by Mary Hughes
“But Logan…you were young then. You’re trained now. It couldn’t happen again.”
He raised his head, and his eyes were bleak. “Couldn’t it?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. “Didn’t any of them fight back? The humans?”
“How?” he spat. “Vampires are faster, stronger. How would they fight back?”
“I get the impression Elena holds her own.”
He blinked at me. “I do love you, you know. That was exactly the right thing to say.”
My face heated. “Just lucky.”
“No.” He kissed me gently, his lips soft and warm. “You’re perceptive. And kind.”
“Don’t forget nice,” I muttered.
“Sweet. Very—” kiss, “—sweet. Liese.” His eyes glittered red-gold. “What would you say to leaving your job?”
I reared up. “No! I mean, I like my job.” I need my job.
He flinched. To my surprise, slashes of red flagged his cheeks. “No, of course not. How stupid of me.” He ground fists into his eyes. “Well, look at the time. I know we had a date but…I’ve got some work to finish. Vital. I’d better run.” He set me aside with easy strength, whirled his shirt on like a cape and was out the door before I’d had time to register he was gone.
I should have pulled off his jeans. It would have taken him at least another two seconds to dress.
I stared at the empty doorway, feeling decidedly odd. I’d been a successful siren. The sex had been cataclysmic. Logan had said “I love you” a gazillion times. He’d told me his darkest secret.
Then he ran away. That hurt, but I ached more for him, for his pain.
He still hurt deeply for those frightened people, hundreds of years later. Questioned himself, agonized over the mistakes he’d made.
I now had the information that was supposed to cut Logan from my heart, but it only embedded him deeper.
With nothing else to do, I finished off the bottle of wine. Then I lay down and tried to get some sleep.
Every time I dropped off I’d hear whispers. “He’s so sexy.” Giggles. “I love it when he kisses us.” More giggles. “Makes me stand right up.”
Like a damned slumber party. And I couldn’t even blame G-Liese and B-Liese. No, these pseudo-teens were my breasts. Never knew breasts could giggle.
Or maybe they were titters. Get it? Tit-ters?
Yeah, I was fork-in-socket insane.
I woke seemingly minutes later at the buzz of my alarm. I slapped it off, showered, ran a dry toothbrush over my teeth, and slogged into work. I felt sluggish and irritable. My head hurt. My stomach turned at the thought of food. The early morning sunlight was too bright.
As I stumbled into the Caffeine Café for my morning fix-o’-joe-to-go I wondered if I was turning into a vampire. Probably too much wine and lack of sleep, but it made me wonder how v-guys were made. Had to be dead first, according to Logan. I wondered if dead-on-my-feet counted.
At the Center, I dug in my purse for a couple minutes before I remembered the fingerprint reader. Touching it popped the lock. That was pretty chill.
My desk and the new laptop were where I’d left them. So I still had a job—for a few more minutes, anyway. Whine, whine. I sat down and started my morning routine.
At nine the lock clicked open automatically. I got up to check the door, just in case. Clouds were gathering outside, sullen as a preteen gamer without Internet. I stood in the doorway, disgusted. We were about to be treated to a spring rain.
Spring rain. Gentle, warm showers, dropping like soft glitter on flower petals, right?
Not in northern Illinois. Here, chances were fifty-fifty the “rain” would be little white pellets punching holes through your skull. Even if it was liquid, the drops would freeze your eyelashes shut and turn you into an ice sculpture. Not to mention frigid winds often accompanied said rain—or rather, drove it like needles into every inch of your exposed flesh.
The gathering clouds made it closer to night than day so I went to turn on the lights—and jumped when they flicked on automatically. Apparently the AI did more than run the perimeter and check for monsters. If it weren’t going to cost me my job, I’d be impressed.
In the middle of this daylight dark, the door whooshed open. Cold wind and rain swept in with a narrow, older man carrying a black umbrella and wearing an overcoat and a scowl. He looked like a cross between Mr. Banks and Lurch.
“May I help you?”
“You are Liese Schmetterling.”
Logan, Race, and now FrankenBanker. My job was not normally customer contact. Yet for the third time in days, someone was asking for me personally. Truly bizarre. “What do you want?”
