by Lynsay Sands
"No." She shook her head firmly.
"But you were turned by a rogue too, weren't you?" he said with a frown. "Surely he didn't bother to explain--"
"No, he didn't," she said with a wry smile. "But I knew Dree long before the rogue who turned me came along. She--"
"Dree?" Donny interrupted.
"Alexandrina Argenis Stoyan," Beth explained.
"Wait, you knew Drina Argeneau before this rogue who turned you came along?" he asked with a frown.
"Argenis," she corrected him. "Dree is from the Spanish branch of the family."
Donny snorted at the distinction. "She's Lucian Argeneau's niece. That makes her an Argeneau no matter how they change the name."
Beth opened her mouth to argue the point, but then closed it again and conceded, "I suppose."
"So, how did you know Drina before you were turned? Did you work for her as a maid or something? Those are usually the only mortals who know about our kind. It's hard to hide it from them and--"
"We were friends," Beth interrupted. "And sort of business partners, but mostly friends for a good thirty years before I was turned. And during that time she'd already explained everything to me. It was probably the most interesting conversation of my life," she added with a wry smile as she recalled learning that Atlantis had really existed. That the scientists there had been more advanced technologically than the scientists were even today. That in a search for a better way to deal with illness and internal injuries, they'd developed bioengineered nanos that could be introduced to the body via the bloodstream, which would move throughout the body, fighting disease and repairing injuries.
The thing she'd found most interesting had been that even back then, in a society supposedly so much more advanced, it was laziness that had brought about the invention of the closest thing to immortality man had yet to come up with. Not wanting to have to create hundreds of different programs for the nanos for every illness or possible injury a mortal could suffer, the scientists had simply programmed them with a blueprint of a mortal male and female at their peak condition and given the nanos the directive to ensure or return their host to that condition and then self-destruct.
What the scientists hadn't taken into consideration was that the nanos would consider aging a disease too and would reverse the effects of that aging. They also hadn't considered that the human body was constantly under assault from the sun, from polluted air, even from the simple passage of time, and so the nanos would never finish their work and self-destruct. Instead, they constantly worked at keeping their host at their peak. "Forever young, forever healthy . . ."
Beth didn't realize she'd said that last part aloud until Donny grimaced and added, "And forever needing blood because the nanos use it to make the repairs and fight disease, as well as to propel and reproduce themselves. More blood than we can produce."
"Nothing is perfect," Beth said with a shrug.
"Being a blood-sucking vampire is miles away from not being perfect," Donny argued, his tone dry.
"Blood-sucking vampire?" she echoed with amusement.
"Well, that's what we are," he pointed out.
Beth shook her head and then shrugged. "I prefer to think we're not unlike hemophiliacs. They occasionally need blood transfusions because their blood doesn't clot. We need it more often because we don't produce enough to support the nanos in our bodies. A simple medical need."
"Hemophiliacs don't have fangs," Donny argued.
"And because of that, hemophiliacs died before needles and transfusions were invented," she responded and then added, "And now that there are blood banks and such, the only thing we puncture with those fangs are blood bags, so what does it matter?"
"I thought you were from Spain?" Donny said suddenly, a frown forming on his face.
"I am. So?" she asked.
"Well, isn't biting mortals allowed in Europe?"
Beth grimaced. "It is. But it's kind of like smoking. There are still some hangers-on to the habit, usually the older immortals, but most don't do it anymore. It's kind of shunned."
"Huh, I didn't know that," Donny murmured, slowing as they approached the driveway to the Hunter house.
Beth glanced into the back seat to check on Scotty as Donny turned the SUV into the driveway and steered up to the first gate. The Scot's eyes were closed and he seemed to still be unconscious, but she could have sworn he'd shifted his position a bit. He could have done that in his sleep, though, she supposed, but continued to watch him to see if he moved. When he hadn't by the time they'd made their way through both sets of gates, she turned forward to glance around as they headed up the driveway.
