She took a bite of her sandwich and stared at the writing-filled page without reading the words. The journal was private. Like a diary. In fact, the first words on the page were precisely that: “Dear Diary.” That made her smile. Alon was a big, tough vampire, a dojo master, expert in several disciplines of martial arts . . . and he started his journal with the same words she’d used as a teenager.
She took another bite and chewed, still staring. She wasn’t even trying, but her eyes automatically made words of the scribbling, and her heart clenched. “Dear Diary, I hate this. What was I thinking?”
Oh, my God. Alon hated being a vampire. She’d thought he was happy being Christian’s security chief. He’d never said a word to her. Not a word! She’d thought they were friends. But maybe he’d been worried that she was too close to Christian. That her loyalties would be divided, and anything he told her, she’d tell Christian.
What was she going to do?
Well, the first thing you have to do is read more than ten words of the damn thing, she scolded herself. Natalie pulled the diary closer and started to read.
Less than an hour later, she’d read the whole thing. Well, the whole thing wasn’t that much. There were only a few pages, less than she’d originally thought, but those few pages alternately terrified her and made her want to cry. The terror was because if Christian found out, if he read what Alon had written, he might kill him. Loyalty was everything among vampires, and Alon was talking about breaking his vow to Christian and pledging to some other vampire lord. He hadn’t decided which one yet, but that didn’t matter—he wasn’t just any vampire, he was Christian’s security chief. He knew secrets. He was privy to every detail of the new estate house Christian was building, all the security arrangements, the secret escape passages. Not to mention Christian’s business interests.
Some of those he’d inherited from the late, unlamented Anthony, but he’d shaken up most of Anthony’s financial holdings so that any vampire still connected with the dead vampire lord would be unable to uncover his investments. But Alon knew all of those, as well. She’d sat at the table with the three of them—Christian, Marc, and Alon—while they all discussed the best investments and allocations.
She wiped her cheek and realized it was wet with tears. What was she going to do?
A clock chimed softly from the formal living room. She straightened and twisted around to look at the clock on the microwave. She must have been sitting there, stressing out, for much longer than she’d thought, because that chime meant the sun would be down within the hour. And she still had no idea what to do.
Sliding off the seat, she laid the unopened diary exactly where she’d found it, not wanting Alon to realize she’d read it. But she’d no sooner put it down than she second-guessed herself. She didn’t want anyone else to read it, either. Anyone being Christian or Marc, since they were the only two others living in the house, and Christian never invited anyone else over to the house anymore. Not since he and the others had been betrayed by vampires they’d thought were their allies, if not their friends.
The clock on the microwave advanced with a nearly soundless tick, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. What the hell was she going to do?
Okay, she’d leave the diary, but make sure Christian didn’t reach the kitchen before Alon. That should be easy. She and her vampire lover were usually the last ones up the stairs, since, well, they had other things to occupy their time. Like sex. Glorious, vicious, vampire sex. She smiled dreamily, then snapped herself back to reality.
Right. Diary. Okay, she’d give herself, and Alon, twenty-four hours to get rid of the damn thing. She’d just have to corner him privately, make him understand, and hope he could forgive her.
“IS SOMETHING troubling you, ma chére?”
Natalie lay on top of Christian, still trembling from the force of her climax, his cock still firm and deep inside her body.
His arm tightened around her. “You seem . . . tense. I might be insulted.”
She grimaced against his chest where he couldn’t see it. She had to tell him about Alon. Her first loyalty was to Christian. He was her mate, her lover, the love of her life. But she’d really hoped to speak with Alon first. She fought not to grind her teeth as she struggled with her decision. He’d only hear the noise and force her to tell. Of course, she was going to tell him anyway, but. . . . Argh!
She sighed. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to freak out?”
He stilled beneath her. “No, I won’t.”
Natalie frowned. “No, you won’t freak out, or no, you won’t promise?”
“No, I won’t promise. It depends on what you have to tell me.”
She sat up and looked down at him, her thighs bracketing his hips. She couldn’t help the little smile that softened her lips. He was such a pretty sight. But then she scowled. “You know I love you, right? More than anyone or anything.”
“Natalie.” He glowered. “Just tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.”
She groaned. “All right. Look, I was hungry this afternoon, so I got up and, well, let’s just say I discovered something I wasn’t supposed to know, but now that I do—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, just spit it out, would you?”
“Alon hates being a vampire!” she practically shouted, then froze, hoping her voice hadn’t carried.
“The walls are soundproof, chèrie.”
She knew that, but she lowered her voice anyway. “And he hates working for you. I’m afraid he’s going to betray you, and then . . .” She hiccupped a sob and couldn’t go on.
“Come here.” He hugged her close, one big hand running up and down her back. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him.”
“Promise?” She hated the way she sounded, all blubbery and pathetic. But this was Alon, and this was Christian.
“I promise. And I’ll be gentle.”
