Why These Two

by Jackie Ivie

  “I’ve got a problem, Akron.”

  Reika subconsciously rubbed her empty palm against her thigh, disbelieving the sensation of cool, supple leather as it met her skin.

  “Let me see…”

  She heard the sound of fingers hitting keys on a keyboard. Rapid-like. Without finesse. Only speed.

  “Last assignment was…yes. Here it is. 16820. Columbia. No collateral damage. No trace. No reason for a D-team. Excellent work. Funds are already transferred to your account.”

  “It’s not that kind of problem.”

  “Oh.”

  The word spoke volumes. It was deep. The tone wary. Even through the tiny speaker of her phone. As if he already knew what she was suffering…and it was bad.

  “It’s…uh—”

  How to explain it? The feelings got worse if she put her mind on them. Her veins expanded or something, as if the fluid she fed on actually flowed again. And her heart? Oh my. That muscle hadn’t existed for nearly three quarters of a millennium. Yet, right now….she could swear the faintest beat trembled through her chest. She licked her lips and felt wicked. Wanton. A thrill rippled down her abdomen, teasing the skin as it went. And then moistness, springing from deep within, to hamper and weaken everything. Just like what happened the moment she’d bitten that man. Her skin had reacted, and it still did. It was impossible!

  Every part of her felt like it was preparing. Regenerating. Priming. Every inch coming to life for…something. Something vast. Enormous. Terrifying. And supremely exciting. Like she’d stepped on a downed power line and it sent zings of electricity through her. Over and over. Ceaselessly. Nothing felt chilled, either.

  Anywhere.

  She opened the door of her new sports coupe and dropped into the driver seat. The interior reeked of new car smell. Real wood. Formaldehyde. Leather. Sensual indulgence. Reika shoved her rear into the seat and slid downward, her spine thoroughly enjoying the lumbar support while her inner thighs twitched against the upraised section of the molded seat. The moist sensation got worse. She could swear the stitching in the seat was even calculated to create this arousal. Stimulation. Inducement.

  Sweet Freya!

  Reika had possessed vampiric senses for centuries. She’d never had them turned against her so effectively. Or with such impact. She tightened her muscles and pushed back upright, tossing the phone to the passenger seat, in order to grip the steering wheel so hard it warped slightly. She forced her fingers to feel and absorb the reality of wrapped leather, rawhide stitching, and nothing else.

  “You going to tell me what happened?”

  Akron’s voice echoed weirdly from the seat beside her. Reika grimaced at the phone before picking it back up.

  “Um. There was…this guy.”

  Her voice went dreamy, her eyes closed. She was back in the jungle looking into shocked brown eyes that held a glimmer of paradise.

  “And you’re going to tell us about him?”

  “Us?”

  Reika’s eyes flew open. She frowned at the dashboard in front of her. The speedometer registered to 180 KPH. This baby probably had a 450 hp motor in it. Or larger. She’d have to test it.

  “I called Invaris in. Okay with you?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m going to need Invaris to assist. Don’t worry. He’s already mated. He knows exactly what you’re suffering.”

  “I am not mating.”

  “Sounds like you found him, though.”

  “No.”

  The word should have been final-sounding. Brisk. Clipped. Rude. It wasn’t. It sounded more like a plea.

  “Details?”

  That was Invaris’s voice. Reika looked inward. She wasn’t speaking of one thing she suffered. Not one!

  “There was this guy at the hit. A bodyguard. And everything’s weird now. Only…he’s not my mate. He can’t be. The world didn’t rock. Nothing shifted. Nothing.”

  “You let him live?” Akron asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Enough said. Lucky guy. Give Invaris his characteristics. We’ll find him for you.”

  “I don’t want him found.”

  “Reika. Douschka. You want him found, or you wouldn’t have called me.”

  She didn’t answer for a bit. She sat and listened to the heartbeat that couldn’t exist. And then she started speaking.

  “He’s big. Muscular.”

  “How big?”

  “The size of the Icelandic twins.”

  Invaris whistled.

  “But leaner.”

  “How much leaner, please?”

