wristwatch as if she had something more urgent to do. Suicide on a timeline? “This is my business.” She pulled a match out of the flimsy cardboard matchbook.
“I won’t let you do this.” He grabbed the matches out of her hand.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for coffee or whatever you think you’re doing here. Give me back the matches.”
He tucked them in his jeans. “No.”
“If I wanted to die, the easiest way is to slit my wrists, get naked out here, and ash myself. It’d be fast and less painful than burning to death. Or, I could try to attack you, and Eric would blow my head off with his shotgun.”
“Then what the hell are you doing?” He waved at her gas-soaked car. His peripheral vision caught Eric slowly approaching, armed and ready. Eric didn’t trust her. Of course, Eric didn’t trust anyone he hadn’t already known for several decades.
“As I said before, it’s none of your business.”
“As of right now, I’m making it my business.”
“I’m not one of your subjects you can order around, Your Highness. Tell Eric to back off and the two of you go away. Matches, please.” She held out her hand.
“Not until you tell me what this is about.”
“You’re annoying.” She turned to an abandoned backpack and rummaged, emerging with a lighter.
Annoying? He wasn’t annoying. Dictatorial, imperious, even the label of arrogant had been levied at him before. Never had anyone called him something as quaint as annoying. Car alarms in a parking garage were annoying. Sutures in a healed wound were annoying. He’d heard mates were annoying.
Mates? What an unholy twist of fate to bind the two of them together. Even the concept had to be his imagination despite all the signs they were matched.
She chucked her cell phone into the car where she’d deposited the most gasoline and flicked on the plastic green lighter. After a long gaze at the lighter’s little flame, she shook her head. “It’s safety protected so it won’t stay on if I toss it. Hand me back the matches.”
“Why the hell are you burning your car?”
“The best way to buy some time and get out of a command meeting with my father in a few hours is to fake my death. They might buy it for a little while.”
“You realize your death, whether real or fake, will be pinned on us and used as a way to escalate the war?”
“You’re the one who put yourself at the crime scene. Not my problem. Matches, please.” She shook her held-out hand and wiggled her fingers.
“I thought you wanted to end the war.”
She dropped her hand with an agitated snort. “I believe I clearly said I didn’t want anything to do with the war. Ending it is your business. Is this why you won’t leave me alone? You think I might have some leverage to end the war?” She laughed. “Dominic and Ambrose might spin my death for their own purposes, but I guarantee everyone will be relieved I’m gone.”
She’d given him a perfect opening to get her away from her vamp family. “Come with me. I’ll get you out of the country.”
“Right. I’m going to trust the arch enemy of my people because there’s this…” She glanced at Eric several yards away and lowered her voice, “Thing between us? I don’t think so. You’re like every other ancient being. You want something and you’ll do whatever necessary to get it.”
Before he could broach the subject of her mixed heritage as a point of persuasion she stepped forward and put her hand on his chest. “Matches, please. I…”
She didn’t finish. Her eyes dilated and lips parted as the magnetism between them hit her.
He couldn’t breathe. She looked down at his noticeable erection.
Fuck. His control was slipping. He glanced at Eric out of his peripheral vision.
“Don’t start this here.” It came out as a growl.
She reached into his pocket and grabbed the matchbook. In her haste she stumbled. He caught her with a hand around her waist. Her breasts landed against his chest. She froze.
“Sweet Jesus.” He was struck dumb. And he wasn’t a werewolf who got stupid very often.
The scent of her arousal hit him with a jolt. He closed his eyes to block out the view down her shirt and released her.
She stepped away but didn’t drop her gaze from his. Her pink tongue moistened her lips.
“This is insane,” she mumbled. She lit a match, tossed it through an open window, and jumped away. It went out before it hit the car.
He suppressed a chuckle.
He got a glare from her before she lit a second match. This time she got closer before she dropped the lit match and hopped away from the car. It grew into a small blaze.
“Great.” She grabbed her backpack. “The best plan is for you two to go your way and I’ll go mine. I think Eric agrees.”
“Wait, we should talk.” Shit, he hadn’t brought up the real issue.
“We’re done. Stop following me.” She waved at Eric, pulled her long sleeves down over her hands, and took off, walking away from both of them.
“What was that about?” Eric asked as they both watched her walk around the warehouse and out of sight.
“She’s up to something. This wasn’t something she concocted in the past hour. This took planning.”
“You’ve got that meeting with Ambrose in twenty minutes. We need to head out.”
Gut instinct advised he not leave her, but he couldn’t reschedule Ambrose. Now he was more curious than ever to discover what was going on between Vee and her fiancé. “Put TC back on surveillance duty.”
…
Vee had forgotten her passport. She’d taken it out to enter the number for a connecting flight to Paris and left it on the kitchen counter. She wasn’t used to needing human ID, but for a flight she needed to blend. A quick trip back to her apartment wasn’t ideal, but unavoidable.
The almost setting sun and low light reduced the risk of sunburn. Still, she kept her sleeves pulled over her hands and her hat angled over her face. Her head throbbed with each step as she neared her apartment building on foot. The need for sustenance had become imperative. No blood upstairs, but she could have another Pepsi.
