Immortal Angel

by Lynsay Sands

  Ildaria turned her gaze back to her drink then, staring at it grimly and refusing to meet his gaze after that admission. When he remained silent, seeming to be waiting, she added, “That’s why I decided to leave Punta Cana. So I wouldn’t make trouble for Vasco and the others anymore.”

  “And you moved to Montana,” G.G. put in.

  Ildaria nodded. “Jess invited me to stay with her while I figured out what I wanted to do. She’s the one who suggested I get a degree at college or university.”

  When she stopped talking again, G.G. said, “And you chose accounting at university, but then your friend was raped.”

  “Yeah.” She breathed the word unhappily. “I didn’t have enough experience to wipe her memories, but I did what I could to blur them for her. Soften them so she wasn’t so terrified and traumatized.”

  “And then you went vigilante,” G.G. suggested, bringing her gaze sharply to his. Smiling at her expression, he shrugged. “Like I said, the Night Club is gossip central. I did hear a little of why you are now in Canada and being watched like a hawk by Lucian and the boys.”

  Ildaria grimaced, and took a sip of her drink, but then nodded. “Yeah. Well, when I read her mother’s mind, I saw that they’d learned that Alicia wasn’t the first victim of this rapist. They suspected the same man was responsible for at least three other attacks. There was a serial rapist on campus, but they weren’t advertising it because they didn’t want the female students to panic, and risk female enrollment dropping,” she said bitterly. Angry that the school would choose profit over concern for its female students. “So, I donned leathers and started going out at night looking for the bastard.”

  “Leathers?” G.G. asked, distracting her from her anger.

  She blinked at him and then shrugged. “Injuries mean a need for more blood, and while I was working full time as a waitress, making great tips, and my rent with Jess was ridiculously low, university is expensive. I couldn’t afford a lot of extra blood,” she explained. “Short of a Kevlar bodysuit or something, leather is the best thing you can wear to avoid or reduce injury. So I bought black leather pants, a black leather jacket and whatnot, put my hair in a ponytail or bun to prevent it being used against me and went out looking for him.”

  “Did you get him?” G.G. asked when she fell silent.

  Ildaria shook her head slowly. “No. But I got a lot of other assholes up to no good.” A small smile played around her lips as she recalled the people she’d helped and the criminals she’d dumped in the hands of local mortal law enforcement. But after a moment, she sighed, and added, “Unfortunately, there are a lot of fricking people out there with cell phones happy to film anything and everything everybody is doing. I got caught on film once or twice, which was bad enough. But then one of the people I rescued was an FBI agent . . . and didn’t that just make them hot to catch me?” She rolled her eyes, thinking that was gratitude for you, and then said irritably, “Which, of course, caught the attention of the North American Council.”

  “Ah,” G.G. murmured, picking up his own drink, but merely holding it as he said, “Which is how you ended up here in Toronto under Lucian’s eagle eye.”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “In truth, I was lucky. He could have had me executed. I was drawing attention that could have led to the discovery of our kind, and that’s a no-no with every Council so . . .” She breathed out unhappily. “I just wish I’d caught the bastard who attacked Alicia before Lucian caught on and came to Montana to shut me down.”

  G.G. was silent for a minute, his expression thoughtful, and then he asked, “And what happened here?”

  Ildaria turned to him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Why did Lucian make you drop your night courses and switch to days?” he asked almost gently in that deep bass rumble of his. “Were you donning your leathers and—”

  “No,” she assured him quickly. “Nothing like that. I do learn from my mistakes.”

  He waited. Silent.

  Ildaria could have refused to explain. It wasn’t really any of his business. But she found she wanted to. She didn’t want him to think she’d run off half-cocked and repeated her error. “I didn’t go looking for trouble this time. But a lot of bad stuff happens at night on campus, and I can’t just ignore someone’s screams for help. So . . .” She grimaced and admitted, “There have been three instances since starting my night courses here in Toronto where I’ve stumbled across someone in trouble and tried to help.”

