by Mary Hughes
He really missed her.
“Thinking about Beautiful?” Aiden said over the wind they stirred.
Ric raised a brow. “You sure you’re not omniscient?”
“Please. Your face gives you away. You look like a big dreamy goof.”
“And you look like an asshole in need of a wasabi suppository. Did we have to park so far away?” Five hours to drive here; at nearly two in the morning, he chafed to get back to Synnove. “July nights are short. We have little time as it is.”
“We had to make absolutely sure Nosferatu’s henchvamps hadn’t followed us. Or even Nosferatu himself.” Aiden slowed to a human walk in front of a round building. He stopped out of range of the night lights near a sign announcing, “The Cave of the Mounds”.
Ric stopped beside him. “What’s wrong?”
Voice barely above the summer breeze, Aiden said, “I’m still not sure.”
“How could he have followed? No one was driving behind us. No one loped alongside us here.” Ric raised his head and tested the air. “I detect no scent.”
“He could be downwind.” Aiden’s nostrils flared. “He’s old, Ric. And even though he looks like a mummified weasel, he’s sly. He can shape shift.”
Ric scowled. “That’s a vampire legend.”
“No. I was in Iowa recently and saw…or perhaps was allowed to see…things that made me revise my opinion of what’s fact and what’s fantasy.”
“Okay, Nosferatu can shape shift. No wolves following us either.”
“You ass.” Aiden dropped his hunting animal routine to give Ric a disgusted glare. “You’re being deliberately obtuse. What about birds? Insects?” He waved his arm around, a gesture of unbridled passion for him. “You’re sure all these creatures are natural? Absolutely positive that none of them are the same owls or crickets or nighthawks that were hooting or chirping in Minnesota?”
Ric rolled his eyes. “Nosferatu‘s no nighthawk. Maybe a goatsucker.”
“A nighthawk is a goatsucker, you turd.” The ghost of a smile played across Aiden’s lips. “But you knew that.”
Ric smiled slightly in return. It didn’t count toward the tally, but even a partial smile was a win tonight. “What choice do we have? We need to make Nosferatu back off. Which means having the leverage in hand.”
“I still say it’s premature.” Aiden eyed Ric coolly. “We’ve been courting Nosferatu’s attack for two years, with a solid plan. The leverage was our emergency backup. Now he attacks, according to plan, yet instead of following protocol you leap directly to the emergency backup. Why?”
“You know why.” Because even now Ric’s heart thudded when he thought of how close it had come. If he hadn’t shielded Synnove, if that bullet had pierced her human body… “Because the plan didn’t work. Camille got in. That immune human got in with his goons. We had the place fortified against normal vampires and humans. But Nosferatu’s hitting us faster and harder than we ever imagined, with agents who are battle-ready, trained and ruthless. We’re off script. That’s why we’re going after the insurance.”
“And that’s your only reason, hmm?” Aiden was silent for a beat. “Nosferatu’s looking for her again. He’s got people searching all over.”
They weren’t talking about Synnove now. Ric’s brows rose. “He’s revealed her existence to others?”
“No, not that way. She’s too vulnerable.” The black-haired vampire was still looking off into the night. “He’s only asking humans to look for a female, with a vague description.”
Ric snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“And your heartbeat has slowed.”
This time Ric didn’t follow the shift in conversation. “So?”
“So your problem isn’t Nosferatu, or even Nosferatu plus a vulnerable woman. Know what I think? I think your problem is medical.”
“Fuck.” The first change of subject had been a trap. Proving yet again that Nosferatu’s goons weren’t the only ruthless, sly, battle-hardened warriors around, or even the best.
Ric met his friend’s eyes and finally let Aiden see the fear he’d barely admitted to himself. “That muscle-bound ass wasn’t holding Synnove accidentally. Nosferatu’s gang asked for her by name. They were holding her as hostage against my good behavior.”
“Ah.” The black eyes shifted away, staring into the distance. When they returned to Ric, they were burning. “All right then. Let’s get this done.”
Ric’s smile was fierce. Here was another reason why he rarely asked for Aiden’s help. He rarely had to. Aiden gave him what he needed without asking. Like Synnove.
Partners, both of them.
