I'm the Vampire, That's Why

by Michele Bardsley

  I found it really interesting that Nara wasn't part of this inner circle. Did they suspect she was a traitor? Or did they realize how much I wanted to pull out her hair strand by strand? Probably the latter.

  "Tell us about the Wraiths," I said. They sounded like a pain in the ass. Like I wanted to be worried about another group of vampires marching into Broken Heart and wreaking more havoc.

  "As Stan said, the Wraiths have a different view of the world's pecking order," said Patrick. "We thought they were inconsequential. Unorganized. We were wrong."

  "We received intelligence that they were planning an attack on our facility," said François. "Since we'd decided to move to Broken Heart, we had already moved many of our personnel and equipment out of the buildings."

  "Most of the RVs were already in transit," added Patrick. "But the Wraiths infiltrated our underground chambers and set off flash bombs. Those vampires still inside were incinerated. They set fire to everything else and destroyed it all."

  "But if the Wraiths know you're searching for a way to stop the disease," I said, "why would they kill your people and set fire to a place that might house the cure?"

  "Unless they have a cure," said François, his gaze thoughtful. "C'est possible? We know that the disease does not transmit to humans or to werewolves. Hmmm. Did you hear about the recently discovered temple in the Sudan?"

  I stared at him. "Yeah. I'm a regular reader of National Geographic."

  Ol' Frankie's brows quirked. "You wield sarcasm, madam, as well as a master swordsman does."

  "Gee, thanks." I smiled at him and batted my lashes.

  Quit flirting. Patrick flicked the command into my head. He sounded half-annoyed, half-amused.

  I'm not flirting.

  Quit being cute and likeable.

  An impossible request. I've always been too adorable for words.

  "The temple was dedicated to Set," said Patrick. "He's an ancient Egyptian deity not known for being a nice guy. In fact, he was the god of chaos."

  "So he's like the devil?"

  "Close. One of the symbols used for his name," said François, "was 'illness.' He was also thought to be infertile. Unlike other gods, he had no children. He had a battle with his brother's son, Horus. Set's testicles were torn off."

  "That's kinda Anne Rice, isn't it?" asked Linda, who had loved Rice's vampire series up until The Tale of the Body Thief. I had to admit I had been thrilled when she'd given up her obsession with the Vampire Lestat. "Or even Blade 3: Trinity" she continued. "I mean, every vampire plot I've ever read about or watched in a movie seems to point toward some sandy forgotten place in Africa."

  "Why is it surprising that fictional accounts so closely mirror the reality? The root from which mankind has grown can be traced to Africa," said François. "Why not this recent outbreak of an ancient plague?"

  "Who discovered the temple?" I asked.

  "Some of the Consortium's archaeologists," answered Patrick.

  "You guys have archaeologists?" I took a sec to think about this revelation. "Why would the Consortium have archaeologists out in the Sudan, which I know is a dangerous place to be, for humans anyway, unless you were looking for something specific and you knew where to look?"

  "I wish Kam was here," said Stan, once again gazing at Linda. "He's better at relaying this information." Aw. The only expression sadder than the doc's was the liquid, big-eyed look of a baby seal about to be stabbed by a hunter's spear. How could a guy look so pathetic?

  "Kam led the expedition," said Patrick. "Even with what we managed to get from the temple, we haven't been able to trace the origins of the disease. Our research indicates that a similar plague happened in ancient times. Our hope was to find out how it was cured."

  "If it was the equivalent of the Black Death… well, that was never really cured," I said. "It just decimated half the world's population."

  "I remember the Plague," said François. "It was horrifying beyond belief. Many vampires went to ground for a half-century or so rather than risk feeding on bad blood."

  "You mean your food was poisoned so you took a nap until you could get fresh meat? Well, if that don't make a gal feel like a piece of prime rib," grumbled Linda in a disgusted tone. I guess Linda still felt human—and so did I. It was going to take a while to acclimate to being an entirely new species.

  "A crude, but succinct way to describe the situation, madam," said François. He bared his fangs and ran his tongue along his teeth as if talking about famine made him want to feast. "Nature has her ways of balancing the scales. Perhaps the disease needs merely to run its course."

