by Jessica Lee
“You never learn, do you, Marguerite? Whether we’re in reality or your demented version of a dream, I still don’t want you. It doesn’t matter how many centuries pass. I didn’t submit to you then, and I won’t submit to you now.”
“You must need a reminder of Annice’s fate.” Marguerite’s eyes burned with fury. “I will find out who she is. Of that, you can be assured.”
“Get the fuck out of my mind!” Kenric bellowed, squeezing hard at the flesh under his hands.
Kenric bolted naked from his bed. His chest heaved as he wiped the sweat from his face, then ran a hand through his damp hair.
“You’ll never have Emily, Marguerite. Of that, you can well be assured.”
Damn the sun. He wanted to haul his ass back over there and check on Emily—to see her face again.
He picked up his cell and the small piece of paper she’d given him.
“Hello?” The voice that answered sounded weak and sleepy.
“Emily, it’s Kenric. Did I wake you?”
“Oh. No, you didn’t wake me. I was just getting up from a nap before work. What are you doing awake? I thought vampires slept during the day.”
“They do. I happened to wake up early today.” Silence hung for a few seconds between them while he searched for a good reason for his call. The fact that she now had a more than six-hundred-year-old vampire bitch gunning for her wouldn’t be the best conversation opener. Finally, he went with, “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good. A little nervous about our joint endeavor tonight.”
“You have nothing to worry about. No one will remember seeing you there, or me for that matter. I’ll call you later and let you know when I’ve arrived.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then.”
“Emily… It’ll be nice to see you again.” He wanted to groan with how sappy he sounded. His heart swelled behind his sternum to an almost painful fullness. Dammit. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel anything, and he barely knew what to do with the resurgence. For so long, the only “feelings” Kenric had been concerned with he could label on one hand. And anger and bitterness had headed the top of the list. But he never expected this. This overwhelming desire to grab on to Emily and never let her go. Christ, for the first time in more years than he cared to remember, he craved something else—someone else—more than his need for vengeance. And it was unsettling.
Silence permeated the line for a few telling seconds. “Emily, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here. It’ll be nice to see you again, too.” He could hear the smile in her voice. How could he have allowed this to happen? Emily was the personification of compassion, beauty, honor, and…light. Things that didn’t belong in his world. Things he had no right to want, because he would only bring her the darkness. Yet for some reason he couldn’t stop his tumble down the slippery slope into her life. He’d never believed in the whole “soul mate” theory before. But whether he was ready to admit it to himself or not, Emily made him feel—made him yearn again. And it was good. Too good.
“Until then,” he said and ended the call.
No way in hell would history repeat itself. He would die before Marguerite could touch Emily.
Chapter Twelve
Stretching over to her nightstand, Emily tapped the end button and dropped her cell back onto the wood.
She kicked back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her conversation with Kenric ran through her mind, playing havoc with her stomach.
“It would be nice to see you again,” he’d said. On her way to the shower, she giggled like a teenage girl. Then warning bells rang in her mind, and her toes hung off the edge of a crumbling cliff. Her smile disappeared.
Don’t do it, Emily Ross!
Emily had to put the brakes on. She could not fall for this man.
Man?
He wasn’t even human. Girl, you really know how to pick ‘em.
She reached in and turned on the shower. Kenric was…more everything than any other man she’d ever dated, and it scared the hell out of her. If she had any common sense, she would run like hell. God only knew why she hadn’t already started sprinting . . .
With her hair washed, Emily worked up a lather inside her washcloth. Memories of last night replayed in her mind. The way Kenric had made her feel… Her pulse raced. When he’d touched her palm… Her heart stuttered. Kissed her… Emily’s head swam, making her grasp the tile for support. He’d smelled so good, like pine and cinnamon spice. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to cool herself down. This wasn’t good. From the very moment they’d met, the guy had triggered every reactive cell in her body. Was it purely physical? Yes. At least a part of it was. But if her response to him was only sexual in nature, she could turn it off. That was the problem, she realized. Her reaction to Kenric was based on more than his good looks and their chemistry. It was the man underneath the alpha exterior that had gotten under her skin. His heart. The way he cared about others—his team and the human race. His mission, and…the way he needed her. Turning into the shower spray, she cranked up the cold water, allowing it to rain over her face and breasts.
She shivered, chilled from the cold water—or maybe from the fear that a part of her might need him just a little, too.
What would she do about Kenric St. James?
An hour later, Emily hurried into the ER, running her fingers through her hair to unlock the still-damp curls. She couldn’t blame the traffic, and no way would she tell anyone about her fantasies of a certain dark and sexy vampire and how they’d kept her from leaving the house on time.
“Emily!” Shawna’s voice called out from the front desk of the nurse’s station. “You’ve got a phone call.”
“Sorry I’m so late,” Emily said, reaching the desk and breathing hard after her trot from the parking deck.