The chime of memory. Again he shoved it away. He only had one partner, the vampire beside him.
Aiden paced off an exact number of steps onto privately owned land. At a certain location, they dissolved into mist, the vampire ability that came at a hundred years dead, and dropped together through the earth.
They materialized in a small cavern about thirty-five yards below the surface. Although researchers had completely explored the Cave of the Mounds itself, the nearby sinkholes on private land had not been investigated thoroughly. Small, unknown caverns often existed adjacent to known caves. This was one.
“Damn, it’s dark.” Aiden’s eyes glowed in the blackness. “I keep forgetting what real dark is like.”
“I keep forgetting how weird our eyes get.” Living as a civilized human for so long, Ric found Aiden’s red charcoal eyes a bit unnerving, though his own would be as eerily luminous. In the complete absence of light, their vampire eyes made their own, bioluminescent, like fireflies and deep ocean fish.
“And I keep forgetting what he looks like.” Aiden pointed.
A headless body rested on a translucent plastic bier in the middle of the cavern. The still figure’s arms were folded over its chest, a mockery of peace, since the hands inadequately covered a gaping hole where the heart used to be.
Ric shuddered. “Stuff a heart in him, and he’s fine. That’s scary.”
“Or wait a century and he’ll grow a new one. But he’s not touching earth, so he can’t suck energy and rise. I still can’t believe that’s really the Dracula.” A growl roughened Aiden’s voice.
“He is.” Ric consciously suppressed his own growl. “I researched him when we decided to move the item here. That is pure vampire. Even the brain. Especially the brain. That’s why he’s the only vamp who doesn’t die if you destroy the head.”
“No humanity at all? Nasty.”
“Pure vampire instinct. Monstrous,” Ric agreed.
“So why not burn him? Get rid of him permanently.”
“There’s a legend that it would unloose pure evil on the world, but it’s probably hokum. Still, the Ancient One must have some reason not to.”
“Makes this the perfect hiding place from Nosferatu though.” Aiden walked slowly around the small cave. “Since the Ancient One has secured the area.”
The Cave of the Mounds, undiscovered by humans until 1939, along with its nearby hidden caverns, had been in use by vampires for at least fifty years previous. Or rather, one specific vampire, who’d originally captured and incarcerated Dracula. The Ancient One living in Iowa, Nosferatu’s mortal enemy, Kai Elias.
“How is dear Kai?” Ric asked. “I assume that’s why you were in Iowa.”
“Enigmatic as always. I still haven’t gotten a good look at him.”
Which, for Aiden, was saying something.
As Nosferatu’s enemy, it would have made sense for Ric and Aiden to seek Elias out decades ago, when they’d first run. After all, the enemy of an enemy is supposedly a friend. As mere boys, they certainly could have used the help. But they hadn’t even known about Elias’s existence until several years into hiding and Nosferatu’s training made them mistrustful, Aiden even more than Ric. They’d hidden from everyone, including Elias.
Later, they’d grown to enjoy the independence. The freedom. No master, no factions. Didn’t mean they
didn’t know about the ancient vampire and his deadly reputation.
“I, for one, was grateful when the Alliance set this place up,” Aiden said. “Sure beats having to move the item every six months.”
“No one’s here. You can call the painting what it is.” Ric tore his eyes away from the headless body. “Are you certain the Ancient One doesn’t know we’ve invaded his hiding place?”
“Elias?” Aiden snorted. “I’m sure he does know. He’s got techie gurus up the ass.” He looked around at the cavern walls. “Elias probably has real time ears and eyes on this place by now.” He waved at a particularly knobby stalagmite.
“Fuck,” Ric sputtered. “He’ll have stolen it!”
“Chill. For all his vaunted omniscience, Elias keeps his nose out of other people’s affairs. He won’t have touched the painting unless he had good reason.”
“Well, he’d better not have,” Ric said grimly. “Or we’re as good as dead.”
“We could bluff.”
“We tried bluffing and barely got away with our asses intact.”
“Fine. Get it then.”
