Forever As One

by Jackie Ivie

  Forever As One

  by Jackie Ivie

  A Vampire Assassin League Novella

  “We Kill for Profit”

  7th in series

  Copyright 2012, Jackie Ivie

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  They found another body.

  Dane turned the page of the well-used daily paper, glanced at the grainy photo of crime tape and a couple of Key West detectives, trying to look efficient. He grimaced. This kind of attention and interest was dangerous. Especially for him.

  “Three tequila sunrises. Extra grenadine. Extra fruit. Extra orange juice. Lots of crushed ice. You know, like snow cones.”

  “They want any alcohol?” Dane asked.

  “I think they just want to watch you move, Sweetie.”

  He rolled his eyes. Spring break was always the same. Different faces, same gorgeous, nearly naked bodies. None of which stirred the slightest interest from this particular bartender.

  He looked over at the table where three gorgeous, barely covered coeds stood, and got three kisses blown to him.

  “Did you tell them I was gay?” he asked, putting the paper away.

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the big stud in the cowboy hat over in the corner told me he is…and he really thinks you’re cute. Wants your number. And what time you get off.”

  Dane flicked a glance there. It wasn’t just a big cowboy in the corner watching him - it was a big-ass one. Capable of taking down a steer or two.

  “Easier to handle three little city girls than one cowboy. Know what I mean? Oh. And he wants house tap.”

  “It’s a lager. Does he know?”

  “Doesn’t care. As long as you pull it, it’s all good.”

  Dane blew out the sigh and moved to the icemaker. The cowboy looked easier to deal with. Dane could start a fight, get in a few hits, and drain some blood while he was at it. Scratch that. Cowboy was definitely harder. With the looks and size of this particular guy, it wouldn’t go unnoticed. Notice was just one thing Dane avoided.

  He groaned, shoveled ice into the mixer and set it atop the base.

  “You know…you could try growing a scruffy beard, staying away from the gym, wearing that little sailor hat with the floppy brim again…maybe cut that mane of hair or darken it. You know, try for something other than the hard-body surfer dude look. Oh! And maybe…just maybe, you could form a few lines in your skin. You know, like normal people.”

  “Moisturizer,” he replied, and hit the ice crusher switch.

  Dangerous. If Shae noticed, others might. He’d have to move to one of his other establishments a little sooner this decade. Then, just as he hit the stop button, a tremor went right through the board floor and into him, making the blender jolt. Dane cocked his head as nonchalantly as possible toward the source.

  Saw her.

  And instantly recognized her. Perfectly. Completely. Relentlessly.

  The woman standing there resembled a pink flamingo in a bunch of penguins. Maybe they were called a clutch. Or gaggle. Or grouping. Flock. Whatever. Doesn’t frickin’ matter, Dane. She was his mate, as sure as they were both standing there. She’d arrived in his sphere! Emotion pumped through him, forcing him to stifle it, tamp the grin and tighten every muscle. Who cared that she wore a classic tailored dark blue business suit with little spectator pumps and actual hose on her legs in a tropical bar in Florida? She existed! After a millennia of time!

  He didn’t just recognize her. Every cell on his body flamed into a lifelike state at occupying the same chunk of real estate with her. His hand shook wildly, shifting ice right out of the blender. Dane grabbed three tall tumblers and sent the ice there, as if he’d planned it.

  “Now, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Shae remarked.

  “No lie,” he muttered.

  “You. Being clumsy. And looking kind of…thunderstruck.”

  “Go get her seated. At a good table. And get her order.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman.”

  “There’s over fifty patrons already tonight, Dane. Thanks to the view – and I’m not talking the ocean here – most of our customers are women. You want to be just a little more specific?”

  Dane finished filling the plastic glasses with ice, sent two tablespoons of grenadine, five ounces of orange juice, a half-shot of tequila, a splash of blue triple sec, not only for color but to create a nice marinade float for the three spears of pineapple, orange slice, and maraschino cherry that decorated the tops, and then placed them with precision on Shae’s tray. All without measuring.

  “The one by the pole. In the suit.” He slanted a nod in that direction before pulling up a draught of lager in a huge frosted mug, and adding it to her tray.

  “Someone is wearing a—? Oh. Got her.”

  “Just get her order. Here.” Dane lifted the tray with the slowest, easiest, movement he could manage. It still slammed onto the bar surface in front of Shae.

  “You got a thing for expensive call girls?”

  “She’s not a call girl.”

  “And you would know this…how?”

  Shae shouldered the tray, ignoring his reply, or even if he’d formulated one. She was a great waitress, with tips to validate it. She had long legs, and a swinging walk that was heightened by the mid-thigh length khaki shorts she wore. Sandals, white braided rope belt, and a neon purple and red tropical shirt with sleeves almost to the elbow finished her uniform. It matched all the waitressed tonight. As well as his other bartenders, Sam and Lyle, down flirting with girls at the other side of the bar. His employees called their shorts long and unfashionable. The shirts got the same disdain. Didn’t change it. It’s the only way Dane could disguise a thigh-high tan and biceps that belonged on a body builder. That’s what came of wearing tunics in his former life and pushing oars for weeks on end. Dane smirked as he watched Shae delivering drinks before speaking to the woman. His employees didn’t complain after the first couple of days. The uniform actually made them look professional, in a Florida beach bar sort of way. Anybody can show skin. Few can show it effectively.

