by Sloan Archer
“He’s around,” I said with a wave of a hand. Hoping he’d drop the subject, I probed, “So, what’s in the case? All sorts of adorable syringes, hmm?”
He smiled. Good God he was stunning—like, ridiculously, inhumanly stunning. I wondered if he’d been that hot when he was mortal, whenever that had been. I reflected on how different Joseph’s looks were from Robert’s, yet how they were both obscenely attractive.
Joseph’s coffee mane was wild and unruly, similar to the boys in Swindled 5; Robert’s conservative jet-black hair rarely had a strand out of place, as if he was immune to bed head. Joseph’s chocolate eyes were warm and playful; Robert’s steely grey gaze was severe and intense, which gave most people pause when they were considering messing with him (which I thought was pretty hot, because, well, alpha). It was like . . . Like, if the two vamps were desserts, say . . . Robert would be one of those compact but ultra-rich chocolate tortes found on the menus of posh restaurants: gleaming square plate, sprig of mint, fancy drizzle of raspberry coulis, razor-sharp triangle of bitter chocolate poking out the top. Joseph, on the other hand, would be a delightfully filthy ice cream sundae, heaped with all sorts of ooey-gooey toppings: hot fudge, caramel, marshmallow fluff. Both delicious, but in two completely different ways.
Maybe that’s why I found Joseph so attractive: because I was pissed at Robert, Joseph’s polar opposite. No, I decided, few women—if any—would need a specific reason to lust after this tartan hottie.
Joseph opened the case, which was padded with black sponge. Stuck in the sponge were several rows of empty test tubes. He didn’t expect me to fill all those, did he?
“As you can see, if I used a syringe it would take quite some time to fill the tubes,” he said.
“Were you, uh, planning on . . .” I opened my mouth and hissed like a Hollywood vampire.
He chuckled. “No, no.” He pulled a rectangle-shaped bag from a Velcro pocket at the top of the case. It had a long, skinny hose attached to one end. “If this is all right by you, I’ll hook this into to your arm and then disengage once the bag is full.”
Just looking at the thing made me woozy, but it wasn’t like there was a better alternative. “Sure. That works.” I tried my best to seem cool with the situation, like what we were doing was perfectly normal. Tra-la-la, just another day with an ancient vampire extorting my blood. “Will my blood stay cold in that case? It won’t spoil?” It better not, because I’m not doing this again, at least not until the next VGO visit.
“I’m not taking it very far. I’ve got cold storage set up for it.” As if reading my mind, he said, “Don’t worry, you wouldn’t have to give more, even if it did spoil.”
I wondered if Joseph actually was reading my mind. Some vampires could, though they usually they made it known. I doubted the divulgence was out of politeness, but more because vampires liked to boast. Having such a gift in the vampire world was akin to a human having a Nobel Prize—if you’ve got it, flaunt it.
I made a motion like I was wiping sweat off my forehead. “Shew.” I looked away as Joseph hooked everything up and tapped my vein. He positioned the bag on the table so my blood would flow into it with ease. I was impressed by how gentle he was.
“Sit back and relax,” he said. “This will take some time.”
I doubted I could ever be comfortable in Joseph’s presence. “Okay,” I smiled, and then tilted my head toward the refrigerator. “Since I can’t get up, please feel free to help yourself to more blood if you’d like another drink.”
“Will do.” Causally, he mentioned, “It’s funny, isn’t it, how your blood has zero effect on me?”
Joseph had drunk from me while Robert and I were at the VGO headquarters. I’d asked him to do it, to prove that my blood could turn vampires human temporarily. My blood, however, hadn’t changed the Scotsman, and I was nearly lynch-mobbed by a group of angry vampires because of it. Thankfully, my blood did work on the other volunteer, a lady vamp from Japan, or else I would have been dead.
“I wonder why that is,” I said offhandedly.
“The VGO are trying to figure that out. Leopold Sorin isn’t the only vampire who can build a lab.”
I was going to ask what they were going to do to Leopold to punish him for making the serum, but then I decided that I really didn’t want to know. I found myself doing that a lot when it came to vampires—choosing to stay ignorant about their happenings. I slept better that way.