Ric examined the cavern ceiling to find the guide stalactite while Aiden got the shovel they’d left here. The stalactite pointed to an area choked with debris. Ric grabbed the shovel from Aiden and dug. His heart beat faster than the simple exertion demanded. When he and Aiden buried the crate, their lives were on the line. Now so much more was at stake. More than even the lives of his household. If Elias had taken it… To Ric’s relief, he hit something solid. “It’s still here.”
“Pull it out and let’s get out of here. I have a bad feeling.”
“Shit. Now?” Ric shoveled faster, heart beginning to pound. He wished he knew what caused Aiden’s bad feelings, sensing a change in air pressure or smelling the faintest of scents or even simple intuition. Then he’d know from which direction danger was coming. A scritch-scritch made him whirl. Nothing was there. He shrugged it off as nerves and returned to digging. The crate was big enough that it took a long time, too long. He was sweating cold buckets by the time he finally freed the crate and lifted it from the cave floor, debris trickling like pellets. “Got it. Let’s go.”
Aiden didn’t move. “Check that the picture’s still inside.”
Ric was chafing now—Aiden’s feelings were never wrong—but he knelt to open the crate.
Revealing the portrait of Nosferatu.
It had been painted in the early 1800s by an unknown pupil of John Singleton Copley. Like Copley, the unknown portraitist included ordinary items in his pictures. In this case he’d painted a blunderbuss braced against Nosferatu’s foot. A wooden house, a mansion for the times, was in the background. The second floor window was clearly visible.
Aiden, looking over Ric’s shoulder, grunted. “Once he finds out you’ve retrieved this, he’ll attempt to steal it back—after which he’ll try to kill us.”
“I know.” And if Nosferatu killed them, he’d be free to attack Ric’s humans, including Synnove. Especially Synnove. Ric didn’t know when she’d become the most important person to him, but there it was. “But I’ve had it. Enough with image and smoke. Synnove is too important for tricks. It’s time for me to stop faking it and just deal with the bastard.”
“Using the picture as a deterrent isn’t actually dealing with him. Not like walking up to him and punching him in the face.”
“Satisfying, but it didn’t go so well last time we tried.” Ric closed the crate, gathered it up and stood. “This is the best we’ve got.”
Holding the crate to his chest, Ric dissolved into mist and filtered up through the soil, easier than hiding it here a hundred years ago. Then, they’d been too young to mist. They’d had to dig a hole to get down.
He’d calmed somewhat by the time he snapped solid on the surface. Misting was a strange process, when he thought about it. The first few times his clothes had dropped through, and he’d snapped back naked. It took him painstaking years to learn to mist his clothes along. “Carrying” the clothes, but he didn’t know what the actual process was or where they went. Even after he’d learned to carry his clothes, small items dropped through his misted pockets, thumping uselessly to the floor. The day he’d first carried his knife he’d danced like an idiot for ten triumphant minutes.
Now it was automatic to carry anything light attached to his skin. Which had actually backfired with the zip cuffs. He could have dropped them through his mist and fought two handed. Unless Nosferatu’s pet scientist had not only made them stronger but mist-proof as well. Thank goodness that had eventually worked out all right.
Aiden emerged from the cavern beside him. Ric set off at a glide, streaking along at nearly forty miles per hour. He hugged the picture to his chest and didn’t slow until they were in the car and squealing off into the night. Ric drove so Aiden could protect their insurance.
“What’s wrong with you?” Aiden leaned back in the passenger’s seat, hands negligently behind his head. “You’re as jumpy as a chicken in a hatchet store.”
Ric scowled. “May I remind you that your bad feelings are never wrong?”
“Relax. We got back to the car just fine. Apparently this time I was off.”
“‘Never wrong’ means you’re never off. Something is going to happen. Damn, I wish the digging hadn’t taken so long. Are you sure we can’t get back to Minneapolis before dawn?”
Aiden gave him the dead black glare he’d perfected.
Ric glared back, but then his shoulders slumped. Another delay seeing Synnove. He’d have to call her when he got settled. No, no good. She’d be asleep. He mustn’t wake her. Except he needed to make sure she was okay. That was a much better reason than the simple churning in his gut, the yearning need to talk to her. “You reset the booby traps at the office, right? Checked the safeguards at the condo complex?”
“Yes, dear.” Aiden rolled his eyes.