  “Two forty. Maybe two-forty-five.”

  “That’s leaner?”

  “Don’t tease her, Invaris, or I’ll invite the twins in to sit on you for reference. Axelrod and Ethelstone tip the scales at two seventy five. Each. “

  “Fine. No levity. All business. Got it.”

  “We have seventy seconds left on this call,” Akron informed him.

  “Oh. Moving on then. Hair color? Eyes?”

  “Brown. And brown.”

  “Nothing like exact descriptions. A little help please? Dark brown? Light? What?”

  “Oh. Medium brown. With golden highlights.”

  “I hope you’re talking his hair.”

  “Both.”

  Hmmm. She almost moaned it. That man definitely had gold flecks in his eyes, too. They’d been especially noticeable since he’d had them wide as he’d stared at her.

  “Occupation?”

  “Bodyguard.”

  “Pasquale had an army of relatives guarding him. Oh. Here’s a list of his employees. Some guy named Theodore. Scratch that. Too big. Samuel…no. Apparently he just lost his head. Sword wound. How about Daniel? Nope. Also recently deceased. Here we go. This sound like him? Darryl Bailes. Ex-military. Special Forces. Master Sergeant rank. Oh. Looks like your mate suffered a bullet wound seven months ago in Black Ops. The bullet is still inside. Inoperable. Lower back. Explains his rushed retirement…and subsequent employment as a mercenary. Oh. Look at that.”

  “What?”

  Reika and Akron said it simultaneously.

  “His specialty is knives. Any type and size. Any range. The guy is deadly with a blade. What are the odds?”

  Reika smiled. That explained how he’d deflected two of her prized seventeenth century Italian daggers from their mark.

  “He’ll be unemployed, Invaris. Send him an invite.”

  “Sorry Sir. The man has skills and connections. He’s already on his way to his next job.”

  “Where is it?”

  Reika held her breath.

  “St. Moritz, Switzerland. Land of snow and skiing and really rich kids. Looks like your guy is now a bodyguard for a…Miss Felicia Trent. Really spoiled, naughty, seventeen-year-old daughter of…let’s see. Her daddy is the shipping line, Trent Conglomerate, owner and CEO. Hmm. You want me to send info to Bracken?”

  “You have twenty-two seconds left, Invaris. Get going.”

  “On it, Sir.”

  “Looks like we’ve found your mate, Reika. You will call and let us know the details? Yes?” Akron asked.

  “He’s not my mate.” Why did that sound so unsure?

  “Ah Reika. Reika...”

  “He’s not my mate,” Reika reiterated. “I don’t have one. I don’t happen to believe in them.”

  “Belief isn’t necessary. Only fact. It’s impossible to fight, I’ve heard. The pull is too strong. You’d have to ask Invaris here if you want particulars. I’d be jealous, except I’m living proof that the best things come to those who wait. That being my motto, my mate – when they arrive in my sphere – should really be something.”

  “He’s not my mate,” she said again.

  “About finished, Invaris? I’d like confirmation and we’ve got five seconds.”

  “And…done, Sir.”

  “Well, there you have it, Reika. Try not to kill him before you change him. It’ll be messy otherwise.”

  The co
nnection died before she could end the call. Reika looked at the phone for several long moments. And then she tossed it to the passenger floorboard.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Eleven minutes to midnight.

  Darryl checked his watch again. It gave him something to do other than scan the area about the barely clad body of his charge, as she writhed among her many partners. She was dancing, but he’d lost track of exactly whom she was dancing with. There were four bodyguards among them, disguised as fawning testosterone maggots to her estrogen feast. They were exactly the right size and age to blend right in. If Darryl hadn’t met them beforehand, he’d have had trouble picking them out.

  The Senior Trent was smart. He knew his daughter wouldn’t behave. So, he hired men to watch her that fit right in with her crowd. Lean. Early twenties. Fit. Agile. Quick. And then he paid Darryl to watch over all of them.

