Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

  She made straight for the restroom, changing her mind once she saw, and smelled, it. Years of long-distance traveling had taught her how to hold it when she had to, and this qualified. She headed back to the SUV, then thought about picking up a few snacks for the rest of the trip. She was hungry, and they were only about halfway to Pénjamo. She couldn’t see Vincent stopping at a restaurant, not for her, and not tonight, so she found herself standing in the snack aisle, studying an uninspiring selection of candy and chips. She sighed, then turned away and left the store empty-handed. This wasn’t her night.

  Jerry was pumping gas when she got back to the Suburban. She looked around and found Vincent some distance away in an empty field next to the station, talking on his cell phone. Probably conferring with Michael about “sooper sekrit” vampire shit. Whatever.

  She walked over and leaned against the SUV next to where Jerry was holding the gas nozzle. This was an older station with mechanical pumps and no vapor recovery, and the strong smell of gasoline, combined with her empty stomach, made her feel slightly queasy. She moved upwind which helped a little.

  “Hey, Jerry,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll sit in the back for this next leg. I’m going to stretch out—”

  “No.”

  Lana spun around at the sound of Vincent’s deep voice. “Excuse me?”

  “Jerry will sit in the back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jerry said immediately. Lana clenched her jaw angrily. Nothing she had to say would ever convince Jerry to go against Vincent. She didn’t know if it was a vampire thing in general, a hangover of his days as a slave, or maybe of the military before that. She did know it was frustrating as hell.

  “What does it matter?” she demanded . . . of Vincent, not Jerry, because what was the point?

  “It matters,” he said flatly, then changed subjects as if the matter was decided. “We could make Pénjamo tonight, but we’re not going to. I don’t want to roll into an unknown situation with dawn about to break. We’ll stop well short of the town and head in tomorrow night.”

  Lana stared at him wordlessly. She could argue. But again, what was the point? Vincent at his most charming could be reasoned with. This Vincent? The master of the universe, my-word-is-law Vincent? Not a chance.

  She spun on her heel and climbed into the front passenger seat, but as they pulled away from the station, she decided she wasn’t going to roll over and die just to make Vincent’s life easier.

  “I think we should go all the way to Pénjamo, or at least at close as we can before sunrise. That way you can get an early start tomorrow night.”

  “And that’s why I’m driving,” Vincent said. “We’re stopping before Pénjamo.”

  “Listen, asshole,” she said, suddenly furious. “I may not be driving, but don’t forget who sleeps all day long and who doesn’t. I can be gone ten minutes after the sun rises, and where will you be then, huh? In some dinky Mexican town with no car, that’s where.”

  “Fine, princess. You pick a city to stop in. But I don’t care what you say, I’m not driving into whatever the fuck’s going on in Pénjamo with the sun riding my back.”

  “Fine,” Lana muttered and bent to her cell phone.

  They drove several more miles in silence, and then he surprised her by saying, “You play dirty, querida. It makes me kinda hot.”

  Lana gave a very unladylike snort. “Anything with a vagina and a heartbeat makes you hot.”

  “I can’t help it if women find me irresistible.”

  “Not all women,” she snapped, but cut a sideways glance at him. It seemed as if whatever bug had been up his ass had worked its way out again. Maybe he’d gotten good news during his secret phone call, or maybe he was just a moody son of a bitch. Either way, she didn’t feel like playing nice, so she kept her eyes on her cell phone and didn’t say anything, just reached up to the nav system and programmed in the directions to a motel about ninety miles north of Pénjamo that had vacant rooms.

  Vincent shifted his gaze to watch the nav display, but his only response when the map came up was a wordless grunt. Lana closed her eyes and leaned against the door, pretending to sleep. Vincent let out an amused chuckle and she remembered, too late, that he could tell she was faking it. But by then she was committed to the pretense and so kept her eyes closed until she finally dozed off.

  She woke when the SUV rolled to a stop, her eyes opening just as Vincent turned the engine off and opened his door.

  “I hope they have rooms,” he said dryly, and headed toward the office.

  Lana sat up in concern, worried that she’d made a mistake, that, despite her cell phone search, the lone motel in the small town didn’t have rooms and now they’d have to race to find a safe place for Vincent and Jerry before dawn. But then she stepped out of the SUV and got a good look at the motel, and recognized Vincent’s comment for what it was—a snarky observation about the quality of the accommodations, rather than the quantity.

  The motel looked like it had been built at least fifty years ago, if not more. The paint was peeling and the railings along the stairs to the second floor were held together by rust. She studied the building with a frown, wondering if it was better to be on the second floor when a building collapsed—so you’d at least fall on top of the rubble—or on the ground floor, so you wouldn’t have quite so far to fall.

  The SUV door opened behind her and Jerry climbed out, moving so quietly that, if not for the sound of the door, she wouldn’t have known he was there.

  “You misjudge him, you know,” he said without preface.

  She glanced at the usually non-talkative vampire. “I don’t judge him at all,” she said, knowing they were discussing Vincent.

  Jerry’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve spent the last two years in a place where my life depended on accurately guessing what the humans around me were thinking, anticipating their wants and needs before even they knew what they were. I know people, Lana. Vincent could have killed every one of Camarillo’s men, but he chose not to.”