  "Not necessarily," I said. "If we have the tools and the means to cure the disease, we damn well should."

  "Y'all are creeping me the hell out," said Linda. "I never did like all those forensic shows. Science is beyond my scope and boring to boot."

  I saw Stan blanch. Oh poor Dr. Michaels. I felt sorry for him. He couldn't handle Linda. She'd stomp his heart flat then use his credit card to buy herself new shoes.

  "The disease only thrives in a vampire's body," said Stan dully. He rubbed a hand over his head, his fingers skating across his bald spot. He blanched again and dropped his hand. "Most vampires live through the deterioration of the organs, but when the bacteria attacks the brain, they go slowly, painfully insane."

  "Most choose to greet the dawn before that happens," said François in a low voice. "There is no cure. So, to turn to ash in the sun's rays is preferable to the consuming madness."

  I was horrified by Stan's description of the disease. Dread clawed at me with scabby fingers. "Lor bit us. Jesus God. He gave it to us."

  "No, love," said Patrick. "You were human when Lor bit you. The bacteria cannot live in a human's body. It dies instantly. And all of you were Turned by Masters without Taint."

  "Lor isn't crazy," I mused. "The cure you attempted with him worked… sorta. Is that what you found out from the guys who were digging around in the Sudan desert?"

  "No. The Consortium received several crates containing papyrus scrolls, statuary, photographs of the temple, and wall etchings. Then we stopped receiving information," said Patrick. He gathered me close and the sudden show of protection made me realize I wasn't going to like what I heard next. "Before they had excavated even a fourth of the temple, they were killed and the entrance to the complex was destroyed."

  "Killed?" I asked. Cold fear snaked up my spine.

  "Four were caught, tied to posts, and left outside. When the sun rose, they burned to death," answered François in a tight voice. "It will take months to dig out the temple entrance and begin our work again. Until we find out who does not want us to know the truth, we dare not risk anyone else to pursue this endeavor."

  "Kam was scouting another location and went to ground where he was instead of returning to the dig site," said Patrick. "We're lucky he survived."

  "Good Lord. So he found his colleagues the next night?" I asked, horrified. "That sucks!" I chewed my lower lip. "Do you think the Wraiths did it?"

  "We don't know," said Patrick. "But it is probable."

  "We are preparing for battle," said Brigid in her lyrical voice. She sat in a cherry-red wingback that had been placed in the left corner of the bedroom. Everyone turned to look at her. Her expression was solemn and beatific as the gold symbols on her face shifted. Damn, that was weird to watch. She was so resplendent that looking at her was like staring at the sun and not caring that you'd go blind. "The Seven Sects are worried about this disease, too. However, they ignore the Consortium's efforts. The Sects protest our goals because they don't want to involve themselves in the world of men."

  "So… they're killing Consortium members?" I asked, confused.

  "It is not the ancients," said Brigid. "Not even they wish to destroy a five-hundred-year-old legacy, all that Patrick and Lorćan created to bring good and peace into the world. It is the Wraiths who wish to establish a new order—which includes ruling over the humans. They're using the disease and the va
mpires' fear of it to wage war against the Consortium."

  "They're winning, too," said Patrick bitterly. "The Council of Seven continually throws words like 'fate' and 'destiny' around as if they have no control over events. They refuse to help us, to help themselves. We don't deny our customs or traditions. We don't discount the sacrifices of our creators. But progress requires change. If we stay mired in the past, we cannot move forward to build a better future."

  I was getting a larger picture of the situation. Good heavens above. The world was much bigger and so much more different than I had ever imagined. Yeah, all right. I was a throwback to the 1950s. I was a housewife. I cleaned and cooked and cared for my family. Let me tell you something: It was a difficult damned job and the pay sucked. But it's what I knew how to do and I liked doing it. Well, as my grandma used to say: Stop chewing your cud and get on with it.

