“Drago? What happened?” Her voice was soft, but he could hear the eagerness in it.
“There were many stories in your Old West of gunfighters—those who had the reputation of being the quickest and deadliest draws. Wherever they went, men wanted to prove themselves against the best, live or die. Sometimes I feel like one of those gunslingers.”
“My God, Drago, you didn’t kill Revelin, did you?”
His eyes still closed, he smiled at her question. If not for the prime directive ruling his kind . . . “No, cherie. But there is always the game to be played. I tire of it.”
“Well, what did you find out?” Her eagerness was turning into impatience.
“I don’t think he’s involved. He said he got his orders from Curt Deverick. Did you ever have any dealings with him?”
“Deverick. No, the name doesn’t sound familiar.”
He raised his head and looked at her. “Well, remember it now, cherie.”
“You can take me home now, right? If Scott’s not involved, there’s nothing more I can help you with.”
“Deverick’s in New Orleans. I need to talk to him next.”
“But you don’t need me for that. It’s not that far out of your way to take me back to Vicksburg. You can have me home in an hour and still be in New Orleans tonight.”
He leaned his head back again and opened his senses to her, his eyes half closed, but his chest expanding with a deep, slow inhalation. Enjoying the sight and scent of her was much more pleasurable than considering her request.
She started to open her mouth, but he held up a hand. “I’m thinking.”
Thinking, be damned! He was simply indulging. Her hair was a waterfall of silk he would have caressed had she not been so intolerant of his touch, and her dark eyes were wells that promised the granting of many future wishes. By far, however, it was her scent that tantalized him. After suffering the fetid stench of the Undead inside Scott’s office, the sweetness of her life’s blood danced over his skin, seeped into his pores, and invaded every inch of his being.
“Drago . . .”
He sighed. If only she weren’t an aberration. She was one-quarter vampire, and her blood, now and forever, was poison to him. He put the car into drive and pulled away.
“Where are we going?” A note of hope softened her voice.
“Back to the hotel.” She started to protest, but he cut her off. “Listen to me! Scott thinks I’m nothing more than paranoid, that his orders to kill you were just a mix-up, but I don’t believe any of that. No one attaches my name to an order by mistake. Deverick may or may not be in New Orleans, and even if he is, he may not be the only one involved in this. You were an expendable pawn from the beginning, and whoever is behind this is not going to let you live now.”
She was quiet after that, and they rode the rest of the way to the hotel in silence. When they reached their room, he offered to take her out to dinner, but she shook her head.
“Room service, then, mademoiselle?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You should eat. This ordeal may last longer than you think. You will need strength.”
In the end she relented and agreed to soup and a sandwich from room service. After it arrived, he called Deverick’s cell phone number.
“Deverick.”
“Alek Dragovich.”
“Drago.”
Was there a note of surprise in the man’s voice? Without the benefit of face-to-face contact, it was difficult to be sure.
“Drago, where are you? I thought you were supposed to be down here. Those sanctions you imposed did nothing but make matters worse.”
“Where are you?”
“New Orleans, of course.” This time the emotion in the voice came through loud and clear. Annoyance, backed up by good, old-fashioned hatred.
Drago strode across the room, swallowing its length much too quickly. “I need you in Jackson, now. A matter of the utmost importance.”
“I can’t leave now. I have half my enforcers here trying to settle things down. I really thought you’d be here, too.”
He turned and marched back across the suite. “I can order you to Jackson, monsieur.”
“Listen, Drago. I’m tired of your meddling in Brotherhood affairs. Go ahead and lodge a complaint against me. From what I’ve heard, it won’t do you any good.”
Drago snapped the cell phone shut with a growl.
Marya looked up at him, her mouth full of bread and turkey. She gulped down the bite of sandwich. “Did you really think Deverick would be cooperative?”
He smiled. She was right. “No. I was hoping, like you, for a quick resolution.”
She put her sandwich down on the plate. “So what are you going to do now?”
He stopped pacing and sat on the sofa next to her. “There’s no point in remaining here. First thing in the morning, I’ll take you home.”
Her face brightened immediately.
“But I’ll have to stay with you. If I decide to go to New Orleans to meet with Deverick, I’ll have to take you with me.”
Marya couldn’t eat the rest of her sandwich. Her pretty fiction of having this thing end quickly was gone. There was only one consolation. She was going home. And soon. If she clung to that thought, she might be able to get through one more night sharing a room with a vampire.
She withdrew to the bathroom to change. When she was safely in her pajamas and robe, she opened the room and hurried out, eager, once again, for the sanctuary of her bed. She made it without incident, and this time as she curled in her bed she kept her eyes shut. No more voyeuristic vampire-watching tonight. Even so, sleep was very long in coming.
MARYA WOKE ABRUPTLY in the night. She opened her eyes, but could see nothing. The heavy drapes were more effective than the night itself in sealing the room in blackness. She lay still, listening, but heard nothing. Yet she was sure something had awakened her. She waited, not wanting to risk a light. Then she heard it. A word. A strange word.