“How is the woman who took my blood?” I asked.
“Emi? She’s great. She had a pleasant human holiday in Majorca. Even got a tan. But she still prefers vampirism.”
“I imagine,” I said. It was promising that the VGO were doing lab tests. If they acquired a way to synthesize my blood, maybe they’d stop taking mine. But, then again, if the VGO no longer needed me . . . What then?
Joseph and I made polite small talk about his flight (long) and the current weather in Scotland (stormy). I loved listening to him speak, because of that gorgeous accent of his. The first time I’d ever heard Joseph’s voice on the phone, I thought that he sounded like he was singing to me. He sounded the same today. It was kind of soothing.
And erotic.
Robert-Robert-Robert, I reminded myself.
“So, how long are you planning on staying in town?” I asked. “You aren’t heading back tonight, are you? You must not be, if you’ve got cold storage—unless there’s one in your plane?”
His chin-length hair bounced as he shook his head. “No, I’m staying in town for about a week.”
“So long?”
“Yes. I’m staying for a wedding.”
“Get out of here!” I exclaimed. “Don’t tell me . . . Is it Jerome Bellamy?”
“Yes. That’s the one.”
“I’m going to that wedding!” I said excitedly. Now I’d have at least one acquaintance at the reception, since I’d be most likely be attending it solo. “I didn’t realize that you knew him.”
“I don’t,” he said. “But when a vampire gets married—especially to a human—the VGO like to have a member present.”
“Well, Jerry’s great. I haven’t met his fiancé, but if Jerry’s getting hitched to him, he must be pretty wonderful.” I did not mention that Jerry had taken out a VGO assassin while we were in Bali, saving my life and Robert’s. This was need-to-know information, and Joseph certainly did not need to know this. He’d probably been the one who’d deployed the assassin in the first place.
Joseph asked, “How do you know Jerome? Or is it Jerry?”
“It’s both,” I answered. “Jerry to his friends, but he likes Jerome also.”
“Ah.”
I explained that I used to work as a vampire decoy, and that Jerry and I had formed a bond when I accompanied him to an art show.
My heart sank when Joseph asked, “Should I expect to see both you and Robert at the wedding?”
The whole creating a cover story thing was really starting to be a thorn in my side. I could commiserate with David; having to lie on the spot totally sucked. I’d never been a good liar. I was more of a lie by omission kind of girl.
I tried not to sound flustered as I answered, “Oh, no, he’s not going with me.” Would Robert actually have enough nerve to show his face at the wedding with Serena on his arm? That would kill me. I would look at the two of them, holding hands and being all kissy-face, and my heart would stop. Or I’d die of humiliation. I would literally die if I saw the two of them together.
Or I would kill the both of them.
Joseph scratched the bridge of his broad, masculine nose. “Really? Why not?” I nearly yelped when his cool fingertips tapped the top of my left hand. “And while we are on the subject, why aren’t you wearing an engagement ring, if you and Robert are engaged?”
A vampire didn’t live to be Joseph’s age by being oblivious. These were all very valid questions. A trifle personal, but valid—though Joseph had just stuck a needle in my arm, so maybe he felt we were tight like th
at. And, although Joseph was technically ‘the enemy,’ I felt myself drawn to him. This wasn’t purely because he was sexy as hell. (Although, that didn’t hurt.) There was something about him that I liked—as in, I’d like to go out for beers and pizza with him, if he were human.
“Well . . .” Don’t say it! If you know what’s good for you, you will not get personal with Joseph. He’s VGO! “Uh . . .”
He teased, “I’m not asking you to explain the meaning of life, Mercy.”
I thought of three excuses I could give. One: Robert will be out of town. Two: Robert doesn’t like Jerry’s fiancé. And three: Robert will have to work.
I could have even told Joseph to mind his own damn business (though I positively would not have phrased it that way). Yet the way Joseph’s earnest chocolate eyes were taking me in—a look a trusting golden retriever might give its owner—compelled me to spare him the bullshit. And before I had a chance to firmly clamp my teeth down on my tongue, I was saying, “Actually, Joseph, Robert and I are sort of taking a break right now. From each other.”