  What I had been wasn't nearly as important as what I had become. I thought I had problems before. Now, I was worried about a freaking vampire war, a freaking vampire plague, and a freaking vampire marriage. In addition, we had a vicious unknown monster on the loose, a Lorćan to catch and to cure, and a whole town to re-vamp. I was overwhelmed. And when I start feeling like I'm going to drown into the murky waters of obligations, expectations, and needs, there's only one way to keep from going under.

  Tequila. And lots of it.

  I'm kidding. (Mostly.)

  "I need paper and a pen," I said.

  The next thing I knew I had three different kinds of notepads and three kinds of pens materializing on my lap. Brigid, François, and Patrick cleared their throats.

  "Vampires are such show-offs," said Darrius… or Drake. He sounded more amused than envious.

  "Uh… thanks everyone." I lifted a pink pen with a fuzzy feather on it. "Who made this one?"

  I eyed Brigid. I didn't think she was the pink fuzzy type. She shook her head and confirmed my suspicion.

  "I fear, madam, that creation is mine." François smiled, his eyes twinkling. "You like?"

  "Immensely." I picked up one of the notepads and scribbled out my list.

  "So, the first thing we need to do is find Lorćan."

  "Oh gawd," groaned Linda. "We're doomed. When Jessie starts making a list, she won't rest until every item is checked off." She fell forward onto the bed and punched the covers. Then she moaned melodramatically.

  "Suck it up, woman. You've survived Christmas shopping with me at the mall, you can survive this."

  Linda popped back up and rolled her eyes. "I barely survived. The only reason I never collapsed was because you kept me supplied in peppermint mochas."

  "Whiner. Next, we need to find the asshole who attacked me and make sure he dies." I bit my lip. "I mean, um, make sure he doesn't try to kill anyone else."

  And if he's dead, that problem is solved.

  I heard that, a thaisce, and I heartily agree.

  "Third on the list, is to find a cure for the disease." I tapped the end of the pen against the notepad. "Then we need to figure out how to take out the Wraiths, too."

  "Think you can put something on the list that we can actually accomplish?" asked Linda drolly.

  "I need a whole separate list for the town. We have to make sure all the houses are emptied and the former residents are gone. We have to find merchants willing to run the necessary businesses. The most important task, of course, is setting up a school. The kids will need to keep to the same routine and they need an education. Then again, if we train 'em to sleep during the day and stay up all night, they're going to be ill-prepared for college." I thought about that. "Well, maybe it'll prepare 'em for college, but not the real world. They still gotta live in it even though we don't."

  "There's always Las Vegas, honey," said Linda. "Or Alaska. Right now, the kids are in the this-is-cool phase as we adjust to the nighttime schedule."

  "Good point." I looked at the list. It was basic, but even though the tasks were daunting I felt better. "Okay. Let's go get Lorćan."

  Patrick's hand cupped the back of my head and tilted it back. His eyes were filled with merriment. "Surely, a thaisce, you do not expect to simply go out and find Lorćan when the best trackers in the world are unable to catch his scent?"

  Chapter 14

  I blinked up at Patrick. "Well, no, I don't plan to go prancing through the woods and expect your brother to be waiting for me. But I thought I would just, you know, do the mind meld thing."

  "What mind meld thing?" asked the twins.

  I had everyone's attention, especially Patrick's. A knot tightened in my belly. "I showed you my memory. Lorćan and I communicated mentally."

  "Mon dieu! "

  I looked at François. "What?"

  "No one's been able to reach him," said Patrick. "Not even me. And yet you…" He frowned, obviously pondering why I could connect to his brother while he couldn't. Well, that made two of us.

  "It takes a profound connection to reach into someone else's mind and communicate direct thought," explained Brigid. "Most vampires use energy to soften the will of others, to make them open to verbal suggestions. True compulsion and the ability to easily glamour are talents usually found in the Family Romanov."

  "You mean you can't make people do things just because you're a vampire?" asked Linda.

  "Each Family has its own strengths," said Brigid, her thoughtful gaze on Patrick. "A Family's particular powers are passed along to Turn-bloods, but it usually takes a century or two for a vampire to call upon and effectively wield those powers."