She was really glad to be done with her assignment and back here, but Beth would be gladder still to get home. It had been a long night . . . and morning, she thought as she glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that it was just past noon. Cleanup had taken a while, and she was looking forward to returning to her sublet apartment and getting some sleep.
Mortimer was obviously waiting for them; Donny had barely brought the SUV to a halt in front of the house when the front door opened and he appeared.
"Scotty's still asleep?" Garrett Mortimer asked with surprise as he approached and looked in at the prostrate man on the back seat.
"Yes, and snoring like a bass drum," Beth lied as she got out of the car.
"I was no' snoring," Scotty protested at once, sitting up in the back seat.
Bending at the waist, Beth peered through her open door into the back seat and grinned at him as she said smugly, "I knew you were awake and feigning sleep."
Grumbling under his breath, Scotty opened his door and got out. Once standing, he scowled from her to Donny. "Aye, I was. And I read young Donny's mind. I ken what happened with the dart business."
"Oh . . . er . . ." Donny looked panicked, but Beth merely shrugged.
"He shot you once by accident and I shot you twice on purpose. So if you're going to be bellowing mad at anyone, I guess it'll have to be me. But that'll have to wait until tonight. Right now I'm too tired to listen." She moved away, intending to walk to the back of the house, where her car was parked. "I'm going home to catch some sleep."
"Ah, Beth?" Mortimer said, bringing her to a halt.
Turning slowly, she raised her eyebrows in question.
"I have another job for you," the man said apologetically.
"Now?" she asked with surprise. They had been working long hours and seven days a week too since this whole mess with Dressler down in Venezuela came up, but usually they were allowed to catch at least some sleep between assignments.
"No, not right this minute. You will be able to get some rest first," he assured her quickly. "But not much. The plane is coming for you in a little less than six hours, so you might want to sleep here rather than head home."
"Oh," Beth said weakly. She'd really been looking forward to sleeping in her own bed. Sighing, she started walking back to Mortimer. "Very well. What's the job?"
"We'll talk inside. Scotty could probably use some blood to recoup after fighting off the tranquilizer," he pointed out and then glanced to Donny and said, "Take the SUV around to the garage so it can be cleaned and filled with gas for the next trip."
No doubt eager to avoid Scotty, Donny was back in the SUV and pulling the door closed before the order was completely out.
"That's the fastest I have ever seen him move," Mortimer said dryly as he watched the vehicle speed away. Shaking his head, he gestured for Scotty and Beth to follow as he turned to lead the way into the house. "We'll talk in the kitchen. The blood is there."
Scotty nodded and then waved Beth ahead of him. She followed Mortimer, but had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder to be sure the Scot wasn't planning to shoot her in the butt with a dart gun or some such thing for revenge. Much to her relief, she made it to the kitchen unmolested.
"Nice job rounding up Simpson and his people," Mortimer said as he led them to the refrigerator. "I gather he'd managed to turn
a much larger group than we expected."
"Yes," Beth murmured as she watched him retrieve three bags of blood from the fridge. "Either he'd been rogue longer than your intel claimed, or he was turning two or three mortals a night."
"I suspect he was turning several a day. I got a call just before you arrived. He had a setup in the basement, chains and whatnot. Four people were mid-turn down there." Mortimer handed one of the bags of blood to her and another to Scotty as he continued, "And then there was the mortal you saved. Either he planned to chain her up and turn her, as well, or . . ."
"Or she was breakfast . . . for everyone," Beth finished for him, shifting the bag he'd given her from one hand to the other.
"Hmm." Mortimer's expression was grim. "There were several bodies in freezers in the basement. Drained dry and frozen. That could have been her destination, as well."
Beth merely nodded and slapped the bag to her fangs. She was glad the woman was safe, but her mind was now stuck on the bodies in the freezers, the ones she hadn't got there in time to save.
"What will happen to the four who were mid-turn?" Scotty asked.
Mortimer shrugged. "The Council will decide. Usually they read the minds of any new turns the rogues have created, and if they haven't harmed anyone yet, and aren't sociopaths, or likely to harm anyone or go mad, they are taken in by various families and helped to adjust to their new state."
