by P. G. Forte
Julie smiled. “Not always. I’m a little more picky than that. But, if I did, would that be a problem?”
“It could be—for you. You don’t know the first thing about me. I could be anyone.”
It was all Julie could do to keep her smile from sliding into a smirk. “I’m sure you could. For that matter, so could I.”
“I was watching you—from my car. You were obviously upset.”
“Was I?”
“Or tired, or lost—definitely not paying enough attention to your surroundings. You ought to be more careful out here. If I were the kind of person who was looking to take advantage of someone, you’d look like a real easy mark.”
“And looks are never deceiving, are they? So what’re you saying, Officer? That we should get to know one another better? I know a way to do that. Do you want to frisk me?”
“Oh, hell no.” He groaned and shook his head. “You did not just say that. Do you have any idea how that line sounds after…oh, say, the ten thousandth time or so you’ve heard it?”
“No. How does it sound?”
“It sounds stupid.”
“Okay, then.” Julie pulled away. “I guess maybe we’ll forget about breakfast after all.” Breakfast with a side of censure? Hell to the no. Why go out for that? She could get that at home, any night of the week. “Goodbye, Officer Sullivan. Have a nice rest of your life.”
She turned away, sighing as the pretty little fantasy she’d been indulging dissolved into mist. She’d dreamed of giving herself a kind of mini-vacation, of spending just one day away from the mansion and all the crap that came with it. She could have slept ’til nightfall, peaceful, dreamless, in a bed not her own, cuddled up to her host who’d be so blissfully passed out in a venom-induced stupor that he wouldn’t wake until she wanted him to. It could have been nirvana—for both of them, she’d have made sure of it—instead of just another dreary day.
“Wait. Hold on a minute,” he called after her.
Julie stopped and turned to gaze back over her shoulder at him. “What now?”
“Okay, so we got off to a bad start—and that could be partially my fault—I’m not saying it’s not. But there’s no need to be so hasty. After all, we still need to eat, right?”
“Maybe.” She did need to eat. And he smelled delicious and at least he’d tried to be helpful. She supposed. Initially. Before he started acting like another father, or another brother, or another know-it-all male, the last thing she needed. Besides, this close to dawn, she might have a hard time finding anyone else.
Dining out did not always have to be a social occasion; that was something else she needed to keep in mind. If he continued to annoy her, she did not have to put up with it. As a last resort, she could always knock him out and eat him while he slept.
“And, you know what? Maybe I’d rather have you frisk me.”
“Really?” She wasn’t sure she believed that, but it was an entertaining thought. There were definite possibilities there, ones she wouldn’t mind exploring. And, either way, it was nice of him to offer. “So you’d be into that, huh?”
“Like I said: maybe. I mean, I’ve never actually been on that side of things, but we could always try it and see, right?”
Julie nodded. “It’s always good to keep an open mind. You never know when you’ll find something you like.”
She sauntered back to where he stood, pressed her hands against his chest and pushed. He looked surprised as she backed him up against the side of his car, but not alarmed. Not yet. She leaned in close, then sealed his lips in a long kiss meant to drug him into compliance. His hands stole up to clasp her waist. She could feel his coffee mug, a warm weight against the small of her back. He was breathing heavily when she finally pulled away.
“K. Sullivan,” she read out loud, sliding a finger along his nametag. “What’s the K stand for anyway?”
“Kevin.” His voice was thick, his eyes dazed. “My name’s Kevin.”
“Hi, Kevin. I’m Julie.”
He nodded, still struggling a little with his words. “Nice to meet you. So…breakfast?”
Julie’s fangs tingled a little as they came unsheathed. She tightened her hold on him and smiled. “Mmm, Kevin, I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Four
Christian paced restlessly across the floor. He’d been waiting here, in the suite he shared with Georgia, for hours. It was now almost dawn and she had yet to return. He knew she was probably off searching for that demented scientist Conrad had charged her with finding, but given her weakened condition, the thought of her being out on the streets by herself made him crazy.
Damn it, he’d told her to stay home tonight. Told her to conserve her energy, and leave the rest of the nonsense to him. That was supposedly the reason she’d sent for him, was it not? But, as always, whenever she got around Conrad, it was his requests she’d insist on honoring, rather than Christian’s.
The best he could hope for was that she would merely tire herself unnecessarily—and perhaps see the wisdom in doing things his way in the future. The worst that could happen was that she might actually find the wench she was searching for. He prayed to God that never happened.
For starters, if Georgia ever did find the blasted woman, she’d probably kill her—it was what she did best, after all—and before anyone had a chance to question her or to find out what she knew. That would probably not please Conrad overmuch, but it would please Christian far, far less.
There was a good chance that this woman—Audrey—might be able to help them, if given half a chance and the proper motivation. He wanted to be the one to give her both of those things. Once she understood her life was in his hands, Christian was certain she could be made to do as he wished. But that meant he had to find her first. He had to spirit her away to a secure location and strike a deal with the bitch—before anyone else got to her.
