One Bite with a Stranger

by Christine Warren

  He hurried about his task, anxious to get it over with so he could focus his attention back on his new mate, who would still require a good amount of skill and finesse before she grew accustomed to the idea of being his.

  When he slipped from Ava’s thoughts thirty minutes later, he found himself exhausted. Tampering with the woman’s mind had required more effort than he’d anticipated, and he felt he might not have been as thorough as he would have liked, but he’d laid the groundwork. Ava Markham’s suspicions of him had been set on the back burner, and she would find her business concerns took precedence over everything else in her life for at least the next few days. He figured that should give him enough time to secure things with Regina, and once she admitted her bond to him, he knew not even Ava could come between them. And just to be sure she stayed away until he had Reggie tamed, he would have Graham and his pack keep her under watch. The werewolves did a mean stakeout.

  His phone rang almost on cue.

  “Vidâme,” he answered automatically.

  “Huh. I guess the rumors that you screwed yourself into an early grave were off the mark. I’d started to wonder.”

  “Good of you. I’m sure that’s why you called.”

  Graham laughed. “Well, I did want to ask if your snack was as tasty as she looked, but somehow I don’t think you’re going to tell me.”

  “Lupines are renowned for their acute instincts…”

  “That’s what I thought.” The werewolf chuckled. “I’m assuming you spent last night with your little hors d’oeuvre again since I didn’t see you at the club.”

  Graham owned a private club on the Upper East Side called Vircolac. Dmitri had been a member for longer than Graham had been alive, but then, the club had been founded in the eighteenth century. Graham had acquired it the old-fashioned way. He’d inherited it.

  “Why is it that you persist in referring to humans as menu items?” Dmitri asked, ignoring his friend’s unspoken question. “It’s a little creepy.”

  “Creepy? You’re the one who uses them for food, and I get called creepy?”

  “And you use them for entertainment. Does that mean I should refer to them as tennis balls when I’m speaking to you? Or do you prefer Frisbees?”

  “Touché. Clearly your lady friend has made an impression on you.”

  “She is my mate.”

  Silence.

  “Have you told anyone?” Graham sounded cautious and slightly stunned.

  “No. There hasn’t been time.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” He paused again, and Dmitri could hear when the thought occurred to him. “Have you told her?”

  Dmitri laughed. “I’m surprised you thought to ask.”

  “Well, humans tend to have…interesting reactions to the whole vampire thing, let alone to a proposal of marriage from one. Most of them don’t know a thing about you guys. How did she take it?”

  This time Dmitri paused. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Then you haven’t told her. Which means you haven’t turned her either.”

  “No. And I’m not planning to do it unless she asks.”

  “Ohhh-kay, if you say so.” Skepticism laced the werewolf’s voice. “Can I buy a ticket to be there when you break the news?”

  “Smart-ass. You should be careful around me, or I will have to sic her friends on you.”

  Graham scoffed. “What? Will a bunch of nasty human women kick me in the shins or something?”

  Dmitri grinned and told his friend the story of the Fantasy Fix. The information he’d gleaned from Regina’s mind still managed to amaze him. He’d never known human women with imaginations quite that vivid. He described the basic nature of the arrangement, how he and Regina had met, and paused for Graham’s reaction.

  “Wow. Her friends sound…entertaining. If I met a human female so adventurous, I might break my rule about dating them.”

  Dmitri’s grin turned wicked. “I could set you up with one of them.”

  “Bite your tongue, fang. I was joking. I don’t do humans.”

  But Dmitri did. He had done one extremely intriguing human several times the night before, and he could barely control his impatience to do her again.

  “Well, I can respect your decision not to date them, but I will have to ask you to at least associate with them briefly,” Dmitri said. “You actually called at the perfect time. I have a favor I need to ask of you. There is a woman who—”

  “Whatever you need, you know it’s yours, brother,” Graham interrupted. “But before you get to that, you need to let me tell you why I called. It’s important.”