  "The ability to glamour includes limited telepathy—to put suggestions into the victim's mind. However, it is also true that strong bonds, such as those created by mates, allows telepathic communication between vampires," added Patrick.

  "We're not mates," I said, sounding churlish.

  "Our bodies do not know that," Patrick said in a low voice. His brogue thickened with every word. "The binding is not yet performed, but the soul knows its other half. You belong to me, Jessica. And I to you."

  "Oh gawd! He's such a dickhead," said Linda in a dreamy voice, "but I love the way he talks. So possessive and arrogant and yummy."

  "Don't encourage him," I said. "He's bad enough as it is."

  "Perhaps," said Brigid, who looked like a queen sitting on a royal throne instead of a garage-sale wing-back, "during the attack, you remembered things differently from how they really happened."

  "Are you calling me a liar?" Outrage made me bristle. I sat up and shoved Patrick's arm off my shoulder.

  Brigid only smiled. "I refer only to the idea that you were still under the glamour. Sometimes, its lingering effects cause faulty memories."

  "Fine!" I snapped. "I'll prove it." I shoved off the covers and rolled over Patrick. I was wearing a decent nightgown, which meant Brigid probably picked it out. "Hel-lo. Meeting adjourned." I turned on my heel and hurried into my bathroom. I locked the door and leaned against it.

  Patrick shimmered into being in front of me. His finger and thumb gently clamped my chin, tilting my face up so that I would look at him. His eyes were gorgeous. Mercurial with emotion. It amazed me how his gaze could seem so cold, like a sword point, or so hot, like molten silver.

  "I like how you think about me," he said. "You make me feel…" He shrugged as if that careless gesture could replace the word he couldn't articulate.

  "Actions always speak louder than words," I said. This was a piece of motherly advice I dispensed every day to my children. My mother had said the same thing to me growing up, only her phrase was: If you're gonna talk the talk, sweet pea, you better be able to walk the walk.

  Patrick's handsome face descended toward mine. He stopped when he was just a whisper away. "You have a beautiful mouth."

  God, he was magnificent. Such harsh, sensual beauty. The luck of genetics and vampirism and gym time? Who knew?

  He watched me watching him and I knew he was probably in my head, listening in on my thoughts, my confusion. He grinned, just a little, and I
knew that rotten, ugly, fat troll was reading my mind.

  He laughed, unrepentant, and his breath plumed my lips. How the hell did he do that? How could he pretend to breathe? Or better yet, why did he pretend to breathe?

  "You are getting distracted by unimportant details." He flicked his tongue over my lips. My thoughts suspended immediately. I focused on him, on his movements, and nearly died (again) from the want of it. From the want of him.

  His tongue traced the outline of my mouth. He dipped into the seam and licked across… and back again. This light teasing was an artist's rendering, a paint stroke against canvas.

  My arms crept up his shoulders to wend around his neck. He gathered me closer still; his hands caressed my sides. Flames seemed to erupt wherever he touched despite the fact he hadn't made contact with my skin. His palms cupped my hips and there they stayed, clenching as if he were afraid to continue on.

  Oh wow. Did he know how to make me melt or what? You make me crazy, you know that? Drive me stark raving bonkers.

  Then we are even. Kiss me, Jessica. Please.

  'Twas the please that caught my memory. I sensed his confusion and sent a low laugh into his mind. The Princess Bride.

  I didn't give him time to ponder the meaning of me quoting my all-time favorite movie. I pressed my lips to his. My tongue darted out, swiping his lower lip. He took the invitation, and apparently weary of skirting our lust, thrust his tongue inside my mouth.

  Everything whirled away.

  Everything but Patrick.

  He was merciless in his tongue-and-lips assault. He'd had centuries to perfect kissing. It was all I could do to keep up with his expertise, to meet each tender assault with one of my own. After a while, I surrendered to him, conquered by the intensity of my own need.

  The man made my thighs quiver and his hands hadn't moved from my waist. An erotic all points bulletin went out to my body. My nipples answered the call immediately, tightening into aching peaks. My nightgown was thin and so was the shirt Patrick wore. He noticed the scraping of my breasts against his chest and let out a half-groan, half-growl.