  He took another sip of his ice water. Or what had been iced water a half hour ago when he’d ordered it. He didn’t have a choice. The lightly clad waitress with the heavy accent wouldn’t let him be. And he was trying not to be noticeable. He settled the glass in one hand and slipped the other beneath his jacket, running his fingers along the wood grip, the twisted wire wrap, and the Turk head of the dagger strapped to his belt.

  And felt it vibrate against his fingers. Just like it had ever since he’d gotten it.

  It was one of the pair from the Pasquale hit. He wasn’t tossing it. He had combat knives for that. He carried this one because it looked lethal and dangerous hanging from his belt. And it was an extraordinary blade. Seventeenth century. 1680 to be exact. The antique weapons dealer he’d checked with had been both amazed at the knives and thoroughly dismayed at their treatment.

  The amazement came from the condition of the daggers, especially their hilts. Never had the dealer seen such perfection. Museum quality. Most blades were pitted from age and the hilts were ragged and worn. The man was also dismayed and a little censorious about the surgical-looking slits in both hilts. That’s what came from having two combat knives inserted through them. The dealer had looked at Darryl as if he’d desecrated religious icons. And then the man offered. The opening bid had been four figures. With his last call this afternoon, the offer had gone over ten grand.

  He still wasn’t selling. He’d never owned anything so rare. Or so…mysterious.

  Darryl looked back to the dance floor. Located his charge. Felicia Trent was a redhead. Dark red. She had the body of a siren and unlimited access to credit on a ton of cards. She could have anything she wanted. And usually did. She was pure man magnet. And totally sure of it. She shouldn’t even be allowed in a club at her age. She was years away from legal and light-years away from ready. And it got worse. She had the hots for him. Darryl Bailes. She’d called him ‘Big Gun’ the moment they’d met two days past. He’d hoped she meant his arms - on display because the only shirt he owned for this climate was a thermal, long-sleeve Henley, one size too small, purchased on the fly from the nearest department store.

  But, no.

  She’d meant something completely different.

  Her next questions were proof. Was he packing? Always. Was he locked and loaded? He’d narrowed his eyes and nodded. And then she’d flashed a saucy grin and asked about his pump action. Felicia Trent was not what he needed. He’d spent the rest of that day purchasing larger shirts and avoiding her. It was senseless…unless she was looking for a daddy replacement. He supposed, if she was comparing him to the lean youths surrounding her, he did look big. Solid. Muscular. But honestly. She was seventeen in years, thirteen in hormones, and about forty in guile and manipulation.

  And he was a broken-down ex-soldier. One cursed with celibacy since his injury. Felicia was more than wasting her talents with this bodyguard. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t know if he could. Sex was a really nice memory…or a hellish experiment in pain management. It wasn’t something he was willing to try. Not with Felicia, anyway. Pain was the perfect antidote to raging libido. No wonder fathers the world over threatened their daughter’s suitors with it if they stepped out of line.

  He grimaced as she flashed him a look that would’ve melted the others. It was followed by a kiss blown his direction, and then a pout. And that was prelude to an even wilder display of flesh as she raised her arms and gyrated about. She had a toned mid-section. Full breasts that weren’t under control of a bra at the moment. And an ass that was about to jump right out of her micro-skirt. He knew what she was doing. Her frontal assault and blunt words hadn’t worked with him earlier today. He’d told her he wasn’t interested in children. This was her response.

  Her daddy sure had his hands full.

  “Hello, Handsome.”

  Darryl’s eyes went wide. Everything on him went stiff. Taut. Tense. The dagger in his hand reacted, too, throbbing against his fingers. An ice-water-trickle slid down his spine, settling on the bullet, making it shift. That sent a shockwave of fire-like pain down both legs. He’d have groaned if he didn’t have everything locked tight. The doctors had told him he’d get used to this.

  Like hell.

  Darryl finally swiveled his head and looked down. He managed to pull in a shallow breath, but it trembled. It was her. The vampire. Although nothing about her looked anything other than feminine and pretty much perfect. Blond waves of hair cascaded past her shoulders, to land somewhere near her lower back. A wide strip of black leather teased at the nice-sized breasts it covered, while more black leather molded like a second skin to eye-catching legs. And she finished it off with little ankle-high boots. Low heels. Damn. She was gorgeous. He hadn’t been wrong about her eyes, either. She really did have light, purplish-toned eyes. It was especially visual in what lighting this place claimed.