Just as she reached to type in the door code, she heard a throat clear behind her.
She whirled. Her head spun, causing her to wobble backward until she hit the door. A wolf stood a few feet from her. In her haste, she’d forgotten to scan before venturing to the front door.
Stupid.
“I don’t recommend you go inside, Dr. Scarpa.” Between the guy’s piercings and the unnerving way he stared, she deduced he might be one of Lexan’s guards. If not, Lexan should consider hiring the guy. He had intimidation down to an art form.
“Who are you?”
“TC.” His concentration turned to the building. He cocked his head as if listening. Several seconds later he continued, “Lexan better be sure about you, because I’m about to save your ass.”
Chapter Nine
Lexan reclined on the stiff overstuffed chair of the downtown coffeehouse and sipped a chai latte. The mixture was too sweet. What was it about Americans and their obsession with sugar?
The only reason he was taking this meeting with Ambrose was out of respect for the European peace treaty with Viktor and the rest of the DiFalco royals. Ironic, since they weren’t actually at peace.
; Ambrose claimed the loveseat opposite, sitting slowly with perfect posture. He shifted away from a dusk sunbeam, twisted the window blinds closed, and put on his dark glasses. The sun wouldn’t kill a vamp of his age unless he was left naked and starving in it for several days, but he would find its heat uncomfortable. Vamps hid their vulnerability, but they were far more delicate than they cared to admit.
They nodded at each other in greeting.
Ambrose folded his hands in his lap. “I’m offended you didn’t let me know you would be in the country.”
“You look…the same, Ambrose. It has been many years since we’ve spoken. I hope all is well for you.” The leather of Lexan’s black jacket creaked in protest as he folded his arms across his chest. He didn’t trust this vamp. Ambrose might dabble in politics, but the narcissistic kid sucked at diplomacy and did whatever the hell he wanted. Although two centuries old, Ambrose remained a child in comparison to Lexan’s age. Ambrose had witnessed when Lexan attacked Vee’s grandfather, Mercutio, during the War. He had been a teenager, barely thirteen or fourteen, hiding behind his father, Viktor.
Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. “Everything was fine until I found out where you were last night.” He paused.
Lexan didn’t give him the gratification of replying.
Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. “What is the purpose of your visit in the States?”
Lexan leaned back, maintaining a mask of cool calm, and shrugged. He didn’t answer to any vampire. He had bypassed protocol to approach Vee. The old rules directed he contact Ambrose before confronting his betrothed. But this was about her life being at risk. One of those risks would be Ambrose when he knew the truth of her genetics.
The vampire leaned forward and spoke harshly, “I will put myself in your way if you involve her.”
Something possessive and lethal whipped through Lexan, shifting Ambrose from neutral political contact into the enemy category. “To which her do you refer?”
“Velvet Scarpa has nothing to do with Dominic’s war. You want to talk about Dominic, then ask me. You will stay away from her.”
“An assassination attempt led me to seek out the closest place for medical assistance last night, which turned out to be a veterinary hospital.”
“You’re actually going to try to sell me that bullshit?”
Lexan managed not to smile, although the effort was tough. “She was not protected like I’d expect your future wife to be. So exposed as a human pet doctor. Why is that, Ambrose?”
“It’s her wish.”
“You let the one destined to give you future heirs dictate her own lifestyle?” Lexan shouldn’t taunt him, but he was curious to find out why Ambrose didn’t treat her like he’d expect the true future Mrs. DiFalco to be regarded. Other DiFalco wives were locked down from the moment they said betrothal vows, sometimes before.
“Why did you seek her out?” Ambrose persisted.
“She has everything to do with this war. She’s a Scarpa. It was her mother who was murdered.”
Ambrose scowled. “I’d understand if you chose to end this war or escalate it until Dominic pushes for an end. Dominic claims the fight started as retribution for spilled blood. I can’t confirm the facts around his so-called vendetta since everyone involved is dead, other than Dominic. Until I have proof of what really transpired, I must allow things to play out.”
“You’ve taken a side, though, with your engagement.”
“That’s right…engaged. Leave her alone.” The kid had shitty diplomatic skills. He composed himself and folded his hands in his lap again.
“How do you know Dominic didn’t murder his wife and frame a wolf to launch his war?”
Ambrose waved his hand. “He was at an event the evening when his wife was killed. At least fifty witnessed him there. I was there. Airtight alibi.”
“How can we be absolutely sure on the timing of the kill?”
“Dominic and his wife may have had issues, but he would’ve been an idiot to murder her. A descendant of the original vampire?” Ambrose shook his head. “He wouldn’t have done it, no matter what interpersonal drama may have been going on between them.”
Lexan tented his hands and regarded Ambrose for a few silent seconds. “She is your future wife and will be accorded the respect the position warrants.” He bowed his head in deference, not that he meant respect. For her, he would respect and protect, possibly kill. The idea of mates popped into his brain again. He tried to dismiss it, but the longer he stared at Ambrose, the angrier and more possessive he felt toward Vee. He shuttled the thoughts into the back of his brain where it was less distracting. “I do not seek to hurt her, if that’s your concern.”
