“And finally my desert queen, Flames Sirocco.” She was an Arabian, copper-penny red with a flaxen mane and tail.
“Great, a red-headed mare and an Arabian.”
“She’s exciting,” Ryan said.
“I’ll just bet.”
I turned back to Steppi and Unitario, considered. “How’s Steppi on the trail?”
“Nervous.”
“And Unitario?”
“The Lusitanos are bullfighting horses. They’re brave,” Ryan said with a smile.
Both horses stood with their heads thrust over the stall doors. My head swung back and forth between them. Ryan solved my dilemma.
“Del, please saddle both horses for Ms. Ellery. We’ll take a trail ride, then come back so she can ride Steppi in the indoor.”
“You have an indoor arena,” I breathed in awe.
He shrugged. “It was here when I bought the place. I wasn’t going to tear it down.”
I assisted the groom as he tacked up Unitario. Horses are tactile creatures, so I introduced myself by stroking him and breathing softly into his flaring nostrils. The groom handed me the reins, and I led the horse out of the barn and toward the mounting block. But Ryan came up behind me and laid a hand on my waist.
“Let me give you a leg up.” He bent down and cupped his hands. I placed my left knee in his hands, and he tossed me up into the saddle.
You forget how strong vampires are. They’re not werewolf-strong, but they way outclass even the strongest human. They’re all predators, even the Álfar. They just prey on your mind and heart, I thought. No wonder the Powers are ending up on the top of the food chain even though they only went public thirty-some years ago. They outclass us in so many ways. No, they’ve probably always been on top, we just didn’t know it before.
Ryan swung up onto Maarten, then led us out of the stable yard and down a path through the trees. Unitario’s ears swiveled from side to side, and he kept his head up. The raised head wasn’t an indication of fear but rather curiosity.
It was cooler under the trees. With twilight coming on there was a soft chorus from little tree frogs. The only other sound beyond the breathing of the horses was the occasional crack as they stepped on a fallen branch. I knew I should probably be making small talk, voicing my appreciation of the opportunity to ride, but I just wanted to feel the play of Unitario’s shoulders beneath my knees. Feel the way my hips moved in time to his walk. Breathe in the rich smell of horse as he started to sweat in the humid summer air. Watch Maarten’s big black hindquarters hitching up and down and his thick black tail swishing from side to side. Notice the hindquarters on the man too. A person either looks great in riding britches or it’s a sight to strike you blind. Ryan fell into the first category.
We emerged from the trees into a large meadow. Ryan cranked around in the saddle and grinned at me. “Want to gallop?” I grinned back, shifted my right leg behind the girth, sent my left seat bone forward, and gave a brief half-halt on the right rein. Unitario rocked into a canter. I touched him lightly with both calves. His ears twitched back in a do you mean it? gesture. I gave him more rein and clucked to him. I felt his tail flick up like a pennant being carried into battle, and we were off and running.
We caught Maarten in four leaping strides and shot past. The big Friesian was surprisingly light on his feet, meaning his plate-sized hooves didn’t hit the ground like thunder, but he couldn’t match the quicksilver speed and agility of the Lusitano. I threw back my head and laughed out loud.
We circled the meadow twice before pulling up. Ryan checked his watch. “If we’re going to get you on another horse, we’d better head back.”
We took a different route back, covering the ground in an easy posting trot. I gave Ryan a few tips about using that outside rein, inside leg connection that helped him keep Maarten’s head down.
Back at the barn, I fed Unitario carrots while he was untacked. Steppi, standing patiently in the cross ties, gazed at the carrots with naked longing.
“Your turn will come,” I said, and slipped him a peppermint. Which he promptly spat into my hair.
Ryan laughed. “I should have warned you. He hates peppermint.”
“Great, helmet head and candy goo,” I said. “What an attractive combination.”
