“Good afternoon, Paul. Thanks, I was just going to get a refill. New pot if you want any.”
“Think I’ll prepare a carafe of bloodcoffee in case anyone wants a cup besides me.” I pour Rafe’s mug and then proceed to heat water to pre-warm the carafe.
“How was your first night?” Rafe asks.
“Not bad. The guys and I watched a movie. Jet lag was a bitch for Tommy and Bob. They crashed way before I turned in.” A phone rings on the other side of the French doors leading into the courtyard. “I wandered outside in the dark for a bit. Explored the property a little. Windy as all hell.”
Vivian’s voice carries through the glass doors. She opens them and steps inside, closing the doors quickly. Weak light spilled in, somehow looking more like twilight than late afternoon. Must be nice to be outside while the sun’s still up. She’s wearing a blue-patterned wrap dress, tied at the waist, and matching heels.
“What do you mean someone shot Pat in the ass?” Vivian’s voice is raised and Rafe and I clearly hear both sides of the conversation. Viv absentmindedly waves at me, but doesn’t shoo me off, so I’m guessing it’s safe to stay and listen. I continue in my task, hoping to be as unobtrusive as possible.
“I meant just what I said,” replies Jon from the other end. “Why can’t I feel you in my thoughts? You promised we’d stay connected.”
“It’s the distance, Jon. Nothing more. Tell me about Pat’s injury. How bad is it?”
“The shot went clean through, no bullet was found. But it sure as hell seemed like someone was shooting directly at us.”
“Did you go after the shooter?”
“Romeo’s pack did. Eric and I got Pat to safety first, unaware of how bad the wound was or if the bullet was still inside.” Jon chuckles a bit. “Bastard bled like a stuck pig and cried the whole time Dr. Cook stitched his butt cheek.”
“Well, I’m relieved he’s fine, but I don’t like the sound of this. It’s too early for hunting season. Our employees wouldn’t be after skinny caribou or reindeer right now.”
“Yeah, I thought of that.”
“Could someone have been after one of your wolf-dogs?”
A snort comes across the line. “Someone who? It’s not like we’re easily accessible up here.”
“Yes… yes…” Vivian trails off, looking to Rafe. They remain quiet for a moment. I’m betting they’re talking mind to mind. Kind of rude with someone else in the room, but damned if I’m stupid enough to point that out.
“Viv?” Jon prompts.
“I want you and Asa to question the employees. One-on-one if needed. It could have been an accident, but I’m not taking a chance. We need to find out what’s going on.”
“Calm down, your highness. We’re not dumb and helpless just because you and Rafe are gone. Asa has already started questioning them. He’s doing it alone so he can slip into their minds with no witnesses.”
Tension leaks out of Vivian, and she settles onto a stool next to Rafe. “Good. I meant no offense, Jon. I’m just worried.”
Facing my task at the counter, I raise my brows over her almost conciliatory tone—she’s much more gruff and short with the rest of us. Must be that whole “vampire servant” status that makes her not as bitchy to him.
“He’s gone through about forty people already,” Jon says. “I waited to call in the hopes I’d have more news for you.”
“What did Romeo’s pack report?”
“Lots of confusing smells. Like heavy odors of synthetic deer and elk musk. Messed up their noses for the most part.”
“Hmmm… could mean someone was really hunting.”
“Yeah, maybe.
“Okay, keep us posted.”
“Sure thing.”
The call ends as I remove the heated blood bag from the microwave. I pour the red, salty goodness into the warm carafe and fill the rest with fresh coffee.
“Does anyone working for us hate Jon’s dogs that much?” Rafe asks.
I turn to the couple, raising the pitcher to see if Viv wants some. She shakes her head, and I pour myself a steaming mug.
Viv takes a small sip out of Rafe’s mug of plain coffee. “Not that I know of.”
A rich chocovine-colored liquid tumbles into my ceramic cup, filling my head with the delicious aroma of delectable coffee and blood. Yumm… my fangs descend, causing me to sputter in embarrassment. Stupid. Stupid!