She thought about that. He didn’t seem as upset as she’d expected. Maybe this wasn’t the disaster she’d feared. She swallowed and sat up. He brushed gently at the tears wetting her cheeks.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s shower. Then we’ll go upstairs and get this sorted out.”
ALON AND MARC were both in the kitchen when Natalie and Christian made it upstairs. And both gave Christian expectant looks.
“What took you so long?” Marc demanded. He’d been with Christian a long time. In fact, it had been just the two of them for years before Christian had decided to challenge for the Southern territory. So, he felt a certain freedom, in that they were friends, in addition to Christian being both his Sire and his lord. “We’re in caffeine withdrawal here.”
Christian simply laughed and headed for the elaborate espresso machine that took up half the counter space against one wall. Natalie exchanged good evening hugs with the two vampires, while surreptitiously searching for the telltale red cover of Alon’s diary, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t find it.
“You guys are pathetic,” she commented and pulled a bagel out of the freezer, popping it first in the microwave and then the toaster. Sure, Christian would be making her a latte, but she wasn’t jonesing for it, like these junkies.
Christian just smiled and kept working. He loved that damn machine. Natalie sometimes wondered which one he’d save first if disaster ever struck—her or the machine?
By the time her bagel was toasted and smeared with cream cheese, and she’d settled onto one of the kitchen stools with her latte, everyone else had their drinks—including big, tough Marc with his sickly sweet caramel macchiato. Christian set his espresso on the marble-topped island and sat next to her, his thigh touching hers.
It was quiet for a few minutes as everyone sucked and slurped, and then Christian soundlessly set his cup down onto the saucer, looked at Alon, and said, “So, you hate being a vampire, and you e
specially hate working for me?”
Natalie choked on her last bite of bagel. Tears rolled down her face as she sucked in air, while Christian rubbed her back. She lifted her head and glared at him.
“What?” he said defensively. And then added, “Hey, I wasn’t the one reading the guy’s diary.”
She froze, holding her breath . . . and they all started laughing. Her face heated with furious embarrassment as she realized she’d been had. Shoving away from the counter, she evaded Christian’s hand when he tried to grab her and didn’t stop until she reached the hall doorway.
“I hate all of you,” she snapped. “It’s like living in a stupid, fucking frat house!” She spun and stormed down the hall, going past the basement door and into the small bedroom she’d converted to an office for her own use. She didn’t slam the door. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction, but she closed and locked it. For all the good it would do.
Christian waited a whole thirty minutes before coming to find her. He knew she couldn’t stay angry for long, especially not against him. Big, dumb vampire.
He twisted the locked doorknob as if it was paper and walked in. “Chèrie,” he said, pulling her out of the chair and into his embrace. “It was a prank. But I knew you’d tell me first. I bet them—” He stopped talking when Natalie’s eyes narrowed.
“You all had bets going on what I’d do?”
“Hmmm, not really bets,” he equivocated, which wasn’t like him at all. It was tantamount to a confession.
Son of a bitch. Natalie felt herself getting angry all over again, but then. . . . Don’t get angry, Nat, she told herself. Get even.
She smiled at Christian. He gave her a worried look. Her smile turned into a grin.
Two weeks later
CHRISTIAN SLIPPED his arms around Natalie as he pressed her against the shower’s tiled wall, protecting her back from the force of his cock slamming in and out of her. Her arms were around his neck, her breasts crushed deliciously against his powerful chest, her pussy hot and slick with arousal. They’d already made love once, when he’d awakened for the night. A long, slow fuck that had left her aching with happiness and utterly sated. Or so she’d thought. Until her vampire lover had climbed into the shower behind her, his cock still hard and brushing her ass. Desire had stormed through her body, as if she hadn’t seen him in weeks, as if she’d been starved for the taste of him.
And so here she was, hanging on for dear life while he pounded into her, his snarl filling the steamy enclosure as he bent his head and drank. Natalie screamed. Not from the tiny bit of pain, but from the sheer ecstasy of his bite as the euphoric in his vampire metabolism raced through her system, leaving an overwhelming, erotic pleasure in its wake.
Christian slammed into her one last time, grunting against her skin, his fangs still buried in her vein as his release filled her with heat. He stilled for a moment, his cock deep in her pussy, his fangs in her neck . . . and then he lifted his head, and licked the small wounds shut. Kissing her neck, he whispered, “Je t’aime, ma Natalie.” And then he slowly withdrew his cock, holding her steady as she lowered her legs to the floor, his hands on her hips until she remembered how to stand.
He kissed her again, his lips soft and warm against hers. “Okay?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She gave him a crooked smile. “Better than okay.”
He grinned.
And she felt almost guilty. But not really.
IT TOOK NATALIE a while to reach the kitchen. She had to wash and dry her hair, which couldn’t be rushed. And then she had to use extra care with her makeup, since they were going over to the new house and meeting with the architect and the designer. Both were vampires, which meant they were gorgeous, so she had to hold up the human side of things. She dressed carefully, too. Going for businesslike, but not obsessively so. Stylish, but not trendy.
