The Real Werewives of Vampire County

by Ivy, Alexandra; Fox, Angie; Dane, Tami; Haines, Jess

  “I had borrowed Victoria’s disguise amulet to follow Sophia to her club when you arrived in Chicago.” His expression hardened with disgust. “I knew from the way you were watching her that you were going to interfere with my plans.”

  “What plans?”

  “To capture Sophia and impregnate her with my litter.”

  Any coherent thought was lost as a red mist descended over him, his beast beyond the point of no return.

  “No way in hell,” he growled, his words nearly unintelligible.

  Looking almost bored as Luc began to shift, Morton pointed the gun at the center of his chest.

  “I just knew you were going to be trouble.”

  Distantly Luc heard the pop of the gun and felt the dart plunge into his flesh, but, lost in his transformation, it was too late when he realized his muscles were slowly being paralyzed as the unknown substance began to flow through his blood.

  Regarding the smug cur in horror, he realized he should have paid far more attention to his own warnings.

  Looks truly were deceiving....

  CHAPTER 8

  Sophia was running late.

  After reviewing the payroll and dealing with the linen service that had forgotten to bring their laundered tablecloths and napkins, she had been forced to soothe one of the waiters who had been insulted by the bartender and locate the key to the back freezer that had been lost.

  At last she was able to settle in a chair to audition the Were who had traveled thousands of miles just to perform at her club.

  Unfortunately, she struggled to concentrate.

  It wasn’t that Jian wasn’t spectacular. He nearly set the stage on fire with his lean, muscular body that moved with a fluid grace that was amazing even by Were standards.

  But tapping a finger on the arm of her chair, she realized she felt ... weird, unsettled.

  She told herself that she was merely impatient to return home to Luc. He was bound to be finished with his golf match by now and waiting for her return.

  Hopefully naked in her bed.

  What woman wouldn’t be anxious to be done with work?

  Counting down the minutes until she could politely bring the audition to a close, Sophia was startled when she caught a familiar scent.

  Turning her head, she watched the crimson-haired imp dressed in a silver mesh shirt and black spandex cross the room to take the chair beside her, setting a leather briefcase at his feet.

  “Mmm,” he moaned, his gaze drinking in the sight of the near-naked Were dancing on the stage. “Tasty.”

  “Troy.” Sophia gave a lift of her brows. “Don’t you have your own business to run?”

  “Yes, but the view isn’t nearly so nice.”

  She reached to grab his chin, turning his fascinated attention in her direction.

  “If you want to ogle the talent, you’re supposed to pay a cover charge.”

  He pouted. “Is that any way to treat your bestest friend?”

  “The last time I came to your coffee shop you charged me an arm and a leg for a cappuccino the size of a thimble,” she reminded him in dry tones.

  “But I sprinkled it with my special fairy dust.”

  “Special fairy dust, my ass,” she scoffed. “It was cinnamon.”

  A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. “Maybe.”

  “I assume you have a reason for being here beyond trying to sneak a peek?”

  The smile faded, leaving the handsome face unexpectedly somber.

  “I think we should talk.”

  “Uh-oh.” Sophia frowned. “I seem to be getting that a lot lately.”

  “A lot of what?”

  “Nothing.” Trying to shrug off her persistent unease and the sudden certainty she wasn’t going to like what Troy had to say, Sophia rose to her feet. “Let’s go to my office.”

  With a thumbs-up toward Jian, she led the towering imp into her office, closing the door behind them.

  Troy strolled to inspect her enviable collection of Fabergé eggs.

  “Nice.”

  Sophia moved to the wet bar behind her desk. “Something to drink? Water? Brandy?” She pointed toward the sleek silver cappuccino machine. “A ten-dollar cappuccino with fairy dust?”

  “No need.” Troy took the seat opposite her desk, opening his leather briefcase to pull out a small flask. “I always carry my own.”

  “You came prepared,” she murmured, noting the stack of manila folders in the case. “Should I be worried?”

  He took a swig from the flask. “I’m not sure.”

  Shit.

  She sat in the chair behind her desk, her heart lodged in her throat.

  “Troy?”

  He replaced the flask, regarding her with a guarded gaze. “When you asked me to find you a bodyguard I went through my usual contacts to locate one.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not usually.”

  She tucked her hands beneath the desk, unwilling to let the imp see her clenching them.

  “What’s different this time?”

  The imp paused, as if considering the wisdom of confessing whatever it was that had brought him to the club. Sophia forced herself to keep her mouth shut.

  What not? If he tried to leave she was quite prepared to beat the truth out of him.

  At last he squared his shoulders and took the plunge. “After it was obvious that you were enjoying more than just Luc’s professional services, I decided to double-check the background information I was given.”

  “And?”

  “And it’s bogus.”

  A cold ball of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. “What’s bogus?”

  “Everything.”

  “Be a little more specific, Troy.”

  He reached into his briefcase, pulling out the top file and tossed it onto her desk.

  “The references he listed on his résumé,” he said. “His address. His social security number. None of it’s real.”