Rafe smiles over my faux pas, and a wrinkle of concern flits across Vivian’s brow. I whip around to face the sink, hoping to hide my slip. The clatter of her high heels echoes across the tile, and in a second I feel her cool hand rest on my arm. Calmness seeps through me, and my fangs retract, removing the awkward “kid with a boner” feeling.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Paul. You’re doing fabulous. It’s the added stress of a new place and jumping all the time zones.”
I relax my shoulders, unaware my body clenched in anger over the involuntary reactions. “Thanks. I still feel like a dork when it happens like that.”
Vivian walks away, removing her soothing touch as she goes. “Make sure you get enough bottled blood today, Paul. It might help you adjust.” She looks my way as she climbs onto the stool near her husband.
I raise my bloodcoffee and nod before turning my attention toward cooking. Maybe Bob will do a tasting for me tonight? I rummage through the cupboards, checking out the equipment and ingredients I have to work with.
“What are you looking at, love?” Viv directs to Rafe.
“The Tribunal’s website regarding a big party tonight.”
I rear and bang my head. “Did you just say the Tribunal has a website? What the hell?”
Vivian glances at the laptop screen. “It’s probably Rolando’s doing. The crafty bastard is always thinking of ways to pull vampires from all over the world. The site is password protected from what I understand.”
“Really?” I turn back to the cabinets. “Why would they do that?”
“Whatever their reasons,” answers Rafe, “they’ve got a huge spread going on tonight. Even posted a program of the night’s activities and a ‘menu.’”
I make my way to the laptop. I can’t deny, he’s piqued my interest with the mention of a menu.
“ ‘Fall into Blood Lust’, eh?” I read the glowing red letters dripping blood on the screen. “I don’t know—looks a little cheesy to me.”
Vivian walks over to the house phone and flips through a small book nearby. “I’m betting the cheesiness is on purpose so it would look fake.”
“Could be considered ‘camp’ by some,” Rafe says.
I look over the dishes listed on the screen. “Blood pudding? Is it even possible we could eat it?”
“They’d use a thickening agent and serve it chilled.” A shudder ripples across his broad shoulders. “Ugh... I remember from years past the stench in their formal dining room from all the blood. We usually avoid being in it for long. Just plain nasty.”
Vivian picks up the phone and dials some numbers. “Which is why you used the coroner’s gel under your nose, if I remember correctly.”
“Look at this,” I say, pointing to the computer, “Blood soup, blood cocktails, blood fountains, ‘live meals’…. What the hell is that?”
“Just what you think. Live donors ready for feasting.”
My slow heart skips a beat at the thought of such abundance. Thankfully, the coffee took the edge off, and I don’t go all “bustafang” again.
“Hello, Dalton?” Vivian speaks into the phone. “Get the seaplane ready for travel in one hour. Call the hangar in Puerto Santa Cruz and make sure the Gulfstream is fuelled and ready to go. Have a flight plan submitted for Buenos Aires.”
“Whoa!” I say, scrambling to figure out if I brought fancy enough clothes to attend. “We’re leaving to go, just like that? We just got here.”
“No, darling.” My boss gives me a sad little smile. “It will only be Rafe and me. Surprising them early at this party is perfect.”
&
nbsp; “Perfect? How is that? Don’t you need an invite or something?” I gesture to the laptop. “Says here it’s formal.”
“Rafe and I have plenty of clothes.” She walks out, ending the conversation when she leaves the room. The clatter of her heels across the tiles softens as she strolls further away.
“Really—just like that?” I flail my arms and go back to the other side of the island. “She walks off and doesn’t say another word?”
Rafe languidly stretches and looks my way with a raised eyebrow. “What were you thinking, Paul? That she’d call us all together and talk it over?”
I temper my behavior in the face of his relaxed sureness. He’s right, of course. Did I really think my boss would talk over her decision with the lowest member of her seethe and possibly include me in going? My disappointment surprises me.
“No… er, I… I guess not.”
“Listen, old man. The place is full of political maneuvering, backstabbing, and the occasional killing. It’s not the type of event any master would bring a fledgling to. At least, not one they valued.”