Nodding, Scotty slapped his own bag to his mouth, and Mortimer followed suit. The room was briefly silent as they waited for the bags to empty. They then tore them away one after the other and tossed them in the garbage under the kitchen sink.
"You still look pale, Scotty. Do you want another--?"
"Nay, nay." Scotty waved away the offer. "I do no' think that'd help. What I'd truly like is to find a bed and sleep off the rest o' the effects o' the darts."
"Of course." Mortimer smiled faintly as he straightened from closing the door to the lower cupboard where the garbage was kept. "Sam readied the blue room for you to stay in while here. It is upstairs, the third door on the left. Your bags are already there."
Scotty nodded and turned toward the door. "I'll find it. Thank ye. And thank yer Sam fer me too. I do appreciate it."
Beth watched him go, and found herself suddenly relaxing once he left the room. Facing Mortimer, she asked, "What job is it you have for me?"
He just shook his head. "Sleep first. If I told you now, you would probably forget half of it by the time you woke up anyway. I will explain everything when you wake up."
"As you like," Beth said easily. Normally she would have pressed him for details so that she could mentally prepare herself ahead of time. But she was tired enough to think Mortimer was right and she might do better to wait. Heading for the door, she said, "I'll go sack out on the couch, then."
"No need. Sam prepared a room for you too," Mortimer said, ushering her out of the kitchen and into the hall. "The last room on the right upstairs."
"Thank you," Beth murmured as they reached the stairs. He left her there and continued down the hall to his office, no doubt so that he could complete paperwork on the rogues they'd brought in. She didn't wait to see if that was where he went, but moved quickly up the stairs on light feet.
The room on the right at the end of the hall was painted the palest yellow with pale blue accents. Beth glanced around, noting the nightgown laid out on the bed and the new jeans and T-shirt lying over a chair by the window. There was even a pair of brand-new panties with the tags still in place on top, though no bra. Not that it mattered. Beth wore a bra only for propriety's sake. She hadn't really needed one since the turn. Her breasts now defied gravity.
The thought made her smile as she checked the tags on the jeans and top. Oh yeah, Mortimer's life mate, Sam, was thorough. She had the right size and everything. Setting them back on the chair, Beth walked into the bathroom and found a new toothbrush and toothpaste still in the boxes. There were also soap, shampoo, cream rinse, deodorant and even her brand of perfume as well as a few cosmetics.
Beth washed her face, brushed her teeth and then stripped on her way back to the bed, letting the clothes fall as she removed them so that there was a trail of clothing from the bathroom door. By the time she reached the bed she was wearing nothing more than her own pretty lavender panties. She didn't bother with the nightgown, though. Beth was a restless sleeper, tossing and turning and kicking about. Nightgowns tended to wind up tangled around her waist or even higher, constricting her movement so that she woke up panting and afraid.
The panties were good enough, she thought, and crawled under the covers, only to lie staring at the ceiling and thinking about the often-annoying man down the hall and why he'd appeared in her life again. Scotty was one of those confident, competent, take-charge, manly-type men she always found so damned attractive. And yes, she was attracted to him, but it did her little good. Scotty was kind of a combination of both Lucian and Mortimer in that he sat on the Council in the UK and ruled the hunters there. Although really, that was what Lucian did here. Mortimer was supposed to be in charge of the hunters, but when Lucian was around he gave the orders.
Scotty was also a laird. He'd been born in 1172, the son of the laird of the MacDonald clan. Beth didn't know much about his life as a mortal, but Dree had once said he'd inherited the title at eighteen and ruled for more than ten years, giving it up only when his being turned prevented his aging and made his remaining with his people risky.
While Scotty might have given up the title, he still had the mindset of a laird, and she was a commoner. Beneath his notice or attention. He'd made that obvious every time they'd met since that first time one hundred twenty-five years ago, usually treating her with cold indifference and looking down his nose at her with a pained grimace as if her very presence offended him. At least, that's what he'd done every time before this, which made her wonder what he was up to now and why he was bothering to be nice to her. Or maybe she was making too much of the few friendly words that had passed between them at the rogue's house. That made her frown and wish she could talk to Dree about it. Unfortunately, her friend was down in Venezuela with most of the North American Rogue Hunters, searching for missing immortals and the mad scientist who'd kidnapped them. Beth was on her own this time.