He looked around. “But you—”
“Yes, I know, I’m still living in his house. It’s very fresh.” As in last night fresh—a loaf of bread would have taken longer to mold, I did not add. I fought hard not to ask Joseph if he’d heard from Serena, which would have made me look both presumptuous and desperate. It wasn’t my place to quiz Joseph about other VGO members. We were being friendly, but by no means did I want to push things.
I steeled myself for the barrage of meddlesome questions I was certain he was going to throw my way, the way a human would. People can be so nosey when it comes to other people’s breakups. If you ask me, unless a person’s name has the words “my best friend” in front of it, they shouldn’t be asking about your heartache, am I right?
Joseph beheld me calmly and said, “Would you like to be my date for the wedding?”
I opened my mouth to outline all the reasons why that would be a bad idea, the most obvious one being that Robert and I had just broken up.
Joseph held up a hand. “Before you answer, I want you to know that I don’t mean ‘date’ in the traditional sense. I only mean that it would be practical if you and I went together. I imagine there won’t be too many vampires I will know at this wedding, as it is being held in San Francisco and I am from Edinburgh. And if they do know me, they’ll probably avoid me like a leper. Nothing puts a vamp on edge like a VGO member lurking in the room.”
I had to chuckle at that.
“And . . . okay-okay-okay,” he continued sheepishly, “I am a man, Mercy. I cannot deny that I find you attractive. It would bolster my ego tenfold, having such a beautiful woman on my arm.” He ran his fingers through his thick tresses. His eyes twinkled and he grinned, “And let me assure you, I won’t ‘put the moves’ on you, as you humans say.”
I tried to convince myself that it would be smart if I said yes, as being in the good graces of the VGO could only help my cause. But, deep down, I wanted to go to the wedding with Joseph. Whether it was because I was still stinging from Robert’s rebuffing or if I just plum wanted to be by Joseph’s side, I didn’t know.
Whatever the reason, I found myself grinning back: “Sure. Why not?”
7
In true tradition of a Scotsman, Joseph dressed for the wedding in a formal kilt.
It was quite a visual treat, opening the door to find him standing there decked out in tartan. He looked fantastic. I’d never gotten to go out with a man who was wearing a kilt before—
Not that I was “going out” with Joseph, I reminded myself.
He’d tamed his wild hair with a light application of gel. It was still slightly unruly, finger-combed into a style I’d describe as rugged-urban. And he smelled good, too: mannish and sharp—mint and cognac, mixed with worn leather—like how I imagined old school handmade cake soap would have smelled straight out of its paper wrapping . . . Suddenly, I was conjuring an image of Joseph up in the Scottish Highlands, surrounded by lush greenery and cloaked in ethereal mist. He was bathing in a stream, this naked Highland Joseph (sounds like an action figure, doesn’t it, Highland Joseph?), using that brick of cake soap to lather away splatters of mud from his chiseled torso. Submerged from the waist down, his pale skin was rosy and goose-fleshed from the coolness of the water. He dipped his head under water and then tossed his hair back, rainbow-colored water drops splattering away from his crown. He swaggered towards the shore, his lower body becoming more and more visible with each step, water trickling down the edges of his hipbones, down, down, down toward his—
“May I come in?” Joseph asked. He was studying me like he suspected that I’d been huffing superglue prior to his arrival. Maybe that’s what I should have done, since being sober was prompting me to behave like an alley cat in heat.
Why did I always have to answer the door to him like that? I stepped aside. Get ahold of yourself, girl!
“Yes. I’m sorry. Please, do come in.” I wondered if Joseph wore cologne, or if that was his natural scent. Perhaps he thought cologne was too—
Stop it right now, Mercy!
I led Joseph toward the kitchen and offered him a glass of blood. I jumped when the chair he pulled back from the table screeched.
“Sorry,” he apologized with a grin. He seemed amused by my nervousness.
