You're So Vein

by Christine Warren

  Her husband grumbled. “I don’t have to buzz Sam. There’s a bottle in the back of the pantry. I try to keep some on hand for Misha and Reggie.”

  Ava had long since given up trying to follow the conversation. She heard the words, but they just buzzed around her head like so much white noise.

  God, she felt so weak. So tired and sick. She needed to lie down. Somewhere far away from the smell of that hot chocolate. Her stomach lurched and she moaned softly.

  She heard the sounds of footsteps on the tiles, fabric shifting, a cabinet door opening and closing. She also felt unfamiliar arms pull her off the stool and scoop her up with zero ceremony and barely more gentleness. A few moments later, she felt herself placed on a low, soft surface.

  A cool hand touched her forehead, surprising her with the knowledge that she had somehow spiked a fever in the last five minutes. Was that even possible?

  She heard a sound like liquid pouring and someone pressed a glass to her lips.

  “Drink,” she heard. The voice sounded like Missy’s. “It will make you feel better.”

  Ava thought of the cocoa, and her stomach immediately clenched in protest. She tried to turn her head away, but the glass followed.

  “Drink,” Missy repeated, gently but insistently.

  Ava tried to turn away again, but a hand—far too rough and large to belong to Missy—grasped her lightly by the chin and held her still. Some of the liquid splashed onto Ava’s lips, and instinctively she licked it off. Every cell in her body wept with pleasure.

  Blood.

  Distantly, she heard a sound like a whimper, and she refused to believe it could possibly have come from her. Especially not when she had already opened her mouth to the press of the glass and taken her first greedy gulp.

  Missy slid an arm beneath Ava’s neck and helped her raise her head so she could finish the glass. As soon as it was empty, Graham refilled it to the rim, and Ava drained that as well. Slowly, the horrible, debilitating weakness began to leave her, and she blew out a shuddering breath. She opened her eyes carefully and had to squint against the light of the table lamp beside the sofa where she lay. They had carried her into the den, she realized, and pushed herself dazedly into a sitting position.

  “Welcome back,” Missy murmured, pursing her lips. “Did you have a nice trip? Because I have to tell you, from the way it looked to me, I’d be asking for my money back if I were you.”

  Ava just blinked at her friend. “What happened?”

  “You passed out. From hunger,” Graham snapped. She looked up to find him looming over her, a dark wine bottle in his hand and a fierce scowl on his face. “Right after you nearly leapt on my wife like a rabid dog. Have you forgotten that already?”

  Shock and fear blindsided her. Sweet Mother Mary, what had she nearly done?

  “I would never hurt Missy!” Her voice sounded unwaveringly certain, and probably loud enough to be heard in Queens. But she remembered being in the kitchen with her friend, remembered them talking and having Missy give her the same annoying lecture Dima had already subjected her to a million times. Sickeningly, she remembered the swelling of impatience and anger that had accompanied the roiling in her stomach and made it so hard for her to focus. “I snapped at her, sure, and I apologized, but it wasn’t like I attacked her!”

  “No, thankfully, she recognized what was happening before things went that far and called me to intervene.”

  “That’s just bullshit. I would kick the crap out of myself before I’d lay a hand on Missy!”

  Ava tried not to think about whether she was trying to convince Graham and Missy … or herself.

  “I know you wouldn’t have wanted to hurt me,” Missy said gently, “but I don’t think you even knew what you were saying, Av. When you yelled at me, it wasn’t just you getting pissed at me. You were in a rage. Your face was paler than death, but your eyes were practically glowing red, and your fangs were practically dripping with venom.”

  “My fangs?!?”

  Her friend nodded. “Like I said, I know you wouldn’t have wanted to hurt me, but I don’t think you were really in control of yourself, Ava. You had let it go too long. The hunger was making you a little crazy. Not to mention sick as a dog.”

  Ava felt her stomach clench again, only this time the sensation had nothing to do with appetite or the lack thereof; it was shame, pure and simple.