The indoor arena was behind the barn. It wasn’t big enough to be a regulation dressage arena, but it would be a godsend during New York winters. Ryan wasn’t kidding. Steppi really was a Grand Prix horse. I rode bits and pieces of the Grand Prix test. Ryan sat in an observation deck and clapped each time we did one of the elaborate moves. Each time he heard the applause, Steppi became more engaged and even more flashy. I ended with a piaffe, a cadenced trot in place directly in front of Ryan.
“He’s a ham!” I called out to Ryan, the words catching on my laughter.
“I had no idea. I should have you show him for me,” he replied, snapping on the lights.
“Oh God, I’d love to.” I shortened Steppi’s stride, going for one more piaffe. He got stuck behind my leg and he stopped thinking about moving forward smoothly over his back. I don’t know why I did it, but I tapped the horse on the shoulder with the whip. He froze, then carefully lifted his front end, tucked his knees beneath his chin, and held there in a forty-five-degree rear for several heartbeats.
Ryan stood up in surprise. “Good God, what’s that?”
I urged Steppi with my lower leg, and he dropped back to the ground and trotted off. I brought him back to the observation stand. “Somebody’s trained him to do the levade. This horse is a treasure.”
“I think you might be too. You’re one hell of a horsewoman.”
I blushed and managed to thank him, and we returned to the barn. Steppi got his carrots, and I held back a few for Maarten, Lily, and Sirocco.
Back at the house, I hesitantly asked if I could take a quick shower and get the sweat and candy out of my hair. Ryan’s response was instant—of course. I kept listening for the bedroom door while I showered. The lack of a hostess still had me jumpy, but Ryan was a perfect gentleman. Apparently there was no expectation that I would pay for the privilege of riding his horses. I put on the rather crumpled sleeveless white linen dress I had been wearing at the office, realizing I should have packed civvies.
Ryan was waiting in the entryway when I came downstairs. He took my arm and escorted me out the front door and back into the town car. As we rolled down the driveway, he said causally, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Shall we have dinner when we get back to town?”
I dithered. Were we getting into date territory? That was dangerous for so many reasons. He was my superior. He was a vampire.
Or maybe he was just hungry. I certainly was.
Oh, for God’s sake, Linnet, you’ve eaten lunch with him. How is this any different other than the time of day?
“Sure,” I said.
8
During the drive back into the city, I burbled about the horses.
“Unitario has the most comfortable trot. Wish I could say the same for Steppi, but he makes up for a bone-rattling trot by knowing everything. I love Grand Prix horses. Their idea of an evasion is to piaffe.” I suddenly realized I had been going on and on and on about horses. I shut my mouth, my teeth closing with an audible click.
“What?” asked Ryan, laughing.
“I’m sorry. Me and horses. I become such a bore. What would you like to talk about?”
“First, you’re not boring me, and I find the bond between you and horses to be fascinating.”
“Oh, please don’t lay all that old Freudian shit on me. It has nothing to do with repressed sexuality,” I said.
“I still think Freud was right. You feel empowered because you’re in control of a large animal.”
I made a sound indicating wrong. “Nope. It’s about communication.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well, with a horse I don’t have to talk. It’s like telepathy. Total understanding. Within a very
short time on a horse I can think turn, or trot, and they’ll do it. Of course I know they’re actually reading minute changes in my muscle tone, but it feels like they’re reading my mind. Also, horses are the only species to give you back precisely what you give them. If you show affection to a horse, it will reciprocate. If you’re abusive to a horse, it will fight you. There are no hidden agendas with horses.” The memory of those final, painful months with Devon came crashing back. Me trying desperately to explain why I couldn’t go to Dubai. Him not responding—or, worse, telling me he understood, when I knew damn well he didn’t, because he was assuming I would, in fact, go to Dubai. Ryan was frowning at my sudden silence. I gave him a bright and brittle smile. “And I did it again, off on a rant about horses.”
Ryan laughed, slipped an arm around my shoulders, and hugged me close. “You are quite adorable.”
Okay, this was not a friendly meal between colleagues. Definitely verging into date territory. But I’d already accepted. I couldn’t gracefully back out now, and he was very good company. I was enjoying his conversation, quickness, and interest.