“I am Lord Ruthven, Liese Schmetterling. You are expecting me.”
“Not that I know of.” The name hit memory. “Oh, Lorne Ruthven. Sorry, I misheard. You’re the new board member, right?” I remembered Dirkson not liking him and my determination to be friendly to compensate, so I smiled.
To my surprise, his lips drew back in a snarl, exposing extra-pointy eyeteeth. Or maybe I was just fangtasizing. Ha.
“I am he, Liese Schmetterling. And you will bend to my will.” Ruthven’s voice was hollow, but not hollow-rich like Logan doing his Rasputin thing. Hollow-tinny, like a transistor radio.
“Bend to your will. Sure, sure.” From working in Chicago I knew people in fast-paced international business sometimes got a little pushy. They didn’t mean anything by it. Be friendly, Liese. “And what is your will, Lorne?”
“Lord Ruthven. My first command is that you call me by my proper name, Liese Schmetterling.”
I certainly wished he’d stop calling me by mine. It was getting annoying. “You’re a British lord, huh? I should have clued in from the umbrella.” Although his accent was more like rip-off Lugosi. “Our Center’s certainly rising up in the world.”
“Yes. The Blood Center.” Ruthven made it sound disconcertingly like bluuhd. “As to that, Liese Schmetterling, my second command is for you to procure me a sample.” He pulled off his glove finger by finger, dusted a guest chair with great disdain before settling in. He saw me still standing there, snarled, “Well? What are you waiting for?”
“Um, sure. Right away. But…a sample of what?”
“Are you a simpleton? Of blood, of course.”
I blinked. I wanted to like him but he was making it hard. “Are you nuts? We don’t give samples—”
“How dare you!” He blasted to his feet. His eyes turned red as rubies.
Oh duh. Red eyes and sharp eyeteeth and he wanted a sample of bluuhd. Sometimes I was as slow as a 286. Lack of sleep or too much sex? Wouldn’t that be a kicker—my IQ lowered ten points per orgasm. At Logan’s rate, I’d be brainless before breakfast.
But sure as my name was Liese Du-uh, Ruthven was a vampire.
“My apologies, Lord Ruthven.” The question was, was he a good-guy or a rogue? Logan or Zinnia would know. Or Nurse Battleax. She wouldn’t actually know—but she could sit on him until I figured it out.
No one came conveniently to my rescue. Delay Ruthven then, while I tried to think what to do. And keep my pepper spray handy, just in case.
“I’ll get that sample for you. It’ll just take a minute.” I slid open my drawer, fished the spray out of my purse, and slipped it into my pocket.
In back I grabbed a unit from one of the new refrigerators. A little ding announced the inventory counter automatically decrementing. Efficient, annoying AI. “Tattletale,” I hissed at it.
Ruthven was bent over the server rack in the corner when I returned. He straightened abruptly. “Finally. I was beginning to wonder if I would have to fire you for laziness.”
“I had a few more hoops to jump through than usual. New security, you know.” As I offered the bag to Ruthven I glanced at the servers. Looked okay from the front, but I’d recheck the programs later. I was remembering Johansson’s visit and connected the dots. Here was a businessman in our small, vulnerable distribution cen
ter. Coincidence, maybe. But something had made that system fail in Lansing. And if their system was Steel Security, I doubted it was anything less than sabotage. Besides, I was paid to be suspicious.
Ruthven turned up his nose at the bag. “I hope you do not expect me to consume it like this, Liese Schmetterling.”
How could one vampire make my name sound like sex and another like a hammer? Temper fraying, I slapped the blood onto the desk. “How do you want it, then Lorne? Over the rocks? Shaken, not stirred?”
He gave me such a look. Fangs extending he lisped, “I am a civilized man, Liese Schmetterling. I will have a glass.”
I barely suppressed another sarcastic comment. After all, he was a vampire. Extra-fast, extra-strong. “All I have is this.” I held up my empty paper coffee cup.
His face twisted with even greater disgust. He took the cup gingerly. “What is this, Liese Schmetterling?”
“It was a dark Italian roast.” I got scissors from my desk. “Want me to pour?” And because I couldn’t resist (okay, I could have, but apparently stress brought out the snark in me), I added, “Lorne.”