Ric’s foot pressed harder on the accelerator. He should have made sure Synnove knew how to check for tails. Camille couldn’t have followed her in daylight, but the vampire woman could have a shielded car driven by a human minion. Or even another of Nosferatu’s human goons could have tailed her.
No, Synnove was staying with her cousin, whose lover was a very old vampire. He had to believe she was safe enough where she was while he and Aiden were stuck in a motel, hundreds of miles away.
He had to believe it, or he’d go insane.
Early the next morning—as in five-crack-my-eyes-with-a-pry-bar-thirty—Rosie called me.
I’d been dreaming about Ric.
He laid me naked in bed, his eyes burning violet. His long fingers trailed sparkles along my skin. I sighed happily. He kissed down my chin and along my throat to lave my collar bones. I threaded fingers through his spiky hair as he sprinkled butterfly kisses along my breasts, then licked down my belly…all the way down…and just as he’d extended his tongue to flick the “go” button—
The phone rang. I snatched it off the night stand where I’d put it. Dreamus interruptus made me bark, “Hello.”
“I would have called sooner, Dr. Byornsson.” Rosie was almost panting in her anxiety. “But I didn’t know myself until Ms. Park phoned me, and that was an hour ago which was so early I thought I should wait rather than wake you…” She was talking so fast she was stumbling over herself.
“Slow down, Rosie. Deep breath. It’ll be okay. Start from the beginning.”
“The beginning.” She sucked air audibly, whistled it out. “Last night, late, after everybody got done with the trauma counselor, Mr. Little called me. He wanted Ms. Park’s cell phone number. She’s one of our top account reps.”
“Why did he call you for Ms. Park’s phone number?”
“I was her secretary. Now she’s mentoring me. We’re both in Mr. Holiday’s ‘condo group’.” The emphasis made me think vampire household. “Mr. Little sometimes does things behind Mr. Holiday’s back. So I called Ms. Park to find out what was going on. But she didn’
t answer so I left a message to ask her to call me about Mr. Little, but Ms. Park didn’t get back to me until after the meeting or I would have called sooner—”
“Breathe,” I repeated, wishing I was there with her to give her a hug. “What is Little doing?”
“The client presentation. The Meiers Corners comparison? Mr. Little moved up the scheduling, Dr. Byornsson. He’s set it for ten thirty today.”
Charles called my meeting days early? I dragged a hand through my hair. “I thought Ric had to be there. He’s out of town.”
“Sure, the person who sets up a comparison presentation usually runs it. But there are precedents. Mr. Little has taken Mr. Holiday’s daytime meetings before. And as I said, it isn’t the first time Mr. Little has gone behind Mr. Holiday’s back.” She added in a low undertone, “But it’s probably the last.”
The faceoff with Camille, this morning? I wasn’t ready. I swallowed past a suddenly tight throat.
But when Ric returned he could reject the results, right? I started to relax.
Except Ric had allowed the competition in the first place because he was trying to avoid a costly confrontation with Nosferatu. Charles Little was Ric’s legitimate representative. Ric couldn’t countermand the chicken without breaking some major eggs.
“There’s more.”
I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, sat up and scrubbed my face with a hand. “Of course there is.”
“Last night’s meeting was to schedule who‘ll be there today. Besides Mr. Little and Ms. Park, it was only Mr. Riley from Finance and Ms. Dullea, a media buyer.” She paused for me to get it. It was too early. She had to spell it out. “Dr. Byornsson, there was no one from creative at all!”
Hippocrates on a pogo stick. Without creatives at the meeting, the number crunchers would favor Camille.
I was well and truly screwed. It wasn’t quite Crisis Time but I flipped my switch and shut off the panic. “It’s okay, Mr. Holiday briefed me before he left. I’ll make sure Camille has some real competition.”
“But, well…Mr. Little shouldn’t get away with this. I’d like to help you.” She took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “I can call some creatives, get them to come. Mr. Little won’t like it but…well. I know a copywriter and a couple photographers who will help if I ask them. And Ms. Park can call in a few favors…well, she can, but I don’t know if she will. Oh, and I’m secretly dating a production artist. I’m sure he’d help.”