It had to be Drago. She waited, thinking he was saying something to her, but there was nothing but disjointed sounds in a language she didn’t understand or recognize. He was talking in his sleep.
She sat up, straining in the darkness to see him. A vampire talking in his sleep? She thought vampires were supposed to sleep like the dead. Either the legend was wrong, or Drago, as she was beginning to realize, was unique among the Undead. She eased out of her bed and opened the drapes a crack, just enough to let in some of the light from the parking lot lamps. Drago lay on his back, and the part of his body she could see above his covers was naked. She walked around to the side of her bed closest to his and looked at his face. A deep vertical furrow divided his brows, and the lines etched in his face that she jokingly thought of as ‘smile lines’ were deeper than she had ever seen them.
“Zaloznye.”
She jumped back. She thought he was aware of her, but he was indeed dead to the world. What was he saying? She had heard him speak French enough to know it wasn’t French. Russian? She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed logical. She peered again at his face, and it looked almost contorted in pain. Sweat had broken out on his temple, and long black strands of hair were caught and trapped against his skin.
“Drago,” she whispered.
“Zaloznye pokojniki. Ved’miak.”
“Drago, wake up,” she whispered, louder this time.
He only tossed his head, whipping a tangle of hair across his features.
She didn’t want to, but she reached out a hand and touched his arm. “Drago.”
It happened so fast she didn’t have time to scream. A force grabbed her and sailed her across the room so fast she couldn’t see her surroundings until her back slammed against the wall. The stun knocked the air from her lungs. She couldn’t breathe, much
less cry out. Fingers like the steel jaws of a trap held her arms, and a mask of pale skin, dark glassy eyes, and bared teeth swam before her. She struggled to get oxygen into her lungs, but the air wouldn’t come. She started to hyperventilate when she felt his mouth against her neck, his smooth teeth raking her skin. She fought to get one word out.
“Drago!”
She felt herself being released, and she slid to the floor, having no strength to support herself. She vaguely wondered if she were dying, but no sooner than the thought formed she heard a voice.
“Marya, just relax and breathe slowly. Come on, breathe in.”
She did as the voice instructed, and miraculously the air made it to her lungs. One hand supported her shoulder and another her head, but she didn’t care. She was alive and breathing, and that was all that mattered. But the hands left her, and for a moment she was afraid. A light from the bathroom came on, and when she blinked and opened her eyes, Drago was on one knee at her side. His hair fell in a web of tangled strands, and a line of sweat still ran past one eye, but the look of pain was gone, and his eyes were clear again. And blue, even in the low light.
“Forgive me, cherie, I didn’t mean to frighten you . . . or hurt you.”
“For someone not meaning to, you did a pretty good job,” she whispered.
He reached out and smoothed the hair away from her face, and she made no move to stop him. “Didn’t your father ever write that it’s dangerous to disturb a sleeping vampire?”
She managed a small smile. “I don’t think I had ever planned on sleeping with a vampire.”
He smiled in return. “Something to keep in mind for the future.”
She pushed his hand away from her face. “I don’t think so. Let me up.”
“Not yet. Just relax a moment more and get your strength back.”
“Relax? God, Drago, you almost killed me!”
“If it’s any consolation, cherie, your blood would have poisoned me rather effectively.”
“It’s no consolation, thank you.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “You were talking in your sleep. I think you were having a nightmare. I was just trying to wake you up.”
He sat on the floor next to her and leaned against the wall. “They come. Only la Belle Mort brings the true sleep of the dead.”
“I couldn’t understand what you were saying. It sounded like Russian.”
“No doubt it was.”
“What are the nightmares about?”
“Things you don’t want to hear, cherie.” He was on his feet again in an eye blink. “Come. Back to bed.” He extended a hand down to her.
She hesitated, but then reached a hand to his. He grasped it and hauled her easily to her feet. The movement brought her face to face with him. His mouth was only inches from hers, and this was the closest by far she had been to his bare torso. Her legs started to feel weak again, but his hand still held hers.
“Should you witness me in the throes of another nightmare, cherie, it is in your best interest to let me be,” he whispered.
She shook her arm to free it from his. “You’re welcome.”
“I resisted killing you. Twice now. Consider that your thank you.”
She looked down at the arm that held hers. She saw the strange mark again, the mark she had thought to be a tattoo. But the strange symbol was carved deep into his skin. She raised her eyes to his, and she knew he had seen where her eyes had been. He released her without a further word.
Sleep, once again, was very long in coming.
Eight
THEY LEFT FOR Vicksburg at eight the next morning. Conversation was meager travel fare, but Marya didn’t mind. No doubt Drago had a lot of plotting to do. She just hoped that in the final grand scheme, she would play a minor role.