And then, finally, she left the rooms she shared with Christian, passed through the control center and checked out the security screens, even though all three vampires were wide awake and way more on top of things than she could ever be. She entered the vault codes in the proper order and climbed the stairs, then made her way to the kitchen . . .
Where three sets of accusing eyes were waiting for her.
She met their gazes one at a time, starting with Christian, then Marc, then Alon, and then back to Christian.
“What?” she asked in confusion. “Did something happen?” She put exactly the right note of worry into the question. Or so she thought.
Christian didn’t say a word. He just turned back to his beloved machine and continued taking it apart, one piece at a time, carefully inspecting and cleaning every inch of it.
Marc wasn’t that subtle. He hissed at her—actually hissed at her—when she walked behind him and pulled orange juice out of the fridge. “Did something happen to the machine, babe?” she asked Christian. “Does that mean no latte today?”
He was still ignoring her.
Goodness. She’d only reversed one tiny gear thingy deep inside the elaborate machine. How much harm could it do? She flattened her lips so she wouldn’t grin. “Should I make a run to Starbucks?” she inquired solicitously.
That got her a filthy look from her beloved mate.
Almost choking on the need to laugh, she walked over to him. “Cher,” she murmured, rubbing the taut muscles of his back, “it was only a prank.”
Then she took her orange juice and walked down to her office to make some phone calls.
And the moral of this story is . . . don’t fuck with a woman who has all day to work the perfect revenge.
The End
Vampire Vignette #18
Freedom
Malibu, CA, present day
CYN SAT IN HER usual spot, in the alcove off Raphael’s office, near the big fireplace. She was working on her laptop, as always these days. No more private investigator adventures for her. No more sneaking around spying on cheating spouses or tracking down runaway kids. No more meeting strange vampires in dodgy places. She’d have said she missed it, but life with Raphael lately had been filled with enough life-threatening adventures to satisfy even her inner adrenaline junkie. What she longed for lately wasn’t more adventure, it was less.
Which brought her back to the night’s task. She’d been hired by one of Raphael’s vampires in Arizona to track down a wayward bank account. She’d done this sort of thing before. Accounts got lost when a bank closed or was acquired by someone else, or when the funds were declared unclaimed and seized by the state. That last one was a typical government scam. But once the state had your money, it was nearly impossible to get it back. Most vampires knew how to avoid that in the modern era. There were certain banks that specialized in, shall we say, discreet, financial holdings. Most of those involved shady money, but they worked as well for vampires, shady or not.
Unfortunately, her Arizona vampire client was looking for a much older account, and, from what she’d found so far, he might be out of luck.
Bored with what was beginning to look like a fruitless search, she tuned in to the conversation in Raphael’s part of the office, which had been going on for some time. She’d been listening with half an ear, registering the voices and moods, without hearing the details. But now that she was paying attention, nothing about it surprised her. Lucas and Juro were arguing again. Sometimes, she thought those two took opposite sides of every issue just so they could torment each other.
As she listened, Raphael finally called an end to the debate and sent them away, probably to continue their disagreement in private. She put her laptop on the table when she heard Raphael’s chair push back, and looked up with a smile when he joined her, making room on the small couch. He sat next to her, pulling her against his side with a sigh. She raised her face for a kiss, which he delivered with his usual passionate thoroughness, s
ending ripples of desire over every inch of her body.
“Long night?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
“Do those two ever agree on anything?”
“Only when it matters. If they have the luxury of argument, they’ll do it every time.”
“Exactly. They work together like clockwork when they have to, so why all the bickering like two ten-year-olds the rest of the time?”
He kissed the side of her head. “Now, that, my Cyn, is a long story. It goes back to when we first met Juro and Ken’ichi, to when I made them Vampire.”
“Lucas was with you then?”
“Oh, yes.”
San Francisco, 1885
RAPHAEL STROLLED through the crowded wharf district, a path automatically clearing for him through the mass of humans clogging the streets of this busy seaport. Voices assailed him from all sides—people talking, arguing, selling, in any number of languages. Some of those conversations he understood because he spoke the language, others he got because human emotions were easy to read, and the specifics didn’t matter. He didn’t delve too deeply into any of it. He simply listened, letting the words flow through him as he skimmed for clues. Certain words triggered a closer scrutiny; the rest meant nothing.
Some might have assumed he was on the prowl for food or conquest. He wasn’t. He was looking for vampires. Not in the crowd around him. If a vampire was free and strong enough to be mingling with this crowd, then Raphael let him be, although he made the vampire aware of his presence and what it meant. Raphael was a vampire lord, and he’d chosen this as his territory. Not only San Francisco, but the entire western coast of the continent, as least as far north as the big island and inlet. Beyond that, the territory had been claimed by another vampire lord, a hedonist who seemed to care more for his pleasure than any growth of his territory. He’d been more than happy to cede the South to Raphael, and to Raphael’s child Lucas.
Vampires in America Page 11