Although uncertain, he suspected Ambrose hadn’t bitten her yet. Demisang blood was touted to be almost as toxic as werewolf, if sucked by a vamp. That suggested he hadn’t pushed for sex. Vamps didn’t value virginity. They valued skills in the bedroom. Sex and blood sucking went hand-in-hand. Although the mental image of Ambrose’s mouth at her neck, his fangs in her throat, and him sucking her blood inspired a base instinct to kill.
The entitled brat didn’t deserve the right to touch her.
The animal within pressed for freedom to hunt and kill. He focused on the framed generic print on the wall just beyond Ambrose’s left shoulder until the wolf receded. Ambrose couldn’t discover his interest in her extended far beyond using her as a political toy. Maybe her pre-transition blood held enough pure vamp to be acceptable and safe for a vamp to sip. Maybe he had slept with her. He’d push a bit more. “How long have you two been engaged? Did you set a date?”
Ambrose tensed as if he wanted to attack. Must’ve hit a nerve with that one. “Why would it be of interest to you? Planning to send a gift?”
“Perhaps.” She’s mine. She might officially belong to this pompous ass who didn’t respect or value her, but nature had decided she was his. What a mess. He uncrossed his arms and straightened from his slouch. In his peripherals he watched Eric prepare for action. His boys outside moved inside. The three vamps protecting Ambrose also moved out of the shadows. “She seemed tense when your name came up—”
“Stay away from her or this will get personal,” Ambrose interrupted.
“It seems to already be personal. Or is this all for show? Arranged marriages are a poor deal for both parties. We are each members of species that are dictated by chemistry. That should be the measure by which to determine marriage suitability, not genetics. Why do you wish to marry her? There are vampires with deep genetics in Europe who I am sure Viktor could arrange for you to marry.”
Ambrose leaned forward, yanked off his shades, and hissed, “She’s a direct descendent of the original. And—”
Emotion flared in his eyes. Then, Ambrose leaned back. Emotion fled as he got control.
“If you’re only interested in genetics, then her aunt would be a more suitable choice and closer to your age.”
“Have you met her aunt?”
“Not as easy to control?”
“I didn’t say that.” Ambrose smoothed his shirt. “What are you up to, Lexan? You didn’t need her to patch you up last night. From a tactical standpoint, she has zero clout with Dominic. My father is different. He would care what happens to her. Is there something going on in Europe and you wish to use her in some way?”
“She’d make a good negotiator between our species. A somewhat neutral party.” He should’ve told her she wasn’t full vampire. Even a meeting with Ambrose shouldn’t have delayed the need to get the truth of her origins out in the open.
Ambrose’s body stiffened. “That’s out of the question. If you go near her again, I will make this my own personal war with your kind.”
“Are you threatening me and my people? Do you intend to drag all the DiFalcos into the Stateside skirmish?” Lexan smiled, allowing his canines to show. He relished the opportunity to kick this pompous kid’s ass. Damn, this was more excitement than he’d had in centuries. The prospect of a good fight with a decent
opponent caused him to smile broader.
“We will come after you,” Ambrose warned.
“What we? Your pitiful group of soldiers is no match for us. They’ve never been tested by battle. I could exterminate all of them myself before you’d even know the fight had begun.”
Ambrose shifted. A poker player he was not.
“You plan to run to Daddy for help? Go, then. Run to Viktor in Italy. It’s been a while since he and I faced off in battle, but I look forward to finishing the fight we started long ago. You think he lost his arm in an accident? He surrendered to me on bended knee, screaming like a child while clutching the stump that remained.” Lexan slowly rose.
“Stay the hell away from her.” Ambrose shot upright and stalked out of the coffeehouse.
Not ideal. He’d ramped up Ambrose enough for him to put Vee on guarded lockdown. Not Lexan’s intent. Maybe he was the shittier diplomat.
Lexan’s cell buzzed with a call from TC. He clicked the Accept Call icon. “Speak.”
“What the hell is wrong with her?”
Dread cramped Lexan’s gut. TC only did dramatics over beer. “What do you mean?”
“She went back to her apartment, which was loaded with Squad vamps. I stopped her from going in—saved her ass from getting caught—but then while we waited until the vamps left she went pale and weak. She said something about being hungry, but where the hell am I supposed to get blood?”
“Is she okay?”
“No. She’s not bloody okay. I got her a soda at the gas station. She drank it and passed out. What do you want me to do with her?”
“Take her to the house. We’ll be there is a few minutes.”
“Who was that?” Eric asked as he cranked the car.
“TC. Vee passed out, and he’s got her in his car. I should’ve known she wasn’t strong enough to be on her own after losing so much blood last night. I shouldn’t have left her.”
“She was bleeding? Did she fight you or something?” asked Eric.
“Someone knifed her at the wedding.”
“Because of us at her work?”