We rolled into Manhattan. Ahead of us, brake lights flared and dimmed as the cars proceeded in fits and starts between traffic lights. The blare of car horns was muted but still audible, and the city seemed to thrum beneath millions of tires. Above us, the skyscrapers looked like spires of light, and the top of the Empire State Building glowed a rich blue.
We sat through a light for a third time, advancing only a couple of car lengths. Ryan began drumming his fingers on the door.
“Sorry, sir. The traffic is really bad tonight,” Stephenson offered. He sounded nervous, which surprised me. Ryan had struck me as a very reasonable boss.
“Why don’t we hop out and walk?” I offered.
Ryan opened his door and stepped out. He extended his hand. I took it, and he helped me slide across the leather seat and out onto the street. We darted onto the sidewalk as the traffic jerked forward.
The pavement seemed to exhale heat, but I didn’t care. It was New York on a Friday night. I was out with an interesting vampire, I’d ridden a couple of great horses, and I was starting to get control over my cases. Ryan tucked my arm beneath his and we stepped out, weaving through the other pedestrians.
We passed a clarinet player pitting his music against the car horns and engines. He was good, and I paused, dug in my purse, and placed a five-dollar bill in his open case.
Ryan gave me an odd look as we walked on. “Generous of you,” he said.
“It’s a habit I picked up from my grandfather, though he would have put in a twenty.”
“Really?”
“He was a jazz musician back in the thirties and he said he and his band survived on tips. He taught me to dance when I was a little girl. We used to always dance to the Fascination Waltz.” Memories of that short, upright figure, his iron-gray hair and brush mustache, his resonant baritone, and the smell of his aftershave swept over me.
“He’d go broke in New York with all the street-corner musicians,” Ryan remarked. “He must not come here often.”
“He died shortly after I went to live at the Bainbridge house,” I said, and found myself suddenly sad. Chip and my grandfather had somehow become entangled in my head. I gripped Ryan’s arm more tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“He was very elderly, and he always said the good Lord didn’t owe him a thing. He’d had a great life. It’s just that I didn’t get to say goodbye, because I was living in Sag Harbor by then.”
Ryan guided me down a side street, and we walked up to a cherrywood and brass door beneath a scarlet awning. He paused with a hand on the door. “Do you like Asian cuisine?”
“Very much.”
“This is Asian fusion, and it’s been getting very good reviews. They also keep a nice selection of hosts for people like me.”
“Sounds good.”
The decor continued with the redwood and brass theme established at the front door. We sat in a booth upholstered in black leather that faced the bar. The bartender was cute, with shaggy blond-brown hair and a crooked grin. The cocktail menu was long and varied. In keeping with the decor, I decided to go with the Brass Monkey. It arrived with an umbrella and a plastic swizzle stick with a monkey clinging to the top.
I studied the human menu and went with the tasting platter. I’d always loved dim sum because you get to try small bites of many things, and I’d been known to make a meal of appetizers. The maître d’ brought Ryan the vampire menu. It was tastefully done, with thumbnail-sized photos of the hosts as well as descriptions of their diets and the nuances of their blood. The prices varied depending upon the amount drunk and the expense of the diet used to maintain the host.
The maître d’ leaned in close to Ryan and said softly, “Do you wish to cup, or will this be a natural feeding?”
Ryan cocked an eyebrow at me. “I grew up in a vampire household,” I said. “I’m used to seeing vampires feed.”
Ryan snapped shut his menu. “Natural, and I’ll try Javier.”
“Excellent choice, sir. Highly oxygenated blood. Also, for the comfort of other patrons we do screen for a natural feeding. I trust this won’t offer offense?”
“Not at all,” Ryan said. “Not everyone can be as relaxed as Linnet here and not be bothered.” He smiled at me.
I noticed that he hadn’t picked up on my actual wording. I had said I was used to it, not that it didn’t bother me. There was a subtle difference.