Ah well, she told herself, turning onto her side. She'd fly out in a few hours and leave the confusion of Laird Cullen MacDonald, aka Scotty, far behind. Hopefully the job would keep her out of Toronto for most if not all of the rest of Scotty's vacation. And she could go back to just fantasizing about him, rather than having to deal with him in the flesh. A gal could hope.
"Hello, Cullen. I hope you slept well."
Scotty glanced toward the stove at that greeting as he entered the kitchen and smiled crookedly when he saw Mortimer's wife, Sam, frying strips of bacon. He wasn't used to people using his true first name. He'd been called Scotty for as long as he'd been involved with the Rogue Hunters. His first partner had insisted on calling him that because of his Scottish accent and it had stuck. Now it seemed more natural to him than the name his father had given him at birth. But Sam had been addressing him as Cullen since Mortimer had introduced him as Laird Cullen MacDonald, despite his adding that his nickname was Scotty.
"Aye, verra well, thank ye, Samantha," he murmured.
"Well, good," she said, sounding relieved. "I'd feel bad if neither of you were able to get any sleep today."
"Beth did no' sleep well?" he asked mildly, and wasn't surprised when Sam shook her head. He'd already suspected from his lack of dreams that the woman hadn't slept at all.
"Not a wink, apparently. She said her mind was just too wound up after the hunt and she would have done better to go for a run or something before going to bed," Sam told him. "But that's okay. She can sleep on the plane."
"Where is she?" Scotty asked, trying not to sound too interested.
"She decided to drive home and pack some clothes for the trip. I told her that she could buy things in B
C and the Council would pay for it, but she said she'd be more comfortable with her own things." Sam's gaze shifted to the clock on the stove, and she frowned as she saw the time. "I would've expected her to be back by now, though. Beth knows what time the plane is supposed to be here, and Mortimer still needs to explain the job to her."
Scotty glanced at the clock now too, and found himself also frowning. From all he'd learned about her over the decades, Beth was the kind of woman who showed up early for everything, rather than risk being even a minute late for anything.
"Maybe I should call and make sure everything is okay," Sam said worriedly. She didn't wait for Scotty to comment, but set down the fork she'd been using to turn the bacon and pulled a cell phone from her pocket. She punched in numbers, placed the phone to her ear and waited . . . and waited . . . and then her eyebrows drew together and she pushed the button to end the call. Setting it down, Sam murmured, "She didn't answer. She must be driving back, maybe."
"Do the SUVs no' have hands-free phone capabilities?" Scotty asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Yes." Sam nodded and bit her lip, her gaze shifting to the phone she'd set on the countertop.
"She would have taken her car and not one of our SUVs," Donny pointed out, drawing their attention to his arrival in the room. "It looked pretty new and probably has hands-free capabilities too, though."
"It does. She used it to call me just the other day," Sam muttered. She picked up the phone and tried to call her again, only to end the call a moment later with a dissatisfied look on her face. Her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall once more, and she shook her head. "I don't think she's the type to be late."
"Ye think right, lass. Beth is never late," Scotty said, getting to his feet. "Donny, fetch a vehicle."
"Are we going after her again?" Donny asked, eyes wide.
"Aye," Scotty said grimly, walking toward him.
Nodding, Donny turned and hurried out of the room.
"I'll explain to Mortimer when he comes looking for you," Sam said solemnly. "Call as soon as you find her."
"I will, lass," Scott assured her as he left the kitchen.
Beth grimaced and glanced to the elevator panel as her phone began to ring again. She didn't try to answer it. Whoever it was could wait until she reached her car, and could set down the box and bags she was carrying to grab her phone. If she ever got off this elevator, she thought with irritation.