  Dmitri sat up straight, all worries about Ava pushed immediately aside. “You have news on the human?”

  “Yeah, and you’re going to want to brace yourself for this.” All hint of teasing had left the Lupine’s voice, his grim tone making Dmitri sit up straight in his chair.

  “What have you found?”

  “Your girl’s ex. And if you want a look at him before the homicide detectives find him, you’d better get a move on.”

  Dmitri uttered a pungent curse in a dialect that hadn’t been used west of the Velikaya in more than five hundred years. “Where?”

  Graham rattled off an address. “I’ve got a team on the way to try and delay the police, but they won’t be able to hold them long. You’ve got thirty minutes—max. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  “Make it ten.”

  Anyone looking in on the scene in the abandoned tenement building on the western edge of Washington Heights would likely have taken comfort in the thorough job being done by the investigators who swarmed the first floor. They might have felt a touch less comforted, however, had they realized that instead of New York’s finest combing for evidence, these investigators belonged to New York’s fiercest.

  Graham met Dmitri at the door and led him to the body. “It’s only been a couple of hours, but Teddy tells me there’s no scent to be found.”

  Looking down at the man sprawled blackened and still in the middle of the dirty floor, Dmitri shook his head. “There would not be. This was not an ordinary murder. He was slain. By another vampire.”

  “That was my first thought, but what makes you so certain?”

  “Other than the fact that his heart has been removed and destroyed? And he has been burned, which is how my people dispose of those slain who are not old enough to turn to ash on their own. The only other damage here is from the fire. There are no bite wounds, and no obvious signs of a weapon. A shifter would have used teeth and claws in a kill; a human—a gun, a knife, or a blunt object. I see no evidence of any of those.”

  “True. I guess the blood is what kept me from saying ‘vamp’ straight out.”

  Dmitri shrugged. “Had he been older, his killer might have drunk from him, but at his age, his blood has no value. Human blood is nourishing to us, and the blood of a powerful vampire can carry some of that power into anyone who feeds off him. A fledgling, though, is virtually useless—no human nutrients, no power.”

  Graham nodded. “So at least we know whoever killed him isn’t another newbie.”

  “Of that, I am certain. In fact, I suspect his killer might also be the one who made him.” He crouched down beside the shape that had once been Greg Martin and took a closer look at the wound in his chest. “The wound is clean. And do you see his hands and face?”

  “You mean what’s left of them? I had to ID the guy from his height and weight and the ID we found in the other room. I’m not sure his own mother would have recognized him in this state.”

  “Even so, you can ignore the shape of his features and look at the muscle and bone left by the fire. There are no marks. I believe he must not have fought back. To me, that indicates he felt comfortable with his killer. He did not see this coming.”

  “Well, after hearing you talk about him, I got the impression he wasn’t that bright.” Graham shook his head and looked back at his friend. “So what do we do now? I thought you were hoping this
guy would lead us to the rogue who turned him.”

  “I was. Indeed, I still am.”

  “How do you figure? If the rogue is also the one who killed him, it’s not like they left a scent we can track.”

  Dmitri pushed back to his feet. “There is more to life than your nose tells you, bratok.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what your cousin tells you.” Logan Hunter stepped into the room from the hallway behind them and handed Graham a scrap of paper. Dmitri didn’t bother to protest. There was a protocol among the pack. “It looks like Mr. Sunshine here was using the basement as his hidey-hole during the day. I sent Jamie and Garth down to check it out. They found that shoved into a crack in the foundation.”

  While Graham examined the paper, Dmitri frowned at Logan. “I thought you were supposed to be trailing the boy from the nightclub.”

  Logan lifted one dark brow. “And Justin thought you were going to answer your phone. We found the kid. Sort of. It turns out he started an internship with the UN today.”

  Of course, Dmitri scowled. It had been that kind of day. “Did you speak to him?”

  “Nope. And we’re not going to either. He’s currently on a plane headed for Georgia.”