He handed me the cup with obvious reluctance. “Barbaric.”
“Don’t you mean ‘Barbaric, Liese Schmetterling’?”
His eyes went blood red. “Do not trifle with me, Liese Schmetterling. I am Lord Ruthven, Ruler of the Night.”
“Good. So for the mailings, how did you want your name?” I cut open the bag (I didn’t want to futz with the ports) and glugged some into the coffee cup. Yuck. To keep the rest from spilling I closed it with a binder clip and stuck the bag clipped-end-up into my top desk drawer. “Mr. Ruler O.T. Night? Lorne Ruthven? Lornie? Or just Lor?”
He slammed a fist into the desk. “You will not mock me.” His hollow voice slammed into my head.
I froze. Boy, and I thought Race Gillette had a temper.
Ruthven surged up, Svengali eyes stabbing into mine. I expected to see his irises turn into little pinwheels. This guy lived up to all the vamp stereotypes. I should have been scared but somehow, all the vampiness just made Ruthven look cheesy.
Until he said, “You are fired.”
“What? You can’t…oh, God.” He could. I slumped in my chair, because even the cheesiest vampire on the planet was scary when he was in charge.
The front door slid open behind Ruthven. What now? I thought just as Logan glided in. “Hey, Liese. The automatic counter registered—you.” He slammed to a halt. His glare was so enraged, Ruthven should have shot up in flames.
Ruthven leaped to his feet and sidled around my desk, crab-like, unnaturally fast. “This is not over, Liese Schmetterling.”
He dissolved into mist and disappeared.
Actually, he didn’t disappear, poof. Before my flabbergasted eyes the mist collapsed to the floor and began flowing like a ghostly snake, arrowed for the back door.
It sounds slow when I describe it, but the whole process took less than a second.
“Damn it.” Logan bolted past me, plowed into the back room. I darted after but by the time I burst in Logan was already at the rear door. The emergency exit was wide open, the alarm jangling.
Hitting the reset, Logan swore again. “What the hell was he doing here?”
I made my way to the donation chair where I sat, breathing deeply to get my heart rate under control. “He’s one of the Blood Center’s directors. His name is Ruthven.” I didn’t mention Ruthven’d fired me. Maybe in the flurry of rabbiting he’d forget. “Did you recognize him?”
“Oh yes. Ruthven’s second in charge of the Lestats.”
“The who?”
“Razor’s gang.” Logan shut the exit. “Their leader is Nosferatu.”
“Whoa, wait. I thought Razor was the leader of Razor’s gang.”
“It’s complicated.” Logan stalked across the room toward me, not his hungry stalk but one of total disgust. “Damn it, if I’d known they were sending him, I’d never have agreed to sit in on the bargaining.” He slammed a palm against the wall.
“Stop, stop. Let’s have a ‘Previously on Stargate SG1’, shall we?”
He gave me a small, reluctant smile. “A recap?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“It may take a bit. Let’s go back to the office where we can be more comfortable.” He helped me up, rubbing my shoulders as we made our way to the front where he deposited me in my desk chair with soft kiss on the cheek.
Logan touched me a lot, as though he liked it. Maybe Elena and Gretchen were right. Maybe he did want me. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you’d be sleeping.”
Logan slung himself with muscular grace into one of the guest chairs. “A unit of blood was taken from storage. It triggered an alert. It seemed odd and since I knew you were here I decided to handle it personally.” He picked up the paper cup of blood. Sniffed delicately. “This it?”
“Yes. Um, since it’s already poured, do you want to drink it?”
He set it down. “Of course not. This blood’s for transfusion.”
“With a dash of caffeine? Zesty, but I don’t think so.”
A small smile curved his mouth. “Intravenous caffeine. Might be a big seller.”
But something he said caught at me. “You knew I was here? As in, more than figuring it was my working hours?”
“Yes. I, ah, know where all my donors are.”
I sucked air. “I’m your donor? Don’t I have to agree first? Sign papers or something?”
“Sorry, that’s a euphemism. A polite term meaning I’ve tasted you. I can locate anyone whose blood I’ve tasted within about a mile, if I concentrate. It’s in the olfactory memory.”