Her friend waved the phone’s receiver in her hand. “I’ve got Jeff on hold. This has to be the third time he’s called in the past fifteen minutes, girl.” Shawna rolled her eyes and shook her head. As she did so, a few of her blonde locks escaped her braid to sway around the petite features of her face. “You really need to get a restraining order.”
“Been there, done that. Doesn’t faze him.”
Shawna moved from her chair and passed the phone over to Emily.
“I’m just worried about you, hon. From what you’ve told me, the man’s a nutcase. If you ever need a place to stay or just hide out for a while, you know where I live.”
Since the first day Emily had arrived at Memorial, she and Shawna had hit it off. Shawna always had her back, covering for her whenever she was late or offering her help whenever things were tight. One day, Emily hoped to be able to return the favor.
“That means a lot, Shawna. It really does. Thank you.” Emily settled into the vacated chair.
“You know you’re like my little sister. And I mean it. Anytime, okay?” Her hand brushed Emily’s shoulder.
Emily nodded. “I know you do.”
Shawna turned and headed toward triage.
With the phone at her ear, Emily sighed, then pressed the Hold button.
“Leave me alone, Jeff. You can’t keep calling me here, or I’m going to lose my job. And if I don’t have any income, you’ll be left without a reason to harass me.” She kept her voice low but firm. Enough to get her point across without drawing attention.
“Damn, you’re bitchy tonight. Sounds like you need a good fuck to calm you down. You sure you’re not missing me just a little bit?”
She gripped the edge of the desk. Deep breath. She needed this job. The temporary satisfaction of cursing him out would only succeed in making things worse in the end.
“Bitter much, Jeff?”
“I’m bitter about my damn money.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” she spat. “I put myself through school. You didn’t cough up one red cent.”
“You lived in my house, and I fed your ass for four ye
ars. If it weren’t for me, you would’ve been out on the street. It’s time I was compensated.”
“It’s not about that at all, and you know it.” She cupped her hand around her chin and the receiver. “I’m not giving you any more money to pay off your gambling debts.”
“I’m warning you, bitch, if I don’t see some green within the next twenty-four hours, I’m coming to find you.”
With a click, the line went dead.
Emily hung up the phone. Suddenly chilled, she rubbed her upper arms vigorously for a couple of seconds, then she reached in the pocket of her scrub top. She pulled out a hair clip, brushed her fingers through her hair, and pinned her curls into a ponytail. If only she could pull the rest of her life together so easily.
It was blackmail—pure and simple.
She knew better than to give in. Jeff would never stop if she gave him money. But God, it would be so easy if she had a way to give him enough so he’d disappear.
“Hey, girl.” Shawna came up beside her and plopped down in one of the black task chairs. “Are you okay? You look pale. Was Jeff threatening you again?”
“Really?” Emily placed her palms on her cheeks. “I feel okay.” She managed to get the words out in a steady voice that even surprised her to hear. “It’s probably just that time of the month. You know how it gets. I’m a little anemic.” She cringed at the bald-faced lie that had come out of her mouth. Well, not all of it was a lie. She was a little low on red blood cells. “I’ll go get some juice and I’ll be fine.”
Emily left her chair for the break room with Shawna following on her heels. She waved her ID badge over the door’s security sensor, and the lock gave a soft click. Pushing open the door, she fanned her hand in front of her nose. The enclosed small space of their employee refuge reeked of old tuna sandwiches and overheated Lean Cuisines. She skirted between the tired and tattered navy blue couch and the round white dinette table with its vented plastic chairs, making her way to the refrigerator.
“He was just going on as usual about money. What’s new?” Emily grabbed an individual Minute Maid off the fridge shelf and twisted the cap off.
“You know what you need?”
Emily lifted her eyebrows, giving her a nonverbal “what’s that?” look, while taking a long swallow of the cold juice.
“You need some fun in your life—a little excitement. A tall, dark, and handsome man to whisk you away to his mansion and take your mind off your troubles. You need a man who knows how to treat a woman right.”
Emily choked. Orange juice sprayed from her lips and all over the front of her top.
“Oh, my God! Are you all right?” Shawna snatched some paper towels from beside the sink and handed them to her. “I didn’t think my idea sounded that crazy.”
“It is crazy,” Emily said between coughs. “Besides, how many tall, dark, and handsome men with mansions have you seen around here?” She hated lying to her best friend. Though, technically, it wasn’t a lie. He was a vampire, not a man. Either way, she could never tell Shawna what had happened to her or what she’d learned.
“Good point.” Shawna laughed. “I’d have already tried to snag one for myself.”
“Believe me, the last thing I need is a man to whisk me off my feet and take control of my life.” Emily tossed the rest of her OJ in the trash and headed back to work.
…
Pulling on a pair of black leather gloves, Kenric made his way down the stairs from his private level, a dagger strapped to each thigh.
The day had passed like an eternity. With Marguerite knowing about Emily and thus threatening her, he needed to find Markus as soon as possible. Then he needed to get Emily into safekeeping.
And no place would be safer than here—with him.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted into the hallway as he made his way toward the kitchen.