  Maybe with a little panic thrown in. You know, just for good measure.

  “I’m … I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “Which is why you shouldn’t be running around the city by yourself,” Missy pointed out. “Dima didn’t lay down a bunch of rules just to drive you crazy. Av, you really do have a lot to learn about your new life. Like when to eat.”

  Ava glanced down at the glass she now held and then up at the bottle in Graham’s hand. “And what, apparently. I didn’t know the Bordeaux region was famous for a liquid other than grapes.”

  He set the bottle down on the low cocktail table in front of her. “It’s not from Bordeaux. It’s bottled for the club by a small company in Oregon. The main ingredient is blood—the real stuff, donated, of course—processed to remove the clotting factors, and mixed with pinot noir, spices, and a few other secret ingredients. It’s not meant to be a dietary staple, so get that hopeful look off your face. But in an emergency, it can substitute for whole blood until you can get your hands on some.”

  She blinked. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, provided you never do something so stupid again,” he snapped. “You know, I’ve known you for a long time, Ava, and I always knew you were arrogant, but I never pegged you for stupid.”

  Missy made a hushing sound, but Graham ignored her.

  “While this might be a change of pace for you, it’s time you started to think about a bit more than yourself now and then. You can’t fuck around like this. Being a vampire isn’t all about superpowers and mind reading and petulant fucking pity parties. It comes with responsibilities, one of which is that you take care of yourself by feeding often enough that you don’t put innocent bystanders, family, and friends in danger because of your hunger. What part of that is so goddamn hard for you to understand?”

  Ava didn’t answer. She didn’t have an answer. What she had was an entire boatload of confusion that hadn’t been there when she’d stalked out of Dima’s apartment, or even the first time she’d awoken inside it. She had, she realized as she stared up into Graham’s angry, handsome face, been acting like a spoiled brat for most of the last forty-eight hours. All she had been thinking about was how much things sucked for her. How she hadn’t wanted to become a vampire, she didn’t want to drink blood, she didn’t want to learn a bunch of stupid rules, and she didn’t think she should have to since she didn’t want to ever spend any time around other vampires anyway.

  Seriously, she’d been acting like a three-year-old. So damned what if none of this was what she wanted? It was what she had, and the only way she was going to be able to deal with the rest of her life was if she accepted it and moved on. Which, she supposed, was what Dima had been trying to tell her.

  Ugh. She really hated it that he’d been right.

  Taking a deep breath, Ava lifted her chin and met the Lupine’s narrow golden gaze. “You’re right,” she said, accompanying the admission with a small, regal nod. “I’ve been behaving badly, and I apologize.”

  Graham stared at her. For a full second, he just stared at her, his expression slowly morphing from one of angry accusation to one of faintly terrified confusion. He turned to his wife.

  “What the hell does she mean by that?” he demanded.

  Missy smiled gently. “I think she means that she’s sorry.”

  He looked back at Ava. Then back at Missy. “Did she fall and hit her head in the kitchen?”

  “No.”

  Back to Ava. “When you were attacked?”

  Missy snorted.

  “Not that I recall,” Ava sa
id, feeling a stirring of amusement.

  “We’re going to have to go to her apartment.” Nodding decisively, Graham reached for his wife. “I’ll sniff for gas leaks, and you can check under her bed for an alien pod.”

  “Oh, go sit on a chain saw,” Ava grumbled, trying to hide a smile, and failing when Graham sighed in relief.

  “Oh, thank God. It really is you. You had me scared for a minute.”

  Missy slapped her husband lightly on the arm and leaned forward to pour her friend more of the Vircolac club’s special house wine. “Have one more glass,” she urged. “It should keep you until Dima can get you some real food.”

  At the mention of her sire’s name—and the reminder of what kind of mood he would likely be in when she saw him again—Ava shifted uncomfortably. “Right,” she said, setting her glass aside with suspicious care. “I should probably head back to his loft, now that you mention it.”

