by Lori Foster
So he was more than slightly unprepared for her to tell him to drop dead.
The strong words, the venom in them, made his mouth drop open. “Excuse me?” he asked, stunned at the icy stare she was giving him. Somehow he had to have misunderstood what she’d said. Her French accent had sounded a little rusty.
“You heard me,” she said, slapping down gambling chips with more force than was necessary. “I hope you die. I want you to turn around, walk away, and drop to the floor cold and dead on your way out.”
Well, there was no misunderstanding that. But it bewildered and scared the shit out of him. This was not the way this meeting was supposed to go. “I can honestly say that is not how I expected you would greet me after all these years.” Michael reached out and put his hand over hers, stroking the skin. “What time do you go on break? We need to talk, Maria.”
She yanked her hand out from under his. “One, do not call me that. My name is Katie now. Two, we have absolutely nothing on this planet to talk about. Three, I hate you and I’m going to scream if you don’t leave right now.”
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were flashing. Her behavior was so irrational, Michael lost some of his fear. Clearly, this was some ridiculous misunderstanding. Maria had always been feisty and prone to dramatics, and he just needed five minutes with her to calm her down.
“I’m not going to leave. I need you to explain to me why you’re so upset.”
She gasped. “You need me to explain it? Are you joking ?”
The man who was playing cards shifted on his chair. “Is there a problem here?” he asked Maria, or Katie as she clearly preferred to be called. “Do you need me to get rid of this guy?”
Like Michael needed some yahoo with a cowboy hat to interfere in his relationship with Maria—Katie—whoever the hell she was now. “Mind your own goddamn business,” he told him in English.
“It’s fine,” Katie said at the same time. “He’s leaving.”
“No, I’m not.” Michael stubbornly stood his ground. “Not until you explain to me why you’re so angry.”
Her head tilted, her green eyes flashing. She abandoned the discretion of French and spoke in English. “You have exactly five seconds to get out of here.”
Michael crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Suit yourself.” Katie shifted behind the table.
Although Michael wasn’t familiar with casinos, he had been in enough dicey situations to know when an alert had been sent. She had pushed some kind of button, he was certain of it. Looking behind him, he already saw a security guard moving toward them.
“You didn’t,” he told her, in disbelief.
The corner of her mouth turned up. “Oh, yes, I did.”
“Call him off, Maria. Katie.” Michael gave her a stern look, one that would have made her quail back in their youth.
It didn’t have the same effect. She actually leaned around him as if he hadn’t spoken and told the approaching guard, “This customer needs to be escorted out of the casino. Cheating,” she added.
Oh, now that pissed him off. He had traveled halfway around the goddamn world on no sleep to give her a cache of family treasures and personal mementoes, and to tell her how much he’d loved and missed her, and this is what he got? Hauled out of a casino that proclaimed itself a bedazzled version of Paris by a mindless security guard, and nasty words from the woman he had pined—literally pined—over for a freaking century?
“I don’t think you meant to say that,” he said carefully, even as the security guard nodded for him to follow him off the floor.
Katie stared back, her lip suddenly trembling, giving away more emotion than she had probably intended. “Oh, yes, I did.”
Michael hesitated, wanting to argue, wanting to wait for her to become reasonable, wanting to rewind and do this differently, but the security guard touched his arm to urge him along.
He gave the man an impatient glare. “Get your hands off of me.” Then he turned back to Katie, but she was already preoccupied again with the deck of cards in front of her.
“Katie.”
She looked up and said sarcastically, “So nice seeing you. Let’s do this again, like, I don’t know—never.”
It was that last verbal kick in the nuts that had Michael losing all control over his dignity. He had waited years and years for this moment, to see the woman he had cherished and loved and vowed to marry against all familial protests, to know that she was well and truly alive and healthy and his.
And she might as well have spit in his face.
Instead of walking out with his head held high under his own recognizance, Michael had the insufferable man grabbing his elbow again to escort him out.
“Come on, buddy, out, or I’m going to get rough with you.”
Oh, really? Michael felt the rising anger melding with his heartache and shock, and he flashed the guard a look, one that in the briefest of moments, allowed the man to see into his mind, to feel the thirst for blood, the painful depths of eternity, the loneliness of an oftentimes violent, frequently restless life. The guard’s eyes widened, and he backed up, dropping Michael’s arm.
It gave him the briefest of satisfactions until he heard Katie whisper so low that no mortal could hear, “Shame on you, Michael St. Markov.”
The fact that she was chastising him should have been jabbing to his already wounded heart, but the sound of his name on her lips, in a voice he knew so well, and so long silenced from his life, brought immense comfort and pleasure. This wasn’t over. He wouldn’t let it be. Not until he had answers.
“I’ll be back, my love,” he told her.
She bristled. “And I’ll have you thrown out again. And don’t call me your love. I’m not your anything.”
Michael gave her a small, sly smile. “Then I’ll come back again and again until you agree to speak with me. We have things to say to one another.”
And he walked out ahead of the guard before she could even respond.