  She noted his wince at this news, and sighed inwardly, completely understanding it, but not sorry she’d helped. Pushing his reaction away in her mind, she continued, “One of those instances where I helped was apparently caught on camera.”

  “Crap,” G.G. breathed.

  Ildaria nodded, completely agreeing with that assessment of the situation. It was crap. “So, Lucian has decided that Vasco was right and I’m a trouble magnet. That being the case, Lucian has decided the best way to keep me out of trouble is to make me switch from night classes to day classes when there is less crime on campus for me to happen upon on my way to and from class.”

  They were both silent for a minute, and then G.G. pushed his plate away and turned to face her. Ildaria waited warily, unsure what to make of the thoughtful way he was eyeing her, but then he said, “Marguerite said you were taking accounting at uni.”

  Surprise sent her eyebrows upward, but she nodded. “I major in accounting, minor in business.”

  G.G. nodded slowly and then said thoughtfully, “And my dog likes you.”

  Ildaria tilted her head, trying to sort that one out. She wasn’t at all certain what one thing had to do with the other.

  And then he said, “Would you like a job?”

  Ildaria stilled, startled by the question, but after considering his comment about his dog liking her, asked, “Dog sitting?”

  G.G. nodded. “And doing the books for the Night Club.” When her eyes widened in surprise, he added, “I’ll pay you for both. An accountant’s full wages, plus an extra twenty dollars an hour for looking after H.D. while you do.”

  Her mouth dropped open at that offer, excitement building within her at the thought of being paid for two jobs in one, but then she frowned and pointed out, “Wait. You already have a dog sitter. They just didn’t come in today for some reason.”

  “I had a dog sitter,” G.G. said dryly, and explained, “She quit yesterday after H.D. bit her. Walked out in the middle of the night without telling me and left him alone to eat holes in my clothes and chew the hell out of one of my running shoes.”

  “Oh.” Ildaria blinked, wondering what clothes the little fur ball had chewed holes in.

  “And I’ve been looking for a bookkeeper since I bought this place . . .” G.G. shook his head with irritation. “The fact that I can’t hire a mortal has made it impossible to find anyone.”

  Ildaria completely understood why he couldn’t hire mortals. This club was for immortals. It served blood-based drinks, not alcohol. The accounts payable would be to various places but would include Argeneau blood banks. The drinks made were variations of blood, sometimes just different blood types: A+, A-, B+, B-, etc. Sometimes customers wanted specialized blood like that of people who were high on various drugs, or the sweet blood Marguerite had asked her to pick up on the way back from university. Sweet blood came from untreated diabetics and had a high sugar content. A rare blend to find since when the blood was tested on donation, the donor was advised that they were diabetic and should seek medical attention, reducing the donor base.

  Sometimes, though, the blood was mixed with things to make it more interesting. Here a Bloody Mary was a true Bloody Mary, made with the standard Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce, lemon juice, lime juice, black pepper as well as celery and a lemon wedge for garnish. But there was no tomato juice or vodka in the Bloody Marys here. That was replaced with blood.

  Actually, she thought now, G.G. would have trouble explaining having blood banks on the accounts payabl
e list to the tax people too and she supposed he had to cover with switching names out from blood banks for alcohol distributors. He probably had to keep two sets of books, she decided. An immortal was really the only way he could go when it came to hiring a bookkeeper. She didn’t know a lot of accountant immortals. Ildaria was sure there must be some out there, but considering the small pool to search from . . . well, finding a bookkeeper would be impossible.

  “So?” G.G. prompted when she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. “Want a job? Or two jobs, I should say.”

  “Si,” Ildaria said at once, feeling a lot of her stressors drop away like ashes crumbling in a fire. He was going to pay her for both watching H.D. and doing the books. It was like two full-time jobs in one. Her money troubles just went out the door. She’d be able to pay for the fall semester, get her own apartment, and maybe even buy furniture for it if she was careful. Damn. Things were looking up.

  “Thank God,” G.G. said, relaxing in his chair and smiling at her. Shaking his head, he added, “Actually, I suppose I should be thanking Marguerite. She’s the one who suggested you might be able to help me.”