  “He killed Camarillo. And besides, the only reason he didn’t kill the others was because we were in a hurry.”

  Jerry smiled as if she was being foolish. “He could have littered that compound with bodies, left it a ghost town, and strolled out the front gate. Instead, he didn’t even kill José.”

  “José was harmless,” she insisted, ignoring the soft voice of doubt that was whispering in the back of her brain.

  He shook his head. “I’ve seen José quite cheerfully cut the hands off a man for stealing drugs. Vincent is an honorable man, Lana.”

  “How can you know that?” she demanded, clinging to her argument. “You just met him, and besides, you call him master. How is that any different than what Camarillo was to you?”

  His smile became almost pitying. “It’s true that Vincent is my master, but I am not his slave. Yes, I owe him my loyalty, but it is freely given. And in return, I am his to protect. Surely you can see the difference? In time, I will fight for him, not because he demands it, but because he is someone I will willingly follow, someone I am honored to protect.” He turned and met her eyes directly. “He will rule this territory someday, and I will stand proudly in the ranks of his warriors.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  He shrugged. “He’s told me some things, but mostly . . . I just know.”

  Vincent emerged from the office at that point, flipping a key fob between his fingers.

  “Good news, kids,” he announced. “They have rooms!”

  Lana rolled her eyes. He might be Lord of Mexico someday, but right now, he was just a big pain in her ass.

  “Upstairs or downstairs?” she asked, still worried about the whole collapsed building scenario.

  “Upstairs. I’d rather ride the rubble down than be trapp
ed beneath it.”

  She gave him a sharp look. He’d told her he couldn’t read her thoughts. Did that mean they thought alike? Crap. That was even scarier than thinking he could read her mind.

  Following Jerry around to the back of the SUV, she pulled her duffel out and the three of them formed a little parade up a set of stairs that was every bit as rickety as they looked. They proceeded down the mezzanine until Vincent stopped at one of the few doors with a working light over it. He inserted the key with a twist and stepped into the dark room, then went directly to the bedside lamp and clicked it on, obviously for her benefit

  “Oh, look, we have cable,” Vincent said snidely. He was giving her a look from across the room, one eyebrow arched upward as if commenting on the shabby state of the motel that she’d sent them to.

  Lana avoided his gaze, though privately she agreed. “Interesting design,” she commented, taking in the faded, but once colorful, bedspread, studying the lone, oddly-placed window high up on the back wall and thinking they’d have to cover it somehow.

  “The walls are fairly thick, and the absence of windows probably keeps the room cooler,” Jerry offered as explanation.

  Lana nodded absently. Her attention was riveted on the single bed. Dead to the world or not, surely Vincent didn’t expect all three of them to—

  “You’ll sleep in there, Jerry,” Vincent said, again seeming to sense her thoughts. She turned to see what he meant, and realized the motel room was actually a suite, with a nearly identical room on the other side of a cheap wooden door that Vincent had opened on the interior wall.

  Jerry nodded and walked on through without comment, while Lana frowned at Vincent.

  “Is there a door to the outside from that room?” she asked.

  “No, no window either. I doubt Jerry will mind, however, since he’s used to far worse. And he does have his own bathroom with a window if he wants some air.”

  “You should both sleep in there, then. I’ll stay out here in case anyone comes snooping around.”

  Vincent snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m not sleeping with Jerry.”

  “Well, then I can—”

  “And neither are you,” he growled, guessing her next suggestion, even though she’d have meant it facetiously. The only thing that made sense was for both of the vamps to sleep in the bedroom with no window while she slept out here. So why was he being so difficult about it?

  “I don’t understand,” she said, holding on to her patience with a thin thread. “You’ve been pissed at me all night, barely spoken a word to me, and now suddenly, you’re insisting we sleep in the same bed? You don’t even like—”

  Without warning Vincent moved, and he was right in front of her, their bodies touching, his big, warm hand cupping her cheek. “I like you just fine, querida,” he whispered.

  Heat rolled through every inch of Lana’s body, that one touch igniting a vivid flashback of feeling Vincent’s breath hot against her neck, the sting of his bite all too quickly swamped by a firestorm of sensation that built to an orgasm unlike any she’d ever experienced. She took a blind step backward, hitting the sharp corner of the dresser with enough pain that her head cleared. She blinked and moved sideways, putting even more space between herself and the temptation of Vincent’s touch.

  “It’s nearly sunrise,” she said brusquely, giving up her argument about the sleeping arrangements. After all, what did it matter? Once it was daylight, it would be like Vincent wasn’t there anyway. “Do you want to shower?” she asked.

  “Is that an invitation?”

  He said it lightly, but the look in his eyes belied the teasing tone of his words.

  “Vincent,” she said almost desperately, but anger was beginning to seep in too. He was toying with her and she detested that.

  “Fine,” he said, dragging the word out and making his suffering clear. “I’ll shower. Don’t leave the room.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  She meant it sarcastically, but he crooked a half smile at her, then, in typical Vincent fashion, he proceeded to strip off his clothes before strolling into the small bathroom with every inch of his naked body on display. Every inch.

