by Mara Leigh
“Interesting.” He leans back.
“Excuse me?” My voice comes out hoarse. Can he tell I’m aroused!
“Please forgive me, Ms. Cross.” He’s all business again. “Seeing you injured, I acted on instinct.”
“Of course.” My heart is racing a million beats a minute, and I have so much energy flowing through me I’m finding it hard to stay still. My body, so normally cautious—especially around men—wants to get closer to him, to touch him, to have him touch me again.
The waiter appears and pulls out the table.
“Ms. Cross.” Zuben stands and bows his head quickly. “I do hope that we can move past my faux pas. I very much look forward to seeing you at the gala.”
He turns to Shana. “I will give you my decision at the event.” He steps out from behind the table and once again directs all his attention on me. “Perhaps I will make a bid on your lot in the live auction, Ms. Cross.”
“Call me Ember, please.” I try to regain control of my trembling voice. “But I’m not going to the gala.”
His head cocks to the side. “Why ever not?”
My chest tightens. “I’m not a party sort of person.”
“But the organization’s accountant should be present at such an important event.” He turns to Shana.
I take a step back, my throat tightening. Shana and I have already hashed this out, and she agreed to let me off the hook, just as she has for our past galas and nighttime board meetings, but shame is stretching its monstrous hands inside me. My irrational fear of the night is impacting my job.
“I’ve worked with our fundraising manager to develop airtight procedures and controls for the event,” I tell Zuben. “I assure you that the auction bids and other donations will be properly handled.”
“Since you are so well prepared—” Zuben smiles “—you will be free to enjoy the evening.”
“Ember can’t go to the gala,” Shana interjects.
“Why ever not?” he asks, his persistence leaving me both flattered and full of shame.
Shana’s lips twist, a clear sign she’s trying to figure out how to explain, without being rude or betraying my confidence—both things she’s loath to do. “Are you making her attendance a condition of your donation? Because that’s not—”
“I’m afraid of the dark,” I blurt to rescue my boss. It’s my issue and I certainly don’t want to do anything to jeopardize the donation.
Zuben’s attention snaps toward me. “I don’t understand. Surely the event will have adequate lighting?”
“Yes. Of course.” I shake my head. “It’s just that…” I’ve never felt more like a toddler, and his gaze is filled with intense interest, like a scientist with a newfound discovery.
“I apologize,” he says, “if I have again overstepped.”
“No apology required,” I say offering an embarrassed smile. My fear is foolish, not to mention childish. I draw a long breath. “I’ll see you there.”
A smile spreads across his unnaturally handsome face, and my body heats as his gaze penetrates my skin.
Chapter Three
Ryker
My eyes open slowly. It’s dark, wherever the hell I am, and my tongue, thick from hunger, drags off the roof of my mouth like Velcro, leaving the taste of my own blood.
Holy shit, my body aches. Did I fall asleep on a rock?
Shifting, I discover bindings around my wrists, and wince as they burn. Fucking silver!
Panic grips my chest, but I take long breaths to hold that particular monster at bay, one that hasn’t plagued me for nearly a century. Keep calm, I tell myself. I might have been captured, but I’m not at sea. That nightmare is long over.
And yet I am captive. Somewhere. This isn’t a nightmare.
My night vision improves to offer a few clues. What the bloody hell did I get up to last night?
The last thing I remember…
Oh! That human wench! I took her vein right after I fucked her… Was her blood dosed? She did seem too good to be true.
“Fuck!” I yell into the dark void that’s clearly an interrogation room. Shit. It’s got to be DEFTA, the biggest and most powerful vampire syndicate in the North East—hell, the entire country. How the hell did they snag me this time? I can think of several reasons as to why…
Using my night vision I confirm my suspicions, spotting DEFTA’s ensign on a plaque at the end of the room—a lovely little number featuring a seventeen century carving of a man, ridiculously wearing a tall, wide brimmed hat and fancy long coat while wrestling a bear.