It was a warm day, and she was happy just to buzz down her window and enjoy the feel of spring weather. In a quick hour Drago turned onto her quiet road. Marya had always loved her Creole-style cottage, but she had never been happier to see the tin roof, shuttered windows, and steps leading up to the raised veranda than she was when Drago parked in the drive. Only when he followed her into the living room and spoke did her enthusiasm at being home fade.
“If I were you, mademoiselle, I would not bother to unpack.”
Her joyous mood broken, she nevertheless continued through the kitchen to the back hall. “Well, you’re not, so if you don’t mind, I need to wash some of these things. And there’s not much food in the house, so I’m going to have to make a trip to the grocery store. I know these mundane chores don’t concern you, but I have to deal with them.”
He followed her to the hallway that led to the utility room and her bedroom. “Do what you need to do. But anytime you leave the house, I will accompany you.”
He was right on her heels. “This bedroom is mine,” she said at the room’s entrance.
“Oui, cherie, I know it is,” he purred. His voice was so soft it tickled her like a feather, and a shiver ran down her side.
“You can use the spare bedroom across from my studio,” she said, entering her own room and slamming the door behind her. The memory of his first visit when he had seen her in a nightshirt and little else was as humiliating now as it had been then. She decided that the best way to put the memory—and him—out of her mind was action.
She spent the rest of the morning washing clothes, unpacking, and straightening the house, immersing herself as much as possible in the comforting daily routines. Thankfully, Drago didn’t hover about her. In fact, he was out of sight most of the time. When it was time to go to the store, he was nowhere to be seen. Oh well, she thought. Too bad. She would not miss his company.
But as soon as she exited the side door to the carport, he was right beside her.
“You did not think to leave without me, mademoiselle, did you?”
“I was hoping you had disappeared for good.”
“Come,” he said, flashing very white teeth. “It will be my pleasure to drive you.”
They took his car, and she directed him to the largest grocery store in town. What if someone she knew saw her with this man? She led a solitary life, but even so, she had neighbors and acquaintances from the art club. Vicksburg was a small town, and, as in any small town, people loved nothing better than gossip. What would people think when they saw her with Drago? Even in an outfit as simple as the black jeans and long-sleeved knit shirt he wore, he stood out—anywhere, in any kind of crowd.
Once inside the store, she tried to both ignore him and avoid eye contact with other customers or clerks. But even when he was behind her instead of in front, she was painfully aware of exactly where he was. Maybe it was the faint scent of the Undead he emanated. Every time she stopped to look at an item or put one in her basket she could feel him only inches away from her.
Finally, she could stand it no longer. She half-turned in his direction. “Do you have to stand so close?” she hissed.
His response was to move that much closer to her. “What are you afraid of, cherie? That people will think I’m your lover?”
She felt her cheeks burning. “Well, they’re not going to think you’re my uncle,” she whispered. But thankfully she didn’t run into anyone she knew, and while she saw a few women giving Drago the once-over, she survived the outing.
By mid-afternoon, the laundry was done, the house was spotless, and she had eaten a late lunch. All in all, it had been a good day. Drago had been exceedingly considerate at the house and had stayed out of her way. At times she almost forgot he was there. Almost. It was impossible to completely overlook that one of the world’s most fearsome vampires was under her roof.
She wondered why he was being so nice. Was he feeling guilty about nearly killing her last night? A vampire feel guilt over a mortal? She wanted to laugh. The idea was ludicrous. Drago was anyth
ing but a white knight. More likely he wanted something from her. Charm seemed to be one of his most potent weapons. Perhaps if she could wield the same weapon she could beguile him into relinquishing some information.
Tired of being cooped up inside cars and hotel rooms, she longed for some exercise. A walk. It would be the perfect opportunity. She sought out Drago. She found him in her studio, studying her paintings again.
“It’s so nice out. I’d like to go for a walk.”
He smiled, and she hoped he didn’t have the power to see into her mind. “Certainement, mademoiselle!”
He was all gentleman, however, as they strolled down her lane. Marya lived on the edge of town, and while she had neighbors, the houses were set both well away from each other and the road. As they walked on the left side of the road, facing traffic, he stayed on her right, careful to keep several feet of distance between them. She actually found herself enjoying the exercise, the sunny afternoon, and his presence.
“Drago, will you talk to me?”
He seemed surprised at the question. His brows twitched upward, quite a different reaction from the lazy, bored look she usually got from him. “Of course.”
“I mean, will you talk about yourself?”
“That depends on what you wish to know.”
“Well, like when and where you were born . . . things like that.”
“Ah, you want to know about someone else, not the man who walks beside you.”
She felt oddly self-conscious, in spite of the fact they were talking about him, not her. She got the impression she had offended him and that he wouldn’t answer. She had thought to preface her most burning questions with several about his past, both to put him off guard and to actually glean some information about him, but it seemed her plan had backfired.
It was his turn to surprise her. “In 1446 a boy-child was born to a prince in the city called His Majesty Lord Novgorod the Great. A privileged birth, wouldn’t you say?”
She didn’t answer, not wanting to presume she knew anything about medieval Russia.
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