  Graham looked up. “Atlanta?”

  “Eurasia.”

  Right. There went one lead on the rogues.

  Graham was frowning. “I thought they’d worked out that whole thing with Russia.”

  “They’ve been working it out since the eighteenth century.”

  Dmitri snorted. “Try the eleventh.”

  The Alpha shrugged. “You’re the expert. But since this matter now has your complete attention, why don’t you see what you make of that?”

  Looking down at the paper, Dmitri read the words and symbols scrawled there and felt a moment of confusion. “This is impossible.”

  “Does that mean you know what it says?”

  “Of course, but it cannot be.”

  “What cannot be?” the Lupines chorused.

  “The symbol on this paper indicates that Gregory Martin was sired by Yelisaveta Chernigov. But that is impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Yelisaveta has been in a prison outside Moscow for the last four hundred years.”

  “Houston, we have a problem,” Graham said.

  Dmitri reached for his phone. The call to Moscow went through quickly but was answered very slowly. Considering that it was the middle of the morning in western Russia, Dmitri made an effort to leash his impatience.

  “Allo.” A voice barked in his ear.

  “Pyotr, eto govorit Dmitri.”

  There was a short pause. “Vysyo v poryadke?”

  “I’m fine,” Dmitri continued in Russian, “but I need your help.”

  “Name it, friend.”

  Before he was turned, Pyotr Soliskiy had been a member of Empress Elizabeth’s personal Cossack guard. Dmitri had helped to hide him from the empress after his turning.

  “I need to know if Yelisaveta remains at Kolomenskoye.”

  “Of course.” Pyotr’s frown came across even over the long-distance phone lines. “I received the weekly report from her guards just yesterday. What’s going on?”

  “I will explain another time, my friend,” Dmitri said. “Right now, I have trouble on my hands that needs attending to. Spasibo, moy drug.”

  Graham barely waited until Dmitri flipped the phone closed. “Well, what did he say? What did you say?”

  “This symbol is a kind of seal,” Dmitri explained. “It has been used for centuries by the head of a powerful Kievan family called Chernigov. Since the death of her older brother in 1447, Yelisaveta Ivanovna has been that person. But she was imprisoned in the late seventeenth century for the attempted slaying of the head of a French vampire clan.”

  Graham humphed. “I thought you guys didn’t bother with prisons. Why didn’t you just slay her?”

  “Our laws state that the only crime for which a vampire may be slain is the wanton murder of humans. Not only was Etienne du Perigord a vampire, but he remained alive another two hundred and fifty years before he was captured and beheaded by a group of zealous hunters.”

  Logan blinked. “Okay, but if she’s been in prison in Russia since, you know, before electricity, how could she be turning humans in Manhattan—what?—six months ago?”

  “That is precisely what I wish to discover.”

  Chapter 16

  Halfway through the appetizers, Reggie forced herself to admit that Marc Abrahms was a really nice guy. By the time their waiter at the swanky little French restaurant delivered their entrées, she’d even worked up a sense of regret that she couldn’t make herself excited about the prospect of sleeping with him.

  Smiling at him across their table, she half-listened to his story about his car breaking down in rural Alabama (which was genuinely amusing), and tried to figure out why she couldn’t muster up even a flicker of attraction for Ava’s friend. She knew Ava would want a full report, even though Reggie hadn’t heard from the other woman since Sunday. Her calls had gone unanswered, and she had figured Ava just didn’t want to hear any complaints.

  Not that Reggie had any right to complain about having Marc as her Fantasy Fix. He was definitely good-looking. In fact, he was more her type than…than some other people she’d met recently but who hadn’t called her in three days. Blond streaks highlighted his light brown hair, but they looked like the kind that came from hours in the sun rather than hours in a stylist’s chair. His skin was lightly tanned, confirming the impression that he didn’t spend his life locked up at the office. His blue eyes sparkled with animation, and his face looked just lived-in enough to save him from being pretty. He was built like perfection, strong and fit without being muscle-bound.