  Missy raised her brows. “I thought you said you wanted to go back to your own place tonight?”

  “Well, yes, but I wouldn’t want Dima to worry when he gets back and finds me missing—”

  “You mean you didn’t tell him where you were going?” Graham demanded, his expression once again shifting into his thundercloud impersonation.

  “He was already gone when I woke up tonight.”

  “But you left him a note, didn’t you?”

  Ava glanced toward the door.

  “I swear to God, Ava,” the Lupine growled, but whatever he had intended to say next was interrupted by a familiar brown head that poked through the open doorway from the hall.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Samantha Carstairs-Baker said, her voice as cheerful as her wide, white smile. Samantha was Graham’s personal assistant and another regular attendee at girls’ night. Unlike most of that crowd, she was married to a human. She herself, however, was a werewolf. “I thought I should bring this over. Rogers said it was just dropped off at the back door of the club by a messenger.”

  Ava looked down at the black bag in the Lupine woman’s hands and grinned. “My Spade!” she cried, getting up and hurrying over to take it from her. “Oh, my God, I never thought I would see it again! I had totally written it off. Did Rogers get the messenger’s name?”

  Samantha shook her head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Because I’d be happy to give him a reward. My PDA is in here, not to mention one of my favorite pairs of earrings. I really didn’t want to have to replace all this stuff.”

  “Before you go tossing out reward money, why don’t you check to make sure all that stuff is really still in there?” Missy cautioned. “Just because someone returned the bag doesn’t mean they returned all the contents.”

  Ava rifled through the purse. “PDA, notebook, earrings, passport, keys … I think everything’s here.”

  “Check your wallet,” Graham advised.

  Pulling out the thick rectangle of red leather, Ava popped the snap and flipped it open. “Well, the cash is gone, of course.”

  “How much was in there?”

  She shrugged. “A couple hundred dollars. Annoying, of course, but hardly surprising.” She ran her fingers over the slots and through the compartments. “What is surprising is that I think all my credit cards are here. Will wonders never cease?”

  Samantha shook her head wryly. “Apparently not.”

  Happy to be reunited with her belongings—she’d felt half-naked ever since she’d realized her purse had been missing—Ava put her wallet back inside the bag. When the heavy accessory somehow wedged itself between the covers of her small leather memo pad and several sheets of folded paper, she pulled the miniature notebook out to straighten them. Dog-eared papers drove her crazy.

  Smoothing the top sheet into place, Ava saw the dark script on the crisp white surface and frowned.

  “What’s the matter?” Missy asked.

  “This isn’t my handwriting.”

  With a frown, Ava ripped the top sheet from the notepad and placed the rest of her belongings on the coffee table.

  “Whose is it? Your assistant’s?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t recognize it.”

  “Well, what does it say?” Samantha sounded intrigued.

  Ava skimmed quickly over the text. She felt herself go a little pale. “I’m not quite sure.”

  Graham cocked an eyebrow. “Is it not in English?”

  “Of course it is. But that doesn’t mean I know what to make of it. I’ve never heard of the person who signed it.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t meant for you,” Missy suggested.

  “I could accept that, if it weren’t directed to ‘Dear Ava.’ ”

  Samantha gave a lengthy, exasperated sigh. “Well, are you going to tell us what it says or just stand around and be cryptic?”

  Ava read, “ ‘Dear Ava, Congratulations on your recent elevation in the world. As a member of my household, it is your duty to present yourself to me at your earliest opportunity. I receive callers at the address below for two hours each evening, beginning thirty minutes after dusk. Please try to be prompt. I believe your change in circumstances leaves us much to discuss. Sincerely …’ ” She shook her head. “It’s initials, I think, but whoever wrote them down needs to have a serious rethink about her calligraphy hobby. It looks kind of like a ‘KO.’ No, wait, ‘YO.’ ‘YC’? ‘KC’? I can’t be positive.”