  “Marguerite did?” Ildaria asked with surprise.

  “Yeah. When she called this morning about the blood, we got to talking and I was telling her about H.D.’s sitter quitting and needing a bookkeeper and she mentioned that you were taking accounting and looking for a job. And then she suggested sending you to pick up the blood instead of my having it delivered so that I could meet and talk to you. I thought that would take care of at least one of my problems, but instead, H.D. likes you and it handles both of my problems.” He smiled widely at the realization that his troubles were over and then said, “I really need to send her flowers or something.”

  Ildaria smiled faintly in response, but asked, “So this was a job interview?”

  He grinned and nodded, the expression making him look ridiculously adorable. The man was a big teddy bear . . . with tattoos, piercings, and a bright green Mohawk.

  “So when can you start?” G.G. asked abruptly, his expression serious again.

  “How about now?” she asked lightly, and then paused to frown. “No. I guess I need to take the blood home to Marguerite first. And then I should probably change into something more professional, but I could start after that. Maybe in two hours?” she asked and then explained, “It’ll be rush hour traffic when I head back or I’d say sooner.”

  G.G. smiled faintly, but shook his head. “Take the blood to Marguerite and relax tonight, get anything done that you think will need doing and you can start tomorrow,” he suggested, and then pointed out, “It’s nearly sunset, and I wouldn’t have time to show you the books and how they’re done before opening anyway. Tomorrow you can come in at say . . . four? Then we can go over the books so you know what you’re doing.”

  Ildaria nodded easily, happy to start whenever he wanted.

  “Good. Then I’ll go get that blood for Marguerite so you can be on your way.”

  “What about H.D.?” Ildaria asked with concern as he stood up. “What will you do with him tonight?”

  G.G. hesitated and then shrugged unhappily. “One night in my office won’t kill him. I’ll just make sure there’s nothing lying around for him to eat.”

  “Or I could take him home with me,” Ildaria suggested quietly, and then added, “On the house.”

  G.G.’s eyes flew up in surprise, but then he shook his head with regret.

  Before he could say no, though, she added, “I don’t mind. Besides, I’d be upset thinking about him being stuck locked up in your office all night long . . . and I would bring him back with me tomorrow. That way he wouldn’t be on his own and get into anything.”

  The large man hesitated briefly, but then considered aloud, “It’s usually 7 or 8 a.m. or so before I finish cleanup and go up to my apartment. All I do is take H.D. out for a pee break, and then it’s to bed. I sleep until three—” Pausing, he explained, “That’s why I suggested you return at four. It would give me time for breakfast and a cup of coffee before you returned.”

  Ildaria nodded and then waited.

  “So,” G.G. said thoughtfully, “all he’d miss is sleeping time with me and watching me eat my breakfast. That would work,” he decided, but then paused and suggested, “Maybe you should check with Marguerite first, though. She might not want the little runt running around her house.”

  “I’m sure she won’t mind,” Ildaria said and was quite sure that was true. Marguerite loved dogs. Still, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, saying, “But I’ll call her to be sure.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “I’ll get Marguerite’s package while you do.” Leaving her to her call, he picked up his plate and headed around the bar to pass through the swinging doors.

  As she’d expected, Marguerite was more than happy to have H.D. come stay the night. The woman loved dogs almost as much as she did. Ildaria didn’t tell her that she had a job now, she merely said that the dog sitter G.G. had hired to look after H.D. had let him down and she didn’t want to leave the poor fur ball stuck in his office all night. Ildaria wanted to see Marguerite’s face when she told her that she’d got the job she’d recommended her for, plus the dog sitting position as well. She also planned to stop and pick up some flowers on the way home to give the woman as a thank-you for recommending her to G.G. and she wanted them to be a surprise too.

  Ildaria was smiling to herself at the thought as she put her phone away.

  “It’s all right with Marguerite then?”