It was all very well for Georgia to say that such a plan was too dangerous to attempt. That the time and effort needed to cultivate Audrey’s trust was too great. That only a fool would think to play both ends against the middle when Conrad was one of the ends! But they were already living under a death sentence, were they not? So what did they gain by playing it safe?
He didn’t doubt that Audrey was crazy, although hopefully not as crazy as Georgia kept insisting she was, but she was also a scientist—one of a very, very few vampires who were. That alone made her too valuable a resource to waste.
They needed her, or someone like her. So why not try and come to an agreement? Why not bargain with Audrey—her life in exchange for her knowledge and assistance? Whom would it hurt? So what if she’d angered Conrad and injured Marc? It was unfortunate, to be sure, but it was also in the past. What was done was done. Killing her now would change nothing.
Georgia, however, couldn’t see the wisdom of his argument, and he knew her too well to expect her to change her mind. No doubt she’d insist on leaving for home immediately once Audrey was captured or killed. And that was something else Christian could not allow.
He needed more time with Julie. How much more time he couldn’t say. Enough to get to know her better, to learn what made her so special, so different from anyone he’d ever known. He desperately needed to understand how she could do the things she did. Impossible things, for the most part. Things he didn’t even dare mention to Georgia until he knew for certain what was going on.
His need for information tore at his patience. Had been tearing at his patience for months, ever since the night Julie had healed the wounds on his neck—the ones Georgia had put there, the ones that should have left scars, but hadn’t.
Georgia had been so worked up she hadn’t even realized she’d hurt him. Oh, but he knew. He’d realized right away what the venomous agony meant, and he’d wanted to strangle her for her carelessness. It wasn’t just the pain that enraged him. She’d left mar
ks on his neck. Where anyone might see them. She’d opened the door to ridicule and censure…and possible discovery.
Had she learned nothing over the years? Or was this another sign that her final descent into madness, so long delayed, had finally begun?
Conrad might lose his temper from time to time, and no one would dare complain. But let anyone else within his nest do so and the bloody hypocrite would be all over them. In all likelihood, he would have confronted Georgia and questioned her about her loss of control. He would have demanded to know what crimes Christian had committed to merit such treatment. And when she couldn’t give him an adequate answer, or when she lied and invented some supposed transgression to explain it, heaven only knew what Conrad would have done to them both.
Christian had been beside himself, so angry he couldn’t speak and in no mood for the inevitable apologies Georgia would have offered had he confronted her. So he’d simply taken off. He’d been bleeding, hurting, terrified—all three in equal measure—when he’d arrived, already late, for his meeting with Julie. His being in San Francisco was supposed to make things better for Georgia, better for them both; instead, their situation had never seemed so dire.
He’d been on the brink of asking Julie for a rain-check on their evening out when, before he could stop her, before he could manufacture an excuse to keep her at arms’ length, Julie had taken matters into her own hands. She’d cleaned his wounds, taken away his pain…and left him feeling more terrified than ever before.
For she hadn’t just soothed the searing heat of Georgia’s venom, she’d removed it entirely—and on the spot, something he’d never encountered before. And she hadn’t just sealed the bloody slashes on his throat—she’d healed them so completely it was as though they’d never been. That wasn’t just impossible, it was a deadly mistake.
If only he hadn’t been bleeding so profusely—but of course he was! That damned Invitus venom had been designed to keep even a vampire’s blood flowing freely, even as the flesh tried to knit itself back together. It was that which caused the tell-tale scars, like the ones that already laced Christian’s chest.
He knew Julie must have swallowed a decent amount in the process of cleaning him up, and it was that single factor—that fatal factor—that had transformed what should have been a miracle into the bloody, fekking nightmare he’d been living with ever since. A nightmare with a small slice of hope—it was a wonder he hadn’t lost his mind.
If Georgia were to somehow find out that Julie had become infected and that Christian was the cause? Well, it didn’t even bear thinking about. Her state of mind was already precarious. That particular piece of information was probably enough to send her hurtling straight over the edge. And if Conrad were to learn of it? Then the nightmare would truly begin.
Inexplicably, however, Julie remained healthy. After several hundred years spent studying the disease, Christian knew the symptoms inside and out. He knew just what to look for. Indeed, with no one else to turn to, he’d had no choice but to learn everything he could. He now knew more about Vesco Inedia than anyone still alive.
It had taken several days for him to devise a plan for collecting a small sample of Julie’s blood. It had taken far longer to smuggle in the equipment with which to test it. A smarter man might have run away. Christian had stayed. He’d chosen to play a deadly waiting game, gambling all his hopes on one frighteningly small chance, one seemingly absurd hypothesis. Was it possible that the same mysterious quality that had enabled Julie to heal his wounds might also allow her to throw off the effects of the most deadly disease vampires had ever known?
For once in his life, the luck gods had smiled upon Christian. The results of the tests, which he’d run over and over and over again, showed no sign of the disease.