THREE
KATIE’S hands trembled as she cut the deck. Oh, my God, she could not believe Michael was there, in Vegas. Standing in the Paris casino smiling at her like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t betrayed her and her family, contributing to the confinement and the eventual deaths of her entire family, save herself and Peter.
He looked the same, just as beautiful and charming and sexual as he always had. Though maybe with a little more of an edge to him. A touch harder, a tinge more cynical. She’d never known him as a vampire, either him or herself, and that gave both of them a glossier, surreal quality. Everything about him was slightly improved, smoother and shinier, yet lacking in that warmth she had remembered for all these years.
Of course, that might not be vampirism. That might be either his true character or the toll of all the ensuing years. God knew she was far warier than she had been at eighteen.
In those days, when Michael walked into a room she felt as soft and sweet as a bag of cotton candy, ready to dissolve with one touch of his tongue.
She had loved him with all the naïveté of her young and caring heart. Her family had lived in isolation, her parents doting and indulgent, surrounding her and her siblings with a happy, loving home and family. She hadn’t known anything about the true depth of evil and the depravity of men.
All that had changed when her family had been imprisoned, and Michael had been a part of that betrayal, a fact she was never going to forget or forgive.
Was she bitter?
Hell, yeah.
Sometimes that scared her, the scathing cynicism that seemed to have settled into the marrow of her character. But even scarier still was the realization that when she had seen Michael, a tiny portion of her heart, long contained with lock and key, had opened up and leaped for joy.
“Is there room at this table?” a deep, gravelly voice asked.
Distracted, Katie glanced up, her finger going to hit the security button again in a strange subconscious gesture that st
artled her. She stopped herself from actually pushing it, but when she saw the face staring back at her, she wished she hadn’t exercised the restraint.
Her mother’s so-called holy advisor looked different, his beard shaped more like a goatee, his hair long and in dreadlocks, but there was no mistaking that nose, those eyes. That voice. “Well, well,” Katie said, squeezing her fists behind the table so he wouldn’t see the tremor left from her encounter with Michael. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Rasputin grinned. “It’s delightful to see you alive and looking so well. I had no idea you were in Las Vegas. You should have sent a Christmas card with your new address.”
“I wasn’t aware Hell had door-to-door postal service.”
He laughed, leaning to the man in the cowboy hat parked next to him. “We’re old friends. We go way back.”
“Seems to be a lot of that going around tonight,” the man said, starting to show exasperation that he was no longer the center of attention.
Katie couldn’t believe she had been saddled with a visit from Rasputin mere minutes after encountering Michael. Were there any other assholes from her past who wanted to join in the fun? Maybe the guard who’d shot her in cold blood or her pervy uncle who used to try to cop a feel?
Gather them all up and she could throw a People Who Suck party.
Then again, maybe it was better to not tempt fate.
At least Rasputin wasn’t dangerous, he was just irritating. He also had questionable hygiene and enjoyed anything that smacked of sexual deviance. Even as an adolescent Katie had pegged him as a total creeper, but her mother had believed in his dubious mystic powers.
Now, ninety years later, he looked even more the dirty old man to Katie’s mature mind, though not nearly as frightening. It was a remarkable coincidence that two men from the royal palace days of her youth would show up across the world in her casino and approach her. So maybe it wasn’t a coincidence at all, though she couldn’t imagine what the sudden interest in her would be.
“So, Katie,” Rasputin said, emphasizing her fake name with zero subtlety. “How is your brother these days?”
Irritation increased. What the hell did he want with Peter? “He’s fine. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m working. I do not want to get fired.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll stop by later so we can catch up on old times.”
“Great. Can’t wait.” She had no desire to talk to him, but she was curious to know how both he and Michael had found her. Neither had just stumbled across her—they had both approached her with the confidence of someone who knew she would be there.
She supposed it had been inevitable. In the modern world of electronic information, it was damn near impossible to stay hidden. It was probably a miracle she and Nick and Peter had remained anonymous as long as they had.
But two unfortunate blasts from the past in one day? Seriously, it was more than any woman should have to tolerate. It was like gaining ten pounds and getting a bad haircut all in one two-hour stretch.
Rasputin leaned over the table and smiled, displaying teeth that were elongated and pearly white, a vast improvement over the crooked sallow smile he’d had in the past. Did he have vampire veneers? That must have cost a fortune, so clearly whatever he was up to in the present, it was profitable.
“I was always most fond of you,” he told her. “I’m looking forward to renewing our very special friendship.”
Eew. Lecher alert. “Don’t be,” she said. “I’m not good company. I’m bitter and bitchy and tend to whine a lot.”
The move surprised her, but in retrospect, she supposed he had been hitting on her back in the day, too, she had just been too naïve to fully understand it. She had only known then that he made her uncomfortable. Now there was no mistaking the leer in his eyes. Old Ras wanted a little somethin’ somethin’ and there was no way he was ever getting it from her.
Scratching her chest where the necklace was irritating her skin again, she shot him what she hoped was a threatening glare.
Rasputin just laughed, not looking the least bit concerned. “I’ll see you later, Katie.”