  Shae had pegged the trouble with his hair, too, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Nothing changed it. It was still mid-back length, honey-blond, and thick. He’d been in perfect fashion in the 1970s. Now, he looked like he grew it out for the statement it made. That’s why it was in a tail, tucked into the back of his shirt. He’d even had it cut and spiked and tipped with bleach one evening during the Y2K celebration. What happened? Upon his awakening the next night, it was back to exactly the same length and color.

  Shae escorted his mate over to a table not near enough to him, waiting until she got seated before taking an order. Wow. He was one lucky surfer-dude looking guy. She was gorgeous and had great legs. That dark blue pencil skirt just emphasized it. And he’d had it wrong. She was definitely the penguin – all class and sass - in an entire bar full of colorful birds of paradise.

  She was probably shy. Her attire screamed uptight New Englander, with lineage probably harkening to the Mayflower landing. Conservative. Distinguished. Classy. She looked older than his twenty-four years, too. The bun she’d forced her hair into might be emphasi
zing that, though. But he had nothing against older women. Should his mate be a grand-mother, he’d embrace her as perfection. He’d just change her as soon as possible to prevent further aging. Besides, he hung with these crowds because that’s where his appearance best fit in, not because he was young. Dane slit his eyes and watched his mate, doing his best to give the appearance of nonchalance, and failing miserably. Despite everything, his entire frame focused on her, sending waves of hypnotic vibes toward her. He found her heartbeat, distinct and different even among so many others…the quickening pace calling to him. Searching for him. Already owning and claiming him…

  Both Shae and the woman looked over at him. Dane moved with a blur to the middle of the bar, where another waitress was just giving her order. It was better to look busy.

  Focus, Dane. Yeah. Focus. How the hell was he supposed to do that?

  “Lemon vodka and tonic, pina colada, and a beer with lime.”

  “What kind of colada?” he asked.

  “She doesn’t care as long as ‘Dane makes it’.”

  Linda was his oldest waitress. Steady. Thirty-three. Not prone to falling for her boss. Thank goodness. He had enough trouble. She had a sarcastic bent to her, though, as evidenced by her mimicry of a high-pitched girl voice. Dane sighed heavily, and then looked to the wooden roof joists. Sam snickered at his elbow, adding to his audience.

  “So tell me Sport, how’s it feel being a sex magnet?”

  “I’ll trade.” Dane grabbed the vodka and rum bottles, poured a good shot of vodka into one glass, added the rum to another blender full of ice. They were getting a crushed ice colada, and it was going to be strawberry. Just because that’s the first thing he grabbed.

  “Sorry. Don’t have your build. Or your looks. And don’t get me started on the hair.” Sam doffed his cap, showing a receding hairline and then plopped it back on.

  “Well, I think you’re gorgeous, Sam.”

  Linda blew him a kiss, and Sam grinned. Dane shook his head and hit the blender switch to drown them both out. Sex and Sunburn. Served nightly. It wasn’t just the name of the establishment. It was in the air.

  “Yo! Dane!”

  Shae was back, leaning over the counter like she had a secret to impart. Dane’s ears pricked up over the noise of the blender. He tipped his head to her and sharpened his hearing to the extent the sighs from his three coed admirers were audible.

  “Appears the attraction you feel is mutual, Love.”

  Dane’s eyes went wide. And before he could formulate a reply, Sam answered.

  “Whoa. News flash. I repeat. News. Flash. Did you say mutual? And attraction? In the same sentence? With our Dane? I got to see this.”

  “Where is she? And who?” Lyle added.

  “I’d rather know what,” said Linda.

  “No way.” That was Marcy, another waitress, joining the throng.

  Great. He had an audience. Damn everything. Dane killed the switch on the blender base; fought the influx of fluid hitting his nose with a needle-like sensation, setting off bells and ringing and fire bursts inside him just like the pinball machines in the corner; tightened everything against the immediate flash of real, human, physical reaction hitting all the way through him. Over just a few words. His attraction was mutual? Wow. How was he to stifle the immediate actual joy?

  Focus, Dane.

  What the hell? Nothing worked. Everything was going crazy inside him and nothing he tried worked to halt it. The blender handle cracked and then broke off within his fingers. Dane tossed it in the trash and poured the mixture with a hand around the container.

  “Show off,” Sam remarked.

  “She order a drink?”

  “Nope. Just…you. At her table. At your convenience.”

  The blender tipped, sending the last of the mixture in a rush that overran the tumbler. Dane grabbed for a towel. Blotted the mess. Put the drink on Linda’s tray. Unfastened his apron.

  “Tell her to stand in line,” Marcy muttered.

  “And try not to look too desperate.”

  They didn‘t know. Nobody did. His spirit was soaring. He was actually surprised to still be standing with his canvas shoes atop the boards.

  “You finish this for me, Sam.”

  Dane tossed the apron on a stool, and moved, making the end of the bar in a blur that had their mouths gaping. Great. Again. He was failing at just about everything.