  All in all, the man ranked up there at “yummy,” but Reggie had to work to push away the thought that his eyes would be sexier if they were dark enough to look black in the dim restaurant lighting.

  Stifling a sigh, she looked down at her plate and wondered if she could at least work up some enthusiasm for the braised pheasant with haricots verts and baby potatoes. So far, she hadn’t had any luck.

  “You’re quiet. I guess my adventures with Dewayne and Bubba have lost their sparkling allure.”

  Startled, Reggie raised her head to find him watching her with a raised eyebrow and an expression of faint amusement. “I’m sorry. I’ve been really rude,” she apologized. “You’ve been a lot of fun, but I guess my mind was someplace else.”

  And it really was unforgivable of her, especially since she hadn’t heard from the source of her torment since he’d read her the riot act for not realizing they were in a “relationship.” Misha didn’t deserve her attention, and Marc didn’t deserve her rudeness. Even if her enthusiasm for this date didn’t threaten to boil over, Marc was a nice enough guy that she ought to be polite. Forcing her distracting thoughts from her mind, she traded her fork for her wine glass and smiled at him.

  “I’m back, I promise. No more mental vacations.”

  Marc returned her smile and gracefully changed the subject. “So why don’t you fill in some of the blanks Ava left me with? Where are you from originally?”

  Oh, good, small talk. Reggie thought she could handle small talk.

  “Why? Is my accent not New Yawk enough?” she teased. “I grew up in Connecticut.”

  “Ah, that explains it.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, Reggie’s curiosity overcame her. “Explains what?”

  “You. You’ve got a little bit of princess in you. Must be that country club air you were born in.”

  Reggie couldn’t get offended when his expression so clearly told her he was teasing. Still, she mocked outrage. “Country club! I’ll have you know, not all of Connecticut is Greenwich or Cos Cob, thank you very much. Some of us Nutmeggers come from families that worked for a living. I certainly don’t expect to be treated like a princess.” She gave him a righteous look while she set
down her wine glass and schooled her face into an exaggerated picture of haughty arrogance. “I think Queen of the Universe is more fitting, don’t you?”

  Marc chuckled. “Sorry, your majesty.” He drained his glass of wine, but waved the waiter away when he would have refilled it. When he focused back on Reggie, his expression looked more serious. “You know, when Ava told me about you, she said you were just out of a bad relationship, and she worried you didn’t get out enough. But now that I’ve met you, and seen you in person, I have a hard time believing you’re lacking for invitations. So it’s got to be a lack of interest on your part.”

  Reggie took a second to adjust to his honesty and to digest what he was saying. “Well, it’s not as if I have men beating down my door…”

  “If you don’t, it’s not because they don’t want to.” She shook her head like she planned to protest, and he held up a hand. “I hope you’re not going to play at being modest now. We both know you’re beautiful.”

  He stated it so matter-of-factly that Reggie just blinked. “Thank you. But not every man out there shares your taste for women who look like me.”

  “Sexy?”

  “Round.”

  “Wrong word.” He shook his head and ran his gaze over her. “You are definitely not round. Curvy? Uh-huh. Lush? Yes. Mouthwatering? Absolutely. But not round.”

  “Certainly not round. And even more certainly not available.”

  Reggie almost jumped out of her seat when the voice that had been haunting her dreams all week sounded from just above her head. Whipping around, she saw Dmitri standing beside her chair with one arm resting on the back and his gaze fixed on Marc. His posture and attitude had become so familiar, she spoke before she thought about it.

  “Misha, you have got to stop doing that.”

  Dmitri flashed Reggie an amused glance. I am pleased that you remember how to address me, dushka, but you should not contradict me in public.

  Reggie rolled her eyes and prepared to argue, feeling more energetic and alive than she had since Sunday night. So what if he was doing impossible things again, like talking to her in her head? She could deal with that, sort of.