And just why was I so nervous? And why did I feel like a child rooting around in the cookie jar, anxious that I’d be caught with crumbs on my mouth? It wasn’t like I was cheating on Robert, now was it? (It’s hard to cheat when you don’t even know if you’re still in a relationship.) And it’s not like I was planning on touching the guy. Honest.
And it would behoove me to keep the VGO happy, right?
Mm-hmm, you can tell yourself whatever you need to, my inner critic snorted. But don’t act like you aren’t enjoying this.
I flapped a hand and tittered, “I don’t know why I’m so on edge this evening!” Actually, I could think of about a dozen explanations for why I was nervous, all of them beginning with: I’m on edge because of Joseph’s eyes/hair/body . . .
I busied myself with fetching Joseph’s drink. He made polite comments about how nice I looked, and then I told him he looked nice, too, leaving out that I thought he’d look right at home in a highland spring. He asked for specifics about the wedding—attendance numbers, human to vampire ratio, etcetera—and inquired what I’d gotten Jerry and Tim for a wedding gift.
“The gift isn’t only from me,” I told him. “It’s from Robert, too. I guess.”
I scowled after saying Robert’s name. Almost a week, and still no call, text, or email. I’d awakened each morning hopeful, certain that this would be the morning that Robert would finally be in touch. Then, when I saw that he hadn’t made contact, I would scamper into the bathroom, feeling nauseous. Losing Robert hadn’t just sickened my heart, but also my stomach.
I’d pitifully carried the phone around with me everywhere, even into the bathroom, sealing it in a plastic bag when I showered. Every time it rang, my heart plummeted south to my stomach. It was usually Liz, calling to update me on the David situation. David, like Robert, was finished with his current relationship. But, unlike Robert, at least David had gone through the trouble of providing his lady tangible proof that it was officially over: divorce papers. Poor Liz was devastated.
I still had two days to wait before getting others involved in the search for Robert, though I was beginning to falter on my decision to ask for outside help. The biggest reason for this was the money sitting in my bank account. Or, as I had referenced it to Liz, the one million ways Robert had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me.
“So . . . What is it? The gift?” Joseph prompted, once again giving me his Have you been huffing superglue? stare.
I blinked. “Sorry, I got lost in my own mind for a minute there. It’s a marble replica of the Venus of Willendorf statue. Heard of it?”
“Busty gal with a kind of basket thing
on her head?” Joseph reached up and patted at his hair, like he was wearing a hat. Thankfully, he didn’t mime Venus’s breasts.
I joined Joseph at the table, doing that half-sitting pose on the chair that ladies do when they don’t want to crinkle the back of their dress. A one-cheek perch, if you will. I slid the blood over to him and then took a sip of my wine. I needed a bit of liquid courage before Joseph and I commenced our evening plans.
“That’s the one. Jerry and Tim used a gift registry, thankfully,” I said. “Or else I would have had absolutely no idea what to get them.”
“I was wondering why you’d chosen that statue in particular,” he chuckled. “Seemed very . . . arbitrary.”
“Right! It’s definitely not a gift I would have picked out.” I made a gesture like I was presenting a gift. “Here’s a stone naked lady, Jerry and Tim, congratulations on your union.”
Joseph laughed. “Right!”
“What did you get them?”
“A non-stick cookware set,” he said. “I’m assuming it’s something Tim registered for.”
“Right. Because Jerry can’t eat.” I prattled on, “Some people think gift registries are tacky, like the bride and groom are demanding presents—well, the groom and groom in this situation. But I prefer them. I’d much rather have somebody tell me exactly what they want, that way I won’t have to waste my time going around store to store, and then end up buying them a present they end up returning anyway. If I had it my way, all holidays would have gift registries: birthdays, Christmas . . .” I fell silent, realizing that I was starting to babble. If I kept carrying on in the same fashion, poor Joseph’s ears would soon start to bleed.
I tended to talk too much when I was nervous, and I hadn’t been this nervous since my first date with Robert.
Not that this is a date, I reminded myself again.
Without my yapping, the house was uncomfortably still. I nearly put on music, but I wondered if Joseph would think that I was trying to seduce him, like those cheesy guys in eighties television shows did with soft rock albums that featured lots of saxophone solos.