His last words help take the sting off my feelings, childish as that sounds. “Yeah, I suppose.”
The French doors to the courtyard open and vague half-light spills in. One of the exotic twins glides in. She’s dressed in a clingy dress, dark hair spilling down her back, and spiked heels on her bronzed feet.
My tongue freezes in my mouth and an image of drinking from her neck until she writhes in pleasure beneath me fills my mind with desire.
“Hi,” I stammer. “I’m married.” What the hell did I just say?
The brown-haired beauty smiles at me like a sticky-fingered toddler holding a drawing covered in mud. “Yes, you’re Paul, no?”
I nod. She looks to Rafe, thankfully ignoring my slack-jawed stupidity. “I thought I’d come in to see about turning the tint off on the atrium ceiling. Is that acceptable, sir?”
Rafe looks at his watch. “Yes, the sun has dropped past the horizon. Thank you for checking with me, Carmella.”
“Yes, sir.”
She turns to leave, not even glancing my way, and I’m left scrambling to regain the shreds of my dignity. Redirection might work. “So… what was that she said about tint?”
“All the windows in the house, even the atrium panels, are tinted to block out light. Vivian figured we might have others here who couldn’t handle even the slightest bit of sunlight, so we planned it in the recent remodel.”
“Makes sense. But then, why the blackout cloth under the designer drapes?”
“Because the tint still lets some light in, although it’s muted and very filtered.” Rafe closes up his laptop. “Drew?” he raises his voice, pitching over the infrequent clink of pool balls from the game wing. “Can you come here, please?”
Drew arrives, and leans in the doorway. “You need me?”
“Vivian and I are leaving for Buenos Aires—alone.”
Knowing where this is going, I step to the window and pull back the drapes, peering out at the lovely Carmella as she picks up what looks to be an eReader, a notepad, and a pen. When she bends at the waist I get a view of her perfectly-rounded, heart-shaped butt. Man! I heard the South American trend was more hips and ass than the U.S. preference of big breasts, but I hadn’t realized all of them would have such gorgeous derrieres.
Rafe’s voice continues behind me while I stare. “You’ll be in charge, Drew. Keep an eye on everyone and make sure we don’t have any… mingling… with the caretaker’s daughter.” My head whips around, sure his pause was directed at me. “Vivian would be most displeased.”
“Hey, I’m married,” I reply. “Don’t need to worry about me. And that one out there is not the daughter.”
“Uh-huh.” Rafe’s look doesn’t match his neutral tone. “Let’s keep it that way.”
“No harm in looking.” I walk back to the island and deliberately turn my back on the fuckable ass outside.
“How long will you be gone?” Drew asks, ignoring my entire exchange.
I reach for the fridge doors and mentally catalog what’s inside, trying my best to not think about the twin. “I’m happily married. I’m happily married,” plays over and over in my head.
“Not sure. Come, walk with me.” Footsteps sound and Rafe’s voice grows fainter as the two disappear into the dining room. “We can always buy what we don’t take with us. I have no idea if this will be a two or three day trip or something longer. We’ll call twice a day to check in and keep you abreast of what’s going on. Let me go over security protocols and systems….”
“Hey, Paul.” Chelly’s lyrical voice pulls my attention from staring blindly at the vegetables and meats I can no longer consume. “Whatcha doing?”
I beam a radiant smile at her, glad to have someone here I can call a friend to get my mind off of the luscious strangers I must learn to ignore. “Thinking about cooking dinner. Care to help?”
Chapter Eight
Asa
The sun feels high, not quite at full strength due to the time of year, but it’s certainly kill-worthy for me. A short, restorative sleep helped relieve the mental strain from questioning the employees, but I really need bagged blood to feel better. I don’t drink much from live donors anymore after learning how painful my bite is to humans. I haven’t heard of another vampire whose feeding causes such agony and I’ve often wondered why mine is so off. I waited to confess my aberration to Vivian, wanting to put it off as long as I can.