The Dutch and English Fur Trading Alliance publicly rebranded themselves as DEFTA during the anti-fur movements of the last century. Not that DEFTA was much involved in the fur trade for the better part of two hundred years before that.
Instead, the syndicate has been in the business of controlling the vampires of the Philadelphia area and beyond, under the guise of protecting us from humans and their wooden stakes. But humans are easily tamed—evidence the thirsty wench I fucked last night. These DEFTA assholes are just out for power and they hate vamps like me who refuse to join their little club and play along with their rules.
But it is true that humans have become a more lethal annoyance the past couple of decades. The unveiling of vampires as real has made it more challenging for an honest vamp to get a tasty meal without hassle. Dishonest ones like me, too.
Past several years, humans have gotten better at spotting us, more proficient with stakes, and have started using unfair tricks like silver netting, and I sure as shit hope humans don’t know about whatever got into my bloodstream last night.
Lights come on, and I blink against the sudden change.
Behind me, a door opens and the distinct scent of two vampires enters the room—presumably along with their actual bodies. I grin at my unspoken joke.
One of the vamps positions himself in front of me and, dressed in an overstuffed business suit, he spreads his muscled legs beyond hip width, like some kind of power stance. What a joke.
Slowly, as if I could care less, I let my gaze drift up his body, finding his arms crossed over his chest—typical—and I glare with hatred when my eyes reach his gloating face, framed by unnaturally blond hair, even though it’s been that color for the couple of hundred years that I’ve known the asshole.
Diederik Van de Berg, DEFTA’s chief gorilla.
“Hello Ricky,” I say to the security head. “Nice place you have here. Thanks for having me over.”
The side of his mouth quirks up in a half grin that develops into a full on sneer. The vampire’s eyes are a dull hazel made even more dull by his personality.
I tug up on the bindings. “Is this really necessary?” I fight my reaction to the pain and the smell of my burning skin.
“Can I trust you to behave?” Diederik asks.
I want to smack the arrogance right off his face. “Don’t I always behave?”
“If you did, I wouldn’t have had to resort to such measures.”
“Touché.” I glare at him, but he makes no move to release my cuffs. “Who’s your buddy?” I ask. Whoever else is in the room, it’s another vampire, male, and standing just out of my sight, even when I look over my shoulder.
Diederik shifts his gaze to his companion and a tall vampire with smooth, light brown skin steps into view. He’s also dressed in a business suit, but his is way fancier and so pristine it’s like it’s hanging on a mannequin. I wonder if he’s ever sat down in the thing.
“This is Zuben,” Diederik says, “Senior Vice President of Research and Compliance.”
The expressionless man is carrying a tablet in his left hand, and standing so stiffly he might have a literal pole up his ass. His skin is so smooth, his features so perfect and striking, it’s hard to believe that he’s real. I much prefer my fuck partners to be female, but even I can’t deny this guy is hot.
Given the name Zuben, he’s probably Egyptian, or was at some time in the past. But he doesn’t seem old, de
finitely not one of the Ancients. The guy can’t have been a vampire more than a few hundred years. I’d guess we’re contemporaries in terms of time spent sucking blood.
I lean toward Diederik. “Cute robot.”
“Very funny, Ryker,” Diederik replies.
“I’m a veritable barrel of laughs.” I stretch a leg forward, or rather I try to, but discover they’re bound as well. At least my leather slacks partially shield my ankle from the pain. “Take these fucking things off.”
“My security team is watching the room,” Diederik says. “If you try anything—”
“What would I try?” Lifting my fingers, I shake my head. “Seems this time you’ve outsmarted me, Ricky.”
His lips twitch, and I try not to grin. Yes, he did capture me, and I may currently be trapped inside his little room—and I hate being trapped—but we both know who has the upper hand, who always has the upper hand. That would be me. Even if I don’t play my trump card.
Reaching back to the desk behind him, Diederik touches a button, and the silver cuffs snap open around my wrists and ankles.