Twisting the silver cross earring in his lobe, he gave her a sly smile and left, the back of his black trench coat billowing out behind him. He wore combat boots to complete the look, and Katie had to give him credit. Somehow he had managed to stay exactly the same, yet modify his look to the modern interpretation. The dreadlocks on him were the epitome of attention seeking, an attempt to give credence to his mystical left-of-center lifestyle.
Freak then and a freak now.
How comforting to know some things never changed.
Allowing herself an eye roll at his retreat, Katie refocused on the players in front of her. “I’m so sorry about that,” she told them.
They grumbled their acceptance of her apology, and then Cowboy Hat stood up.
“I’m going to move on along,” he told her. “I think we can skip that drink later.”
“Really? Why?” Not that she had wanted to go at all, but hell, she didn’t want to be rejected either.
“Honey, a blind man could see the sparks flying between you and that man.”
“Him?” she asked, pointing at Rasputin’s back, using hand gestures to indicate his dreadlocks. “Absolutely not! Yuck, no, never.”
“Not him. The first one.”
Shit. He had to go there.
“Nah. Old news. Nothing special.”
If giving Michael her virginity, vowing to defy her family, and planning a secret elopement was nothing special.
“Maybe you ought to talk to the man. Nobody lives forever, you know. Might as well enjoy it.”
Except that she was going to live forever, with a bitter heart and a nonexistent sex life.
Now there was a cheery thought.
MICHAEL paced the lobby back and forth, trying to collect his thoughts. His emotions, on the other hand, were just uncollectable. They were rattling around, strung out and panicked, winging out in all different directions. For years he had pictured the moment when he would see Katie again. It always started with him drinking in the sight of her as she gasped in surprise. Then tears of happiness, confessions of love to one another, and a happily ever after. The way they had left off. The way it was supposed to be.
For years he hadn’t even been certain she was still alive, and now he knew. He had total blissful confirmation that she still existed on this earth, yet she had rejected him. Told him to go away.
It hurt worse than anything he could have ever imagined, and he needed to hear why she was so angry with him. It had to be a misunderstanding, it just had to be. This wasn’t a case of a woman whose feelings had faded over the years of no contact. That kind of angry emotion radiating from her led him to believe she thought something had happened, or something had been said that in fact hadn’t.
Approaching her at the casino had been stupid, but he had been so eager to see her, to connect, to see the love for him shining in her eyes.
Which made him a total dumbass.
His cell phone rang in his pocket, and he pulled it out. It was Sergei. “Yeah?”
“He’s going up to her in the casino. Did you confirm that she is the one? She’s Maria?”
Michael’s chest tightened. “Yes, she’s Maria. No question about it.”
“Okay. So what does he want with her?”
“I don’t know.” That was the question. Michael had spent a lifetime watching Rasputin’s movements, out of concern for Katie and her brother. That was why he had Sergei working on the inside of Rasputin’s porn business, to monitor his activities.
At the time, back before the revolution, it had made sense that Rasputin wanted to ingratiate himself to royalty, but with the passage of decades, why would he care about contacting Katie and Peter? They didn’t have anything Rasputin could possibly want.
Or did they?
The thought made Michael’s vampire blood turn even colder than it already was. “Is he sti
ll with her?”
“No, he’s walking away.”
Good. “Can you follow him?”
Michael couldn’t, since Rasputin knew who he was. He would be recognized as one of the Russian princes who had tried to murder Rasputin when he was influencing the tsarina. It would be suspicious if he were spotted in Vegas with no apparent purpose.
“Sure. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to leave Maria, or Katie, a gift.”
He was patient, a skill learned over the years as a vampire with eternity to while away. Katie had to be entitled to a break from her job, and when she left the gambling floor, he would be ready.
RASPUTIN tossed back a shot of vodka in the bar at the edge of the casino floor and felt it warm his insides. It was almost as satisfying as the jolt of lust he’d experienced when he had leaned forward and felt the exchange of energy between his necklace and Katie’s. It had warmed his flesh, trailing down his chest to his cock. He hadn’t thought about bedding Katie, but now that he’d seen her again, observed how she’d grown into a sassy woman instead of a moony girl, he might have to reconsider.
He could take the necklace by theft, force, or seduction.
All held their own appeal, but pleasures of the flesh were and always would be his personal weakness.
The mother had been creative and enthusiastic, though prone to emotion and incessant chatter.
Perhaps the daughter would have her mother’s positive attributes, and none of the flaws.
The woman sitting next to him at the bar tapped his arm.
He glanced at her casually. Middle-aged, attractive, showing an impressive amount of quality cleavage.
“Hi,” she said, even that simple word slurring under her intoxication. She grabbed his wrist for balance.
Rasputin smiled. Drunk and touching him. It was just too easy.
“Hi, beautiful. Are you enjoying yourself tonight?”
He conjured the power of the vial on the chain around his neck, a millennium of ancient vampire blood mingling together and giving him the ability to pick through any mortal’s mind and alter their mood, their thoughts.