The next logical step was to try and isolate the miracle factor and then find a way to somehow harness this quality, to duplicate it, to create a cure, something they’d all but given up on! But that meant gaining Julie’s confidence—difficult enough with Armand constantly dancing attendance on the girl, next to impossible with Georgia breathing down his neck.
If his lover ever learned what he was up to before Christian was ready with research and proof and solid evidence to back up his hypothesis, there was no telling how she’d react, other than badly. They’d been through that before. This would certainly not be the first time she’d cut off one of his experiments prematurely by killing his test subject.
She could say all she liked that she was acting in their best interests, putting them out of their misery, refusing to let them needlessly suffer for any longer than they already had. But to what end? Sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. If they were going to die anyway, which they undoubtedly were, then the least she could have done was to allow their deaths to have meaning and purpose.
Christian had heard the stories about the Invitus, all the whispered rumors no one was supposed to repeat. He knew what Georgia was capable of—the violence, the courage, the endurance, the strength. He’d seen it all firsthand, and admired her all the more because of it. But she’d been a pragmatist once, a realist. When had she gotten so soft?
No, he couldn’t tell her anything about what had happened or what he had planned. He had to keep the potentially good news from Georgia for the same reason that they could not simply go to Conrad with the indubitably bad news that the disease he believed eradicated, wasn’t.
Christian had already run through every scenario he could think of in his mind. The results were always the same. If word of this got out, people would wind up dead. And he was likely to be among the first to die.
Familiar footsteps in the hall had him spinning around and heading for the door. It opened just as he was reaching for the knob. One glance told him everything he needed to know.
“Look at you,” he scolded, taking in the violet shadows under her eyes, the slight slump in her shoulders. “What were you thinking staying out all this time? You’re absolutely exhausted, aren’t you?”
Georgia shrugged. Her face was pale, even her hair seemed lackluster and dull. “You say that as if it’s something new. I’m always exhausted, love. I have been for years.”
“Then why won’t you listen to me? Why go out, night after night, as you do? How long do you think you can keep pushing yourself like this?”
“Hopefully, for as long as I need to. And you know why I do it. I do it because Conrad will accept nothing less from me. You can pretend all you like that his word doesn’t matter when we’re at home and it’s just the two of us. But here, in this house, where our allegiance is a given, we do not have that luxury. He’s given me a job to do. I must at least keep up the pretense of doing it. Or would you prefer I save us both the trouble and go to him now and confess the truth?”
“And is it just pretense?” Christian asked, ignoring her last question for the rhetorical nonsense it was. “Have you truly called off the search?” Part of him hoped she was telling the truth—the practical part, the part that wanted Georgia’s mission to fail. The rest of him was terrified by the possibility. He knew her to be stubborn and strong-willed. If she’d actually given up, if she was now merely pretending to search for Audrey, it was not a good sign. Her health had been deteriorating too quickly these past few months, far faster than ever before. He’d been shocked when he’d arrived here last December to see how wizened she’d become.
Georgia’s face grew a shade paler. “Quiet! Are you trying to get us both killed?” She glanced uneasily at the door. “There are too many ears in this place and not all of them are friendly.”
“I’d have said that most of them are unfriendly. And I wasn’t speaking any louder than you.” Ah, if only they were still at home, where he could cosset and care for her, just as he’d been doing for ages. There, he could insist she stop tiring herself out, and then make good and certain she followed his directives. Here, on the other hand, what could h
e do, other than watch as she exhausted herself and worry about what would happen when his blood was no longer enough to sustain her? “You haven’t exactly been making friends while you’ve been here, have you?”
“Yes, well, perhaps you’re right about that. But that’s even more reason for you to hold your tongue then, isn’t it?”
“Yes, of course. You’re right as usual, Mum.”
“Stop it,” she growled, but the words lacked force and the glare she shot him was as much a plea for patience as it was an order to behave. She was clearly too tired to fight with him tonight.
Once, he would have attributed the fact that she wasn’t more popular with the various members of Conrad’s clan to simple jealousy on the part of the others. For who would not be jealous of her? Not only could Georgia do things that most other vampires could not, but it was common knowledge that her place in Conrad’s heart was superseded only by Damian’s. Now, however, Christian was no longer certain how much of that was true. He had begun to think it was for another reason entirely that the other vampires disliked her so. They were not so much jealous as they were afraid of her, cowed by her reputation, and they didn’t even know the half of it.
It was something in which he’d always taken a perverse sort of pride—her prodigious control over her own enormous strength, his control over her. Lately, however, things had changed between them. Her hold on her appetite, her temper, her mind, seemed far too tenuous now. He’d begun to be quite afraid of her himself.
It saddened him to feel that way. It made him angry. And, even though it was he who’d brought this curse upon them in the first place, it left him feeling resentful.
She’d been the love of his life for as long as he could recall, the most magnificent woman he’d ever known, perfection personified. He’d been honored to have been chosen as her consort. But even those we idolize can sometimes have feet of clay. Lately, more and more often, her flaws and weaknesses were all he could see.