Kenric opened the door and flinched. He slammed his eyes shut from the sudden burst of harsh fluorescents. Opening his eyes a crack, he spotted Michael at the island working on his next experimental concoction.
“Is all this really necessary?” he growled before pulling out a pair of dark shades.
“If I plan on being able to see while I cook, it is.” Michael glanced up briefly from his project. “Your eyes will adjust.”
Kenric leaned over the island, resting his weight on one large hand. “Some days, I question why I ever saved your sarcastic ass.”
“Because of my winning personality, and because I’m a damn good cook.” Michael lifted his head and grinned.
Michael would have a home here for the rest of his life, and he knew it. He’d become like the son Kenric would never have. It was Marguerite who had coldly informed him, after he’d been turned, that he had nothing left to offer any human woman. A fact that she’d gloated over again just a couple of nights ago. Sadly, he’d seen no births in all his years to contradict her statement.
“A damn good cook—you wish.” Kenric pushed back from the island.
“You just resent the fact that my pot roast makes you salivate even though you haven’t needed to eat in centuries.”
“You have a point there.” Kenric smiled. “That it does.” He turned on his heels and headed toward the somber group at the table.
Guerin sat at one end with Arran, Elle in the middle, while Logan propped himself at the opposite end. Kenric grabbed the closest chair and eased into the seat across from Arran.
“I’ve some things for you to look at,” Elle said and handed him several sheets of paper. “I got a few hits on the subject, but the one that grabbed my attention the most, I placed on top.” She tapped the sheet. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”
In bold, the title read, LEGEND OF THE VAMPIRE, GORAN MADUNIC. The article said that Goran was one of the earliest recorded vampires. He’d been a brutal man, bloodthirsty. The legend went on to say that he’d killed hundreds of men and women in Croatia during his rampages. He had had an army of fellow creatures—loyal servants who hunted and fought with him. At the time of Madunic’s demise, the myth stated that according to his wishes, his minions were to remove the heart from his headless body and drain the organ of its contents, sealing the blood inside a glass vessel. His army supposedly hid this essence, awaiting the next master vampire. The successor would then drink from the relic, merging the former leader’s power and consciousness with his own. Goran had believed that his power was so great that he could live on through the next master who consumed his blood.
Kenric eased back in his chair and dragged a weary palm across his face. “If this is what she’s unearthed…,” He glanced around the table, meeting his fellow warrior’s grim faces. “We’ve got a big problem on our hands.”
“Elle showed me what she printed out,” Guerin said before lifting his mug for a gulp. “You think that vessel would still be around after all Croatia has been through?”
“It fits the clues Marguerite dropped. The time period, and the new surge in her power.” Kenric leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “And if we’re right, and she’s drinking this shit…” He shook his head. “The ancient vampire DNA will be concentrated—off the charts, and Goran was correct about one thing: his essence will affect the vampire who absorbs him. His consciousness is long gone, but the potent genetic material left behind will prey on her mind.”
“How do you propose we find out what she has?”
He cocked his head in Guerin’s direction. “I ask her. She’ll be back, to screw with my mind, and if I’m right, Marguerite won’t be able to resist admitting it was Madunic’s blood she’s found.” Kenric looked over to Arran and Elle. “Even if we stop Marguerite, we have to find that vessel. It’s too much of a threat to allow it to fall into the hands of a power-hungry vampire like her.” He swung his gaze back to Guerin. “It must be destroyed.”
Kenric dragged his hands through his hair, his mind drifting back to the early years of his turning and the implications if the insane female had found that
vessel.
During the three years he’d spent with Marguerite, she had already eradicated the last drop of empathy she may have once had for the human race—and that was three centuries ago. Now… Now God only knew what lurked in the dark void where her soul used to reside. Yes, he’d wondered more than once, while watching her torture then drain the life from her victims, if there had ever been a time when Marguerite Devonshire had cared about someone other than herself. For most, to have lost their grip and fallen so far over the edge meant at some point they had possessed something to hold onto. Some small nugget of sanity. But the look of pleasure she wore when inflicting pain made him question if her ability to feel compassion had ever existed. If it had, she’d made sure to excise it from her heart. And if she was consuming the blood of Goran…
Michael passed behind them, opening the interior shutters for the night, when the door to the kitchen swung wide.
The entire table jumped to their feet, transfixed on the figure in the doorway.
“Son of a bitch!” Arran voiced the exact words that had crossed Kenric’s mind.
“Miss me?” Markus stood before them in the kitchen, his clothes dirty and torn, his lip bloodied, but very much…alive.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Arran rounded the table.
“I got back as fast as I could. I couldn’t call you, man.” He pulled out what was left of his cell and held it up to Arran. “One of the filthy bloodsuckers crushed it when it fell out of my pocket. That, and I’ve been holed up in a damn warehouse for I don’t know how many hours, waiting for the sun to go down. No phones.”
Markus trudged over to the table and slumped into a chair, his straight black hair falling across his face. After sweeping it back, he scrubbed an open palm over his shadow of a beard.