“I see. So who is that Ruthven guy? And what does he have to do with Razor? I know you said it’s complicated, but give me the Wiley’s version.”
“The Coterie for Dummies?” Logan smiled. “All right. Picture a pyramid. At the top is Nosferatu. He’s got three underlings, Ruthven, Camille, and Giuseppe Marrone.”
“Giuseppe…you mean Joe Brown?”
Logan laughed. “Yes. Each of those directs six top-level vampires. Together, these executives are known as the Coterie.”
“Coterie, huh. Sounds like a breed of lapdog.” I pulled up zDictionary.com on my new laptop. It had exceptional response time. I felt a zing of pleasure. “A small, exclusive group with a common purpose.”
“In this case the purpose is to obtain power.” Logan’s smile faded. “In our world, that means blood. The Coterie is trying every way possible to get control of the nation’s blood centers. We managed to convince the federal government that the Red Cross is a strategic national resource. They’re protected, but that leaves smaller, private centers vulnerable.” He stared at the cup, twisting it in his fingers.
“You really shouldn’t let that go to waste.”
He blinked, released the cup. “Later, maybe.”
“I remember your using that term, Coterie, before. In connection with something called Project Shield.”
“Ah, you have a good memory. The problem is there’s a turf war heating up inside the Coterie. The challenger’s threatening terrorist-like attacks to discredit and disorganize Nosferatu, trying to make the Coterie ripe for takeover. Which wouldn’t be a problem if the challenger was only terrorizing vampires. But our agents report that he—or she—is planning to take out a Chicago landmark. We don’t know how and we don’t know who, though. So the Alliance is forming a ring of key households around Chicago, to act as a sort of first-alert and shield. My household will be at the core.” He grimaced. “I’m one of the few who has the intensity of training needed to live right in the middle of enemy territory.” He started playing with the cup again.
“Drink it, Logan. You don’t have to worry about grossing me out.”
A slight smile returned. “Are you a mind-reader?”
“I wondered the same thing about you.”
The smile widened, became gut-splatting. I gasped. Someone please get the heart padd
les. “Drink, please.” If only to hide his Death-by-Chocolate smile, at least for a bit. “What about the Lestats? How do they figure in?”
“The Lestats are the Coterie’s muscle. The bullies that keep other vampires in line.” Logan picked up the paper cup and sipped, watching me carefully. When I didn’t flinch he took another sip, then made a face. “I can taste the coffee.”
“Yummy, isn’t it? All these vampires, Coterie and Lestats. They’re all Chicago?”
“No. The Coterie’s based in the Windy City. But there are branches of Lestats all over, just like urban gangs.”
“So what’s Ruthven doing in Meiers Corners?”
“The Coterie’s been trying to gain control of this Blood Center for a while now. I told you about the attempt at the festival in November. I think they realized with the new security that they had no chance of a direct takeover.”
“So Ruthven was reduced to bargaining.”
“Nosferatu, actually.” Logan sipped more blood. “The head honcho was supposed to be here himself. But he probably felt it was beneath his dignity to bargain with us youngsters and sent Ruthven in his place.”
“Nixie’s phone call,” I remembered. “The message for you that Julian couldn’t meet with Nosy. Nosy is Nosferatu?”
“Yes. And she calls Ruthven ‘Ruthie’. If anyone was less like a Ruthie…” Logan snorted. “Emerson would normally be the mediator. Since he’s out of town, I was deputized to sit in with Bo.” He sipped blood again. “You know, this grows on you. It may be a future drink for the Caffeine Café.”
“What would they call it? Mocha Rouge?” I smiled at him.
“Café au Sang, perhaps? Or maybe Transylvanian Espresso.” He smiled back, eyes warmed to a golden brown.
Our eyes met and held. Smiles faded.
That was the instant I fell fully, irrevocably in love with Logan Steel.
I blinked, tried to cover by babbling. “Ruthven…why do you hate him so much? I mean, more than Nosferatu? I mean what…I mean where…”
“Ah, Liese.” Logan’s bright head tilted. “You’re cute when you’re running scared.”