  Lana sucked in a breath, holding it until the door closed and the shower came on. Thank God for Jerry. Because she was weak. If the other vampire hadn’t been only a few feet away, she’d probably be in that shower with Vincent right now.

  She stared at the closed bathroom door and frowned, not knowing if she was disappointed or relieved at her current predicament. One thing she knew for sure, though; she was tired. Wiped out. Not so tired that she was going to sit on that bedspread, however. Tossing the faded and threadbare covering in a corner, she sat on the bed and untied her boots, then tugged them off one at a time, followed by her socks. She eyed the carpet doubtfully, then thought about putting the dirty socks back on her sweaty feet, and said the hell with it. It felt too good to be barefoot. So she ignored the likelihood that the carpet hadn’t been cleaned in the last decade or three and curled her unfettered toes in pleasure.

  There was no closet, only hooks on the wall near the door. She hung her jacket on one and wished she could take off the rest of her clothes, too. They’d been traveling steadily southward and temperatures were going up, along with the humidity, and it was hot and stuffy in the room. She looked around for some sort of thermostat or fan unit, but didn’t find one. Normally, she’d have opened the door to let some air in, but Vincent would probably freak if he emerged from his shower to find the door open. Not because he was naked. No, that wouldn’t bother him at all, she was sure. But because they still didn’t know if Camarillo’s people were on their trail.

  She lifted her gaze to the lone window, which Jerry had said was meant for circulation. There was a crank handle to open and close it, but looking around, she couldn’t find any means of reaching that handle way the hell up near the ceiling. She started eyeing the furniture, figuring out what might serve as a ladder, then sighed. It didn’t matter. The window would have to be covered anyway, since that stubborn-ass vampire insisted on sleeping out here instead of inside with Jerry.

  Muttering imprecations against vampires in general and one in particular, she walked over to study the window more closely and saw the remains of a miniblind stuck at the top of the frame. It was so crusted with dirt and grease that it blended into the shadow of the ceiling in the poorly-lit room, which was why she hadn’t seen it right off. It was also missing any sort of rod or rope pull, but she could release it if . . . She went back to her earlier examination of the furniture. There was a tiny table and two unmatched chairs, neither of which appeared sturdy enough to hold her weight. The table, on the other hand . . . she dragged it over to the wall under the window and clambered up. The table was actually a little too high, and she had to bend her head to avoid hitting the ceiling.

  She examined the blinds and discovered that, while the rod was total history, the rope was still there, tangled and knotted, but in working order. Fortunately, in an act of poor planning or dumb luck, she hadn’t taken her pants off yet and so still had the small knife in her pocket. Not caring about being able to raise the blind again, she simply pulled out her knife and cut the rope, which freed the slats to slither downward in an untidy shower of filthy aluminum. Lana coughed as God knew how many years of dirt and dust wafted outward. She waved a hand in front of her face and examined the now-lowered miniblind, making small adjustments to seal off as much light as possible. And as she worked, she noticed something unexpected. There was light in the sky already. Not the full-on sun beaming into her eyes kind of light, but not the barely-there gray sky kind either.

  She had a moment of worry for Vincent in the shower, concerned that he’d cut it too close and been taken unaware, but then the water turned off and she could hear him moving around. She climbed down, then hurried over to her duffel and
threw it on the bed. The door opened and she forced herself to continue rearranging her clothes, separating the clean from the dirty, counting her socks. Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that Vincent was standing a few feet away from her, and probably naked. She wondered if it was his habit to walk around that way, or if he only did it to torment her. Not that she was tormented. Not at all.

  “The shower’s all yours, Lana,” he crooned. How did he do that? Make everything sound like a seduction. He was telling her the most ordinary of things, but with his deep, smooth voice, the simple words sent goosebumps shivering over her skin.

  She fought to control her body’s reaction, knowing his vampire senses could detect things she’d rather he didn’t know. “Thanks,” she said, without looking up. “How long ’til sunrise?” she asked curiously, thinking about the sunlight beyond the window.

  “Official sunrise has passed,” he said, surprising her into looking up. “Humans calculate sunrise with the first edge of the sun over the horizon. Powerful vampires—” At this he touched his chest. And, yes, he was completely naked. “—can hold out until the full orb rises,” he explained.

  “Can you go outside in this light?” she asked, more curious than embarrassed.

  He walked over to the bed and bent to pull back the covers. Lana jerked away from it, like it was on fire, then covered her reaction by grabbing her duffel and moving it to the top of the well-used dresser. Vincent didn’t answer her question. Instead, he asked, “Is it only that I’m close to you, querida, or is it rather hot in here?”

  “It’s hot,” she confirmed. She heard the glide of skin on the sheets and dared to turn around again. Vincent was sitting up in bed, his back against the flimsy headboard, the white sheet pulled barely up to his hips in a stark contrast to the beautiful mocha skin he’d inherited from his Guatemalan mother. He gave a low, masculine chuckle that snapped her eyes up to meet his, and his smile was whiter than the sheets and a thousand times sexier. Unless one considered what those sheets were barely managing to cover.