  Samantha pursed her lips. “Huh. I don’t suppose that’s any less confusing to you than it is to me?” She glanced at Graham and Missy. “To us.”

  “Not really. Like I said, I have no idea who it’s from. I mean, the language would make me think it had something to do with my … turning, but other than you and Dima—and Reggie and Misha—who else would know about that?”

  Missy shook her head, then turned when the phone in the corner buzzed. Recognizing the light that indicated the intercom function that connected the house to the club next door was flashing, she pressed the speaker button. “Yes?”

  “I am sorry to disturb you, madam,” said a very proper voice with an accent that was just dying to be British but couldn’t quite manage it. “I wished to speak with your husband, if I might.”

  “I’m here, Rogers,” Graham said. “What do you need?”

  “I’m afraid we’re having a … small disturbance, sir,” the club’s butler explained after a brief hesitation.

  He sounded reluctant to talk over an open speaker line. “There is a gentleman requesting entrance who is not a member. He is being quite insistent.”

  “Tell him the rules, Rogers. If he wants to join, he can come fill out an application just like everyone else.”

  “Yes, sir, I did explain the standard procedure to him. He says that he does not wish to join, that he is here looking for someone. He also claims to know you personally.”

  “What’s his name?”

  There was a slight hesitation and a muffled noise in the background before Rogers spoke again. “Vladimir Rurikovich.”

  Ava was certain she didn’t make a sound—though inside she was cursing like a dockworker—but she obviously didn’t need to. Graham’s attention snapped immediately to her and an unholy look of anticipation lit his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Rogers,” he said, suddenly full of charm and cheer. “I should have told you about my new acquaintance. Mr. Rurikovich is visiting from out of town, but we’re going to be granting him the privileges of a full membership while he’s here in town. Dima is also very close with one of my wife’s dearest friends, so feel free to treat him as such. In fact, why don’t you send him over to the house right now?”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The intercom clicked off and Ava treated Graham to a look she usually reserved for overly persistent salespeople and men who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “I hope you’re enjoying yourself, Winters,” she snapped, her tone promising a retribution too dire to be put into words.

  “Actually”—he smiled, turning to step
into the hall in preparation for welcoming his newest guest—“for some reason, my day has just begun to really look up.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  He would begin by shaking her so hard, Dima decided as he stalked through the hallway the very stiff butler of the Vircolac club had directed him to, that he could not help but rattle some sense into her thick, pretty skull. Then he would turn her over his knee and paddle her ass until she thought of him—and his orders—every time she even considered sitting down. For at least a week.

  Or maybe he would paddle her first. Then lecture her, then shake her. So, so many options, and at the moment he was mad enough to try every single one of the variations he was considering, just to see which one worked the best. In case this ever happened again.

  “If it does, I’ll just save us both the trouble and kill her,” he muttered, pausing at a closed door and lifting his hand to knock. Before his fist could fall, the door opened and the Lupine he had seen before at his apartment smiled and held out his hand.

  “Believe me, if you ever decide to go through with it,” the Lupine said, shaking his hand in an almost commiserating manner, “you have plenty of volunteers lined up to help, and to testify on your behalf in court. Or to provide an alibi. Whichever you prefer.”

  Dima paused, breathed deeply, sighed. “I may need all three. Where is she?”

  “Right this way.”

  He followed his host across a beautifully furnished hall and through an open door into a small, comfortable study currently occupied by three women, two of whom were familiar to him, one of whom he wanted to strangle, and a third he’d never seen before.

  “Dima, you remember my wife, Missy,” Graham said, with the polished manners of a man hosting a cocktail party instead of eagerly watching in anticipation of a bloody confrontation. “And this is Samantha Carstairs-Baker, my assistant and general right hand.”

  “Nice to meet you,” the brunette said. She had pretty features, a noteworthy smile, and the decided scent of a Lupine. She watched him with avid curiosity.

  Dima managed a small, civil nod for her and a grunt of acknowledgment for Missy. Then he turned his focus on the object of his fury.