  Squashing the urge to toss the folder across the room, Sophia instead lifted her hand and flipped it open, scanning the documents inside.

  “He lied,” she said at last.

  “Yes.”

  With a jerky motion, Sophia was on her feet, crossing to stare out the newly replaced window.

  What the hell?

  The documents that Troy had produced clearly revealed that the Miami addresses were fake, along with Luc’s supposed references.

  But why?

  It wasn’t as if she was freaking Katy Perry. Becoming her bodyguard wasn’t some fantastic position that a man would lie to acquire.

  “I’m sorry,” Troy murmured softly.

  “Not nearly as sorry as I am,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around her waist. Why did she suddenly feel so cold? “What’s that saying, ‘There’s no fool like an old fool’?”

  She heard the imp cross to stand directly behind her, his hands landing lightly on her shoulders.

  “You aren’t a fool, Sophia,” he assured her. “Luc managed to deceive us all.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not sleeping with him.”

  “Only because he didn’t ask.”

  Sophia started to smile when she was abruptly struck by a thought that made her heart clench in agony.

  “Holy shit.”

  Giving her shoulders a tug, Troy turned her to meet his searching gaze.

  “What?”

  “He could be working with the maniac who has been stalking me,” she breathed. “Hell, he could be the stalker.”

  Troy gave a firm shake of his head. “No, he’s not the stalker. That’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of.”

  So was she.

  Her lips thinned as the thought whispered through the back of her mind.

  She had proof that he had lied to her from the beginning of their relationship. Why did she find it impossible to accept he would ever do anything to hurt her?

  “How can you know?”

  With a grimace he moved back to the brief
case he’d left on her desk, pulling out yet another folder.

  “Because he’s one of Salvatore’s most trusted lieutenants,” he said, pressing the file into her hands. “Here.”

  She leaned against the window, her head dizzy as she tried to process yet another shock.

  Damn the King of Weres.

  She had known when Salvatore capitulated so easily to her refusal to join them in Styx’s lair that he was up to something. Something devious.

  He was a Were who always believed he knew best.

  So the fact that he had somehow managed to discover she was seeking a bodyguard and had planted his own trusted soldier into her house to keep an eye on her wasn’t at all a surprise.

  But that didn’t make Luc’s deception any easier to bear.

  He might not be her stalker, but he’d used her desire and all too vulnerable emotions to make sure he could remain close to her and fulfill his duty to his king.

  The ... jackass.

  Her gaze dropped to the folder she was clutching in her hand.

  “What’s this?”

  “The information my private investigator managed to dig up. At considerable expense, I might add.” Troy shook his head. “The man buried his identity deeper than Jimmy Hoffa.”

  “You have a private investigator?” she absently demanded, flicking through the various pages.

  She paused to take in the photos of the large stucco mansion surrounded by palm trees that was Luc’s true home and an unmistakable picture of Luc and Salvatore meeting in a park several miles west of Chicago.

  Another shaft of pain sliced through her heart.

  “It’s a dangerous world these days,” Troy explained. “You can’t trust anyone.”

  “No shit.” She threw the folder across the room, watching the papers fan across her carpet.

  Troy nervously cleared his throat. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Was she?

  At the moment she wasn’t entirely certain.

  The pain and disappointment clawing through her felt lethal.

  Then realizing that the imp was watching her with a sympathy she couldn’t stomach, she gave a toss of her hair.

  “I’m Sophia,” she announced, her head held high. “No man’s going to get me down. Even if he is a lying, mangy piece of shit.”

  Troy gave a snap of his fingers, a smile curving his lips. “You go, girl.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Sophia headed for the door, her need to find Luc an overwhelming compulsion.

  “Uh, Sophia,” Troy called out.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “If you decide to kill Luc you need to make sure you hide the body,” he warned. “I doubt that your son-in-law would be happy to learn you offed his most trusted soldier.”

  A humorless smile curved her lips. “Actually I was thinking I could use a new fur rug in front of my fireplace.”

  Troy’s eyes widened. “Yikes.”

  Leaving the office, Sophia headed out of the club, her fierce glare keeping the milling employees at bay.

  She wasn’t in the mood to deal with clogged drains and missing G-strings.

  In fact, the only thing she was in the mood for was blood and mayhem.

  Storming out a side door, she was halfway across the parking lot when she heard a faint click. She slowed her furious pace at the same minute she felt a prick in her upper chest. Looking down she realized there was a small dart sticking from her skin.

  What the ... ?

  That was as far as her confused mind managed to get before her muscles became paralyzed and she was tumbling toward the paved ground. Then her head was smacking face-first into the pavement and the entire world exploded into black.

  Waking, Sophia cautiously held herself still as she took stock.

  She hadn’t gone to the great kennels in the sky, thank the gods.

  She had a throbbing head, and she could feel an odd metal collar strapped around her neck, but the rest of her seemed to be back in working order.

  Cautiously she allowed her senses to spread further.

  She was in a basement, she realized with a stab of surprise. Or at least underground.