  A glance showed G.G. pushing through the swing doors, a medium-sized cooler in hand. Ildaria’s smile widened. “More than all right. She’s eager to give him cuddles. She thinks Julius will be grateful for the break.”

  G.G.’s mouth dropped open at this and Ildaria grinned with amusement and explained, “Julius the dog, not Julius her husband.”

  “Ah.” He smiled wryly. “I always forget she names her dog after her husband.”

  “Do you know why?” she asked with interest. It did seem an odd habit to her, but she hadn’t got around to asking Marguerite about it.

  “Yes, I do,” he said with a faint smile, and then carried the cooler around the bar, adding, “And I’ll tell you another time. I need to set up for tonight right now.”

  “Oh. Of course.” She hesitated, her gaze sliding from G.G. to the cooler he held and then toward the bar. H.D. was nowhere in sight.

  “I’ll grab H.D.’s leash, his favorite toy, and his food and treats,” G.G. announced, setting the cold container of blood on the bar.

  “Right,” Ildaria said, relaxing and then she watched him slip back through the swinging doors. It didn’t take long before he had returned with two bags.

  Moving to the cooler, he opened the lid and set one of the bags inside, saying, “This is H.D.’s food and favorite treats. There are three separate meals, each in its own container. I make his dog food myself from fresh meat and vegetables, so it has to be kept refrigerated and then microwaved before serving. The containers are microwavable, and I usually put them in for twenty-two seconds, but each microwave is different, so check it before you give it to him to make sure it isn’t too hot, because he’ll gobble it up the minute you set it down without checking it himself,” he warned.

  “Okay. Check it first,” she said aloud.

  “Right,” G.G. said as he closed the lid of the cooler. “He eats when he wakes up which is usually around 3 or 4 p.m., then again at 11 p.m. or midnight, and finally around 3 or 4 a.m. which is about four hours before bedtime, so three should do until you bring him back.”

  Ildaria nodded, silently repeating the times in her head so she’d remember.

  “As for his treats . . .” G.G. continued, and waited for her to meet his gaze, before saying firmly, “He gets no more than three in twenty-four hours. Too many treats and he becomes a roly-poly little sausage on legs and can’t jump up in his chair.”

  Ildaria’s eyebrows rose at the “his chair”
bit, but said solemnly, “No more than three.”

  Apparently satisfied that she wouldn’t go wild and turn his dog into a roly-poly little sausage overnight, G.G. relaxed a bit and moved back around the bar, pulling a leash out of his back pocket. As she’d expected it was black leather interspersed with studs and miniature spikes, Ildaria noted before he bent, briefly disappearing from sight. He straightened again a moment later, H.D. in his arms, the leash already attached to his collar.

  She watched the big giant of a man snuggle the small dog with a faint smile, and then picked up the cooler.

  “I’ll get that,” G.G. protested, carrying H.D. around the bar.

  “Nah.” Ildaria shook her head and led the way to the door. “I get to snuggle him up all night. You should do it while you have the chance.”

  He didn’t protest further, but followed her to the door, murmuring to the dog about behaving himself at Marguerite’s, and telling him he’d miss him. It was really quite sweet, she decided as she shifted the cooler, balancing it on one hand to open the door and then holding it open with one foot for him to lead the way out.

  Four

  “Isn’t that the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?” Marguerite asked with a wide smile.

  Following her gaze to the huge dog bed in the corner, Ildaria smiled faintly when she saw that H.D. and Julius were curled up on the bed. The little cream-colored fur ball was in front of the much bigger black dog, his back against Julius’s curled feet.

  “Maybe I should get Julius a brother or sister to cuddle with,” Marguerite said with a small frown.

  Ildaria chuckled at the suggestion, but didn’t comment. She was busy pulling out her phone to snap a picture. She took three quick shots of the pair, checked them all to see which was best, and then stood staring at her phone with a small frown.

  “Problem, dear?” Marguerite asked lightly.

  “I was going to send this to G.G. so he can see H.D. is all right and won’t worry about him, but I don’t have his number,” she explained and clucked with irritation. She’d have to get his number if she was going to work for him.