The dull quiet of the basement is welcome after the last few hours listening to Pat bitch about his gunshot wound.
It took me all night to question the employees one-by-one, and it drained my strength, causing me to fall into rest like the walking dead. Still no answers. On the surface, it seems like none of them is responsible for hunting off-season. No one held Jon or his wolf dogs in particular disregard, most exhibited an indifference to the well-trained animals and the head groundskeeper.
Could someone have gone on leave recently and not be on my summer staff list? That would make sense. Someone sneakily taking vacation time and staying behind to wreak havoc… but it doesn’t add up. Surely, I would’ve encountered at least a twinge of hatred during questioning to indicate someone knew something?
I settle deeper into the swivel chair in front of the desk and stare mindlessly above the four monitors. Things could have been far worse for Pat. The bullet could’ve landed higher and shattered his spine, paralyzing him. Would that have led to a follow-up kill shot?
My slow-moving blood runs cold at the thought of being so close to losing an old friend. Even a shock-jock like Patrick has his good moments. What if they had been aiming for Eric? It could easily be him the doctor stitched up on the med table.
This morning, Jon issued a no-hunting policy on the property while guests are in attendance. The new restriction seemed to be received well, as if the majority figured that was a given when we had paying clients and jobs to do.
Who could have done this and was it truly a mistake?
Then why were three shots fired?
Eric walks in. “Pat’s ass doesn’t look good.”
A snort of laughter escapes me before I have a chance to clamp it down. “What did you expect with a ripped-up fat lady tattoo?” I swivel my chair around to face my brother. “It didn’t look great to begin with.”
“Nah, that’s a given. I mean the wound. Neither of us has been shot before, so I have nothing to compare it to. But hey, how long do you think a compound fracture would take to set?”
“Are we talking about a human or a Were?”
“Were.”
“You tell me, dog-boy. I’m the vampire.” I smile at the absurdity of my own words.
“Speaking of which, have you eaten since you did all that mesmerizing and questioning? You look like pale vomit.”
“Gee, thanks.” I stand and stretch, realizing he’s right—I do need to get some blood in me before the stinky dog smell coming off him and Pat no
longer repulses me and I decide to snack on them. “Back to the broken limb?”
“Yeah. While in Romeo’s pack, I fell out a window.”
I raise an eyebrow as I walk past him into the hall, heading for the mini-fridge and microwave set up in the conference room.
He continues talking while following me. “Don’t ask. Lots of alcohol and a stupid drinking game. But after the bone was set, I could use my arm again in a few hours.”
Eric trails behind me and then sits in one of the leather office chairs. I take a bag of blood from the fridge. “Sounds a little slower than vamp healing abilities, but yours could get stronger as you age.” I pop a small vent valve and place the bag in the microwave. The whir of the machine causes an almost Pavlovian reaction and my fangs start to itch.
“My point is, I think Pat’s stitched wounds should have stopped weeping blood and started healing a long time ago.”
“What does Jon say?”
The stocky wolf in question answers from the doorway, “What does Jon say about what?” He’s wearing a scowl and appears to be taking the shooting of Pat very personally. Which I don’t blame him for—either someone purposely tried to shoot his packmate or one of his dogs. Hard to not take that personally.
“Pat’s injury,” Eric says when the microwave timer dings. “It’s not healing.”
With my back to the men, I pour the dark red liquid into a travel mug. A rich copper penny smell fills the air and I know their sensitive noses can pick it up easily. I slap the cover onto the tall stainless steel container, hoping to cut down on the released odor.
It’s one thing to be a vampire and quite another to open a vein on someone whenever hungry. I much prefer the more civilized bagged blood approach Vivian provides for the guests, but still feel creepy when drinking in front of an audience. I down a long slow drink before turning around, not wanting to look like a greedy bloodsucker.
Jon continues, hopefully ignoring my actions. “Sometimes these things take time. Healing can depend on the Were’s strength reserves when they were shot. I didn’t think he was worn out or hungry, but he could have been. Has Dr. Cook looked at it again?”
Big Game (The V V Inn, Book 3) Page 7