  And night had fallen while she had been conked out.

  Oh, and the stench of cur was thick in the air.

  The same scent she’d caught mere seconds before she’d been shot by the dart.

  A growl trickled from her throat as she wrenched open her eyes to discover Morton leaning over her, his face the nasty color of paste in the fluorescent light.

  “You.” She surged to a sitting position, barely noticing the narrow cot beneath her as Morton hastily backed away. “Bastard.”

  With a visible effort the cur halted his retreat, gathering his shaken courage as he sent her a chiding glare.

  “Now, Sophia, I must insist that the mother of my children not use such foul language,” he informed her. “It’s indecent.”

  Still weak from whatever poison he’d pumped into her system, Sophia swayed on the edge of the cot, wondering which of them had lost their minds.

  She was betting on the cur.

  “Mother?” She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Are you mental?”

  Pinpricks of crimson flashed through the pale eyes. “Don’t push me.”

  Oh, pushing him was going to be the last of the little prick’s concern once she got her strength back, she assured herself, glancing around the six-by-six-foot cell that was paneled with sheets of silver.

  “Where are we?”

  “My private lair beneath Victoria’s house.” He regained command of his composure, one hand smoothing down his white polo shirt. His other hand held a small device that Sophia suspected was some sort of weapon. “Don’t worry, she knows better than to come down here. We won’t be interrupted.”

  Her lip curled in scorn. “Does she suspect that you’re a psychopath?”

  She had barely finished her taunt when Morton pressed a button on the device and the collar around her neck began to sizzle. The next thing she knew a massive jolt of electricity speared through her body, nearly toppling her off the cot onto the cement floor.

  “Shit,” she breathed.

  “I did warn you.”

  She clenched her teeth, imagining the pleasure of gutting the pasty-faced cur over and over and over... .

  “What do you want with me?”

  “I told you,” he scolded. “I’ve chosen you to be the mother of my children.”

  “No doubt in your demented mind you think I should be honored by the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take a pass.” Her stomach heaved at the mere thought. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  Even prepared for the bolt of electricity, Sophia couldn’t halt her yip of pain, her legs trembling and sweat coating her skin.

  “You will learn,” Morton growled.

  Her hand weakly lifted toward the metal wrapped around her neck.

  “Christ, where the hell did you get this thing?”

  “I invented it myself,” the cur preened, as if expecting Sophia to admire his handiwork. “Just as I invented the serum that knocked you out. I’m a scientist.”

  “So was Dr. Frankenstein,” she muttered. “You know how that turned out.”

  Zap.

  She leaned down until her forehead touched her knees, fighting against the urge to vomit.

  “You will learn to respect me,” Morton abruptly shouted, clearly unhinged by her refusal to play the game by his rules.

  Not surprising.

  Morton-the-cur was a born victim who had no doubt been bullied and mocked by others his entire life.

  “Why?” she demanded. “Because you can create torture devices?”

  “That’s merely my hobby.” His smile was edged with a smug pride. “My true genius is chemistry. Which is why Caine hired me.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise.

  Caine was currently missing along with her daughter Cassandra.


  At one time he’d been under the sway of a demon lord who’d convinced him that he was destined to change curs into pure-blooded Weres.

  A part of the prophecy had come true when the same demon lord had taken a path directly through Caine on his way back to hell, transforming him from a cur into a Were.

  “You worked with Caine?”

  The cur shrugged. “Yes, although we disagreed on how to accomplish our goal to turn curs into pure-blooded Weres.”

  “And how did you hope to accomplish such a miracle?”

  She expected him to refuse to answer. Weren’t mad scientists usually secretive about their strange experiments?

  Instead he answered without hesitation.

  “In the same way your king did.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I intend to alter the DNA of our children while they are still in your womb.”

  “You ...”

  Words failed her, her mind refusing to return to those long days in Salvatore’s clinic. She’d been a willing participant and it had still been near unbearable. With an effort she squashed the rising panic. She would die before she allowed this freak to impregnate her. First, however, she would try to reason with him.

  “Even supposing that you do manage to change our children into Weres, how does that help the other curs?” she asked.

  His eyes lit with the gleam of a true fanatic. “I can use their blood to help create a vaccine that will transform all of us.”

  She shook her head, not about to try and point out to Dr. Evil that the magic that created a pure-blooded Were couldn’t be found in a test tube. It was always futile to argue with a true believer.

  “Why me?” she instead asked.

  “You’ve already proven yourself to be a fertile breeder.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

  He seemed caught off guard by her response. “I mean that with the greatest respect.”

  Said the psycho to his electrified prisoner.

  “And?” she prompted, knowing there had to be more.

  “And when you moved into the neighborhood I realized that fate had at last smiled upon me,” he admitted. “Why else would you be here if not to fulfill my destiny?”

  Great. Of all the neighborhoods she could have chosen, she had to pick the one with Morton-the-crazy-ass-cur.

  “Have you considered the fact that I might not be willing to become your lab rat?”