Gripping the arms of the cast iron chair, I bite down on the hiss that escapes my mouth when the burning metal leaves my skin.
“How did you snag me?” I ask. “Was it that tasty human I had for my midnight snack?”
“Yeah.” Diederik laughs. “You should be more careful what you eat. DEFTA has plenty of safe blood sources, if you’d join—”
“Why am I here?” No way am I joining DEFTA.
“I just want to talk.”
“If you’re that desperate for a fuck—” I leer at Diederik “—you could have just asked.”
“Asshole.” Diederik leans back against the table.
“What did you give me?” I ask. The woman didn’t taste like garlic.
“Colloidal silver,” Diederik answers, like the predictable Bond villain he is. “We gave her a transfusion, and as soon as you showed signs of drifting, one of my team injected more silver straight into your jugular.”
He looks so fucking proud of himself, and I suppose he has a right to, but there’s no chance I’ll ever let something like that happen again, no matter how gorgeous and tasty the morsel that’s dangled in front of me. No shortage of fish in the sea.
But…silver in my veins? No wonder I’m so groggy and thirsty. How long have I been here?
I slouch back in the chair, folding one leg up over the side and slinging my arm over its back, as if the uncomfortable interrogation furniture is a plush easy chair. “Come on Ricky. Spill. Why am I really here? Surely you’re not that desperate to fuck me.” I adjust my package, delighted to get a reaction from Diederik. The homophobe is so predictable.
The robot, on the other hand, hasn’t moved a muscle since he arrived in my eyesight.
I turn my attention to him. “Reuben was it?” I say knowing full well I’ve got the name wrong.
His back goes even stiffer. “Zuben.”
“And what is it you do for this lovely crime syndicate, Reuben?”
He blinks. First sign of emotion. “DEFTA is not a crime syndicate, and as Diederik already informed you, I head up the Research and Compliance departments.” His eyes are alert, full of interest.
And…I hate to admit it, this Zuben dude is beyond handsome.
I prefer to be the prettiest in the room, and I can’t shake his cool. I may have underestimated the robot. Time will tell.
“Compliance.” I nod, leering at him. “That’s secret code for BDSM, right? Kinky.” I wink. Maybe the same buttons will work with him as with Diederik.
“No.” He backs up a step and shifts his tablet to the other hand. “If you must know, I oversee and conduct research and other investigations related to DEFTA’s interests.”
“What kind of investigations?” I ask casually, small talk.
“This particular matter relates to finance.”
“Numbers guy.” I yawn. “Figures.”
I get a reaction—finally—a small adjustment of his shoulders, and his chin tips up a fraction of an inch. He did not like that characterization. And when I find someone’s buttons, I’m like a toddler with a remote.
I smirk. “Bean counter. Pencil pusher. Figures.” I raise my fist to my mouth and fake cough. “Nerd.”
Not getting the reaction I hoped for, I push that button again. “Women must find you fascinating. I bet you know all the prime numbers.”
The right edge of his mouth lifts just a little. “Are you asking me for romantic advice?” he asks. “If so, I would recommend staying away from listing prime numbers on a first date, and your joke was blatantly sexist. Many women are interested in finance and science.”
“Good to know.” It’s interesting that he brought up science when that wasn’t even on the table. I file that away too.
“Ryker.” Diederik draws my attention. “If you’re done trying to provoke Zuben—good luck with that, by the way—it’s time to get on with the interrogation. I don’t have all day.”
“Neither do I. Places to go, people to drink.” I turn toward Zuben and scan his body with the most salacious look I can muster. “Ruben and I can continue our flirtations later.” I lean forward. “He already seems plenty…stiff.”
Zuben steps back. Clearly I’ve found another button to press. His cheeks darken and his fingers pick at the stitching of the leather cover on his tablet. He’s rattled. And I don’t feel as good about that as I usually do.
I turn to Diederik. “Okay. Let’s get this over with. What can I do for you, Ricky? Why go to such lengths for a visit? Or are you looking for a little action?” Grabbing my package, I thrust.