The timing of the service was perfect. I was just finishing when the waitstaff set up a beautiful ebony and red silk screen around our booth. Javier arrived. He was of a medium height with the long, lean muscles of a runner, and his lustrous black hair was brushed back from a high forehead. He was dressed in slacks and a vest that left his arms, chest, and neck bare.
“Hello, sir,” he said. His voice had the soft echo of his Spanish ancestors.
“Hello, Javier.” Ryan’s tone was bluff and hearty. “How are you this evening?”
“Fine, sir.” He knelt down at Ryan’s side. “Which vein do you prefer?”
Ryan studied Javier’s bare arms and exposed throat. He saw the pinprick red bite mark on Javier’s neck and shook his head. “Let’s go with the elbow.” He glanced at me. “It’s sort of like eating off someone else’s plate if you go to the same site this close to another’s feeding,” he explained.
Feeling that this fell under the category of TMI, I excused myself and headed to the ladies room as Ryan took Javier’s arm and bent over the vein in the crook of his elbow. I really took my time in the bathroom. I slowly washed my hands, then used the wet skin to help pull up my panty hose. I reapplied lip liner and lipstick, fluffed and combed my hair. But they were still at it when I returned. Ryan was really gorging.
Javier’s eyes were drooping, his mouth slack, wearing an expression halfway between ecstasy and terror. Ryan raised his head, quickly picked up his napkin, and dabbed at his lips. The restaurant used black napkins, so the blood didn’t show too much. I suddenly realized that white table linen was becoming less common in upscale restaurants. Just another way the world had changed.
Javier shook his head and groped in a pocket for a press-on Band-Aid to place over the bite. He then nodded to us both and slipped away.
“Do you want dessert?” Ryan asked. His eyes were drooping too, and his cheeks were plump and ruddy from the ingested blood.
I shook my head, and Ryan signaled for the check. As we walked to the door, Ryan used his cell phone to call Stephenson. We stood under the awning outside and waited for him to arrive.
“Ryan, I want to thank you for this evening. It’s been wonderful.”
“My pleasure.” He was smiling down at me, and his hand slipped around my waist.
Ryan’s hand actually felt warm because of the recent feeding, and I was very aware of the raw power he exuded. His eyes locked on mine. I reacted as if an electric current had jolted through my veins, then sa
gged with a sudden lethargy.
“Linnet, you’re a very special person,” he said softly. “When you connect this quickly with someone, it seems like the universe is telling you something, and you should listen.” His car was rolling up to the curb.
I stepped back out of his reach. “First, don’t do the Lure on me. Say what you want.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed a bit, then he smiled and nodded. “Okay, fair enough. Come home with me, Linnet. I don’t want the day to end.”
The feeling of warm molasses in my veins was gone. I could make this decision dispassionately. I thought of my apartment, of the nights I woke up drenched with sweat, heart pounding from nightmares. I wanted to go with him. I didn’t want to wake up alone.
“Yes.”
* * *
Ryan lived in a brick apartment building on West Seventy-third street. The doorman touched his cap as we entered, then hurried to summon the elevator for us. Ryan lived on the fifteenth floor. He unlocked the door and allowed me to enter. I was met with the smell of leather and lemon wax—pleasant and very male.
The furnishings had the feel of an English men’s club. My feet wouldn’t reach the floor if I sat well back in one of the big armchairs. The were lots of bookshelves and an entertainment center with a turntable, speakers, and an amplifier, as well as an old portable television. At least it was color. I guess when you don’t die in the conventional sense, you don’t have a lot of interest in getting the newest, hottest thing. I had expected Ryan to be more modern than this room indicated.
He took my hand and drew me toward him. He cupped the back of my neck with his free hand, then bent to kiss me. The smell of blood on his breath brought back memories of that night chip had been murdered, and I turned my face away.
He straightened abruptly. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You’re a partner, which makes you my superior. And you’re a vampire and I’m a woman. Do we really want to risk this getting out of hand with a really bad outcome for both of us?”
This Case Is Gonna Kill Me Page 10