  “Uh…before you rush over there, I’ve got a quantifier to add.”

  Dane stopped, hovering right at the end of the bar where the pressure of his hand was putting cracks in the surface. The entire troupe made the journey along the outside of the bar, adding counter customers to their numbers. Damn it. He was gaining the one thing he most detested, and the one time he really didn’t want it. Total attention. Dane gritted his teeth, felt the prick of a canine as his body already sought what only his mate could give. Succor. Bliss. And then he had to fight that, too. With an audience.

  “I still want to know who. Somebody start pointing.”

  “Business suit. Boston bred. Can’t miss her.”

  “Dane’s got the hots for a high class call girl? What the hell?”

  “She’s not a call girl,” he replied. It came through clenched teeth, so he wasn’t surprised to see a few raised brows.

  “Yeah. Who knew? All this time we thought—”

  “What was the quantifier?” he asked, more to stop their speculating than because he wanted to know.

  “Well…she didn’t actually ask for you. Not by name, anyway.”

  “Who needs his name? The Viking stud at the bar usually works,” Marcy offered.

  “Not even that. She wants to talk to the owner of this place. And that’s you. Sorry. I didn’t know it mattered so much.”

  Ah…deflation. Thy name is woman.

  Dane fought such supreme disappointment he was probably in full snarl. It was better to watch the floor, where little bits of sand glimmered with light from the fake flickering torches. His failure was going to be complete if the ledge in his hand broke off. He’d failed at hiding his superior strength. He was failing at hiding his reaction to a let-down. He was failing at hiding. Period.

  “So? You going over there? Or you want me to fill in for you again?”

  Sam had obviously finished filling the drink order. Dane watched his apron get pitched across the bar, landing atop his hand, right where he needed it. If he relaxed his grip slowly, the creak of wood might not give away the enormous chunk he’d probably ripped loose. If he concentrated, he could still hear his mate’s heart-rate, elevated now. It might have something to do with the spectacle he was making. He sent a tongue over his teeth, checked for elongation, and then lifted his head.

  “I’ll handle it. Thanks. As for the rest of you? Get back to work.”

  It was a futile order. It didn’t work like in the movies. Nobody did anything other than stand aside, opening an aisle right to her table. Or perhaps it was better described as a gauntlet, since even customers pitched in, closing in both sides. There was nothing for it. For someone avoiding attention, it was ludicrous. Dane stepped into the void, heard the chunk of wood fall, and then put his entire attention on her.

  His mate.

  Her heart rate got even faster, and skipped more than once as he approached, all of which she hid beneath a well-polished exterior. She was good. Really good. Only the slightest tint of blush hitting her cheeks showed her agitation. He just didn’t know if it was his approach, or the crowd he’d managed to gather about them.

  He slid the opposite chair out, flipped it backwards, and slouched into it, laced his hands through the lattice work at the back, working at his best impression of a lazy rich man. He added to it by tipping his chin down, and waited, watching her through his eyelashes.

  Wow! He wasn’t just lucky. He’d hit the mother lode. She was a pure beauty, without a touch of cosmetic enhancement. Pale, unblemished skin like hers would’ve made her a favorite at any medieval court. Her
hair looked to be a rich brown, the match to her eyelashes. She brought her glance to him and completely stole what was left of his senses. It wasn’t hurricane season, there wasn’t a cloud in sight, but none of that mattered in the slightest. A roar of ocean wave lifted by a killer force of wind went right through his ears, cancelling out everything but the uptick of her heart-rate as they locked gazes.

  Dane had vivid blue eyes. It came with his heritage. He’d heard more than enough about them over the centuries, but hers! Hers were almost indescribable…a dark gray-blue, the near match to her suit. Unfathomable. Showing depths to be plumbed. Fathoms of mystery to delve. He was hooked. Reeled in. Netted.

  “Hi.”

  She may have said it. He might even have heard it. Her lips moved, catching his glance to their honeyed appearance. Everything that was male on him went rigid. Instantly and immediately. Without one bit of instruction or intent. He was grateful for the position that hunched him forward, hiding a reaction from so far in his past he’d forgotten how it felt. Lips like hers demanded his kiss. Tormented. Teased. Invited. They were ripe. Lush. Full. Feminine. Immeasurably sweet.

  She lifted a hand to move a strand of hair from atop her lash, the movement caught a flash, and Dane’s entire being ratcheted into something so immense, there wasn’t any way to fight it. He recognized it, too. Supreme male dominated rage.

  She wore a wedding ring.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Vangie had taken this job because it sounded interesting. Easy. A walk in the park. Fly down to Florida; during spring break no less. Find the bar called Sex and Sunburn. Find the owner. He’s named Morgan. Likes the party crowd. Usually works behind the counter of his own bar. Meet him. Schmooze him about the possibility of selling. Get a price range. Communicate. Bargain. Seal the deal with a handshake. Her employers had sweetened the offer with a bonus of 1% for every dollar under twenty million she managed to negotiate. It was right up her alley. She even had a degree in business, and listed her specialty as corporate negotiation.

  She was also lying to herself. Still. Again.