  His heart immediately kicked at him, making him choke. A gulp from his water fixed that. Darryl drained the glass. Set it on the counter at his side, the move buying time. He had to consciously make sure nothing rattled against the countertop, though. He wondered if she noticed.

  “Remember me?”

  Damn, her voice was sweet. Her scent was even sweeter. Darryl turned to put his back against the bar, pushing against it with the move. The counter didn’t shift. Good. Nice to know something had his back.

  “What do you want?”

  “Answers.”

  He narrowed his eyes. It matched her expression.

  “To what?”

  She reached a hand toward him, stopped for a moment before connecting, and then seemed to force the final inch. Her fingertips touched him mid-belly, and sent a solid jolt of lightning through the spot, gaining her a groan and a look of shock. He didn’t have to guess. He couldn’t control either response. And she had the exact same reactions. She lifted her hand. The electricity ebbed a bit, sizzling somewhere in the space between them. He was actually wondering if his hair had caught fire.

  “What…are you?” The question trembled.

  “Reika.”

  Nice name. Just foreign enough to be exotic. It fit.

  “I didn’t ask who. I asked what.”

  She smiled. She had spikes on her canines. Nothing like the fangs from the other day, but something was not normal.

  “You already know. You’re just denying it.”

  Darryl swallowed. Looked away for a bit. Focused on the dance floor. Found Felicia. Good. She hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she’d sloughed off her crush on her bodyguard.

  “We need to leave this place.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “We need to…talk.”

  “Right. Talk.”

  “You coming nicely…or not?”

  “Oh. That was a request?”

  “I can force you,” she replied. “You won’t enjoy it.”

  It should’ve been laughable. It wasn’t. He already knew her strength. He had the hand-sized bruise in his bread basket as proof. Nobody would believe this. Him. Darryl Bailes. Facing a man-handling by a woman half his weight. He really needed another glass of ice water.
Or something. Things like this didn’t happen. They were in the most fashionable club in St. Moritz. Near midnight. The place was hopping with wild tunes and wilder bodies. And he was being threatened with assault. By a slip of a woman.

  And then it got worse.

  Darryl caught Felicia’s movement as she left the dance floor, aiming straight at him. She had her four hired bodyguards on her six. And three other men Darryl hadn’t met yet.

  “We’re about to have company,” he told the vampire chick.

  He watched her look over her shoulder and then move in front of him, her back to his front, blocking access. That should have been even more laughable. It wasn’t.

  “Don’t you dare hurt her. You dig?”

  The look she sent over her shoulder at him flashed purple daggers. And then she snarled. Darryl pulled back slightly at the menace of one little female. It wasn’t planned. And it sure wasn’t manly. It happened anyway. Those canines of hers might have been little spikes before, but they were long, sharp fangs now.

  “Is she your…woman?”

  “Oh, hell no. That there is Miss Trent. My charge.”

  She softened somehow; all the nightmare scary part changing back to dick-hardening sexy fem. Right before his eyes. His knees shook. His legs felt like jelly. Darryl bowed his arms onto the countertop and leaned back. The wood cracked. He just hoped it held. The other choice was dropping at Miss Vampire Chick’s feet.

  “Miss. Trent.”

  She made two words out of it. Slightly slurred-sounding. That might be a result of talking around elongated fangs. But he didn’t have much to go by except some Halloween experiences from his pre-teens.

  “Don’t hurt her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Please?”

  “Tell me one good reason why not.”

  Darryl pulled in a breath. “Because if you go around killing everyone I’m protecting, my resume is going to be very short. And that means my employment prospects are going to have the same issue.”

  “So?”

  “Come on. Give over. I’ll tell you what. I’ll go with you and we’ll meet in a nice little cozy somewhere. We’ll talk. And in exchange, you’ll spare Miss Felicia Trent the vampire stuff.”