Diederik rolls his eyes. “Once an asshole, always an asshole.”
“Sorry, Ricky. But I’m going to have to say no to that. I’m a top. Hard limit.” I grin. Laughter always greases the wheels.
But Diederik frowns, clearly reaching his hard limit with this conversation. “Ryker Stone, you’ve been detained on suspicion of piracy.”
“Piracy?” I hold up my hand toward him. “Okay, okay. Let me stop you right there. That’s all in my past. I haven’t been a pirate for at least two hundred and fifty years.”
“But you do admit to acts of piracy at one time.” Zuben steps forward, his striking, brown eyes focused hard on me.
Leaning back in the chair, I shrug. “Sure.” I wink. “Do pirates turn you on, Rueben?”
“Enough!” Diederik interrupts. “This isn’t a joke Ryker.”
I cock my head to the side. “Really? Because you two are cracking me up. Have we time travelled to the eighteenth century? Shit. I haven’t even been on a ship—pirate or otherwise—for at least fifty years.”
“No.” I raise my index finger to my lips in mock dismay. “You crack detectives have caught me in a lie. I took a booze cruise the last time I visited New Orleans. Best I recall, I got shit-faced on the blood of my fellow partiers. Think that was in the mid-eighties… The nineteen eighties if you want to get technical.”
“Piracy takes many forms.” The tall Egyptian lifts his tablet, opens the cover and starts swiping the screen. “What do you know about a thousand gold bars that vanished from a container at the Port of Philadelphia in 2008?”
“That was a bad year for a lot of people in finance,” I say. “I’m sorry to hear you lost some of your gold trinkets during the recession.” I pout at him and keep my tone light, but my neck muscles tighten.
I don’t remember the exact number, but I did manage to…um…shift the ownership of a whole lot of gold bars in 2008. I had no idea any were DEFTA’s. Not that it would have made any difference. Once a pirate, always a pirate.
“And in 1993,” Zuben continues, “five million US dollars worth of bearer bonds disappeared in the Caymans while they were being transferred by armored truck from our vault—at night.”
“Fascinating.” I nod in interest. “Sounds like you need to be more careful about where you leave your toys.” I grin. I am particularly proud of
how I pulled off that heist in the Caymans. I had to get past four vampires and at least a dozen human guards to pull it off.
“Thing is,” Diederik’s eyes narrow, Zuben’s team discovered that you cashed that same dollar value of bearer bonds in Panama two days after ours vanished.”
“Did I?” I shrug. “I don’t think I’ve been in Panama since the canal was built.”
“Yes you have.” Zuben swipes and pokes his tablet several times, and then turns it toward me. “This account in the National Bank of Panama is in your name.” His expression is smug, and I hate smug—unless of course it’s coming from me.
“It’s possible that I have a bank account or two in Panama.” I flip my hand. “I have financial interests worldwide. Can’t keep track. Hey!” I exclaim as if I’ve just had a brilliant idea. “I should hire someone like you to help me keep track.” I lean toward Zuben. “Are you looking for a change? You interested in a position—under me?”
Zuben’s eyes narrow.
Diederik steps forward. “Did you, or did you not cash bearer bonds in the amount of five million dollars in Panama on December 16, 1993.”
“Doubt it. I hate the tropics.” I cross one leg over the other. “Too much sunlight, even in winter. Then again…” I draw a long breath and sigh. “Some days, don’t you just yearn for daylight?”
“All the time,” Zuben says under his breath and I grin to myself, finding another button to press.
“Speaking of sunlight.” I stand and stretch. “If that’s all, chaps, I’d like to get home before that bugger of a burning star shows its face.”
“It is currently 6:30 pm,” Zuben says.
“No shit?” I’ve lost a whole day, but at least I know that once I talk my way out of this room, I can leave the building. “How long have I been down here?”
“Seventeen hours, more or less,” Diederik says. “Seems we overdid it on the silver.”
