by Lynsay Sands
“The Italians?” Vincent asked, then realized he meant Christian and Marcus. Marguerite had told him that they were in the kitchen, grilling Tiny about everything that had happened in the hopes of figuring things out and stopping the saboteur before someone else got hurt. He didn’t doubt for a minute that retribution was part of it too. Stephano was their cousin after all.
As if drawn by the fact that they were talking about them, the kitchen door suddenly opened and Christian and Marcus strode out. Their footsteps slowed as they spotted Vincent.
“How is she?” Christian asked.
“The worst is over,” Vincent admitted. “She’ll survive.”
“Good.” Christian nodded at the news, then asked, “Marguerite said you didn’t recognize the attacker?”
“No.” Vincent felt his shoulders slump with defeat as he admitted that. It had been so dark and everything had happened so fast…Then too, the guy had been dressed all in black and with a half mask over his face from his nose up, leaving only his mouth free to tear into Jackie’s throat. “I got a vague impression of size, small and wiry. Other than that…”
Christian nodded again as Vincent’s voice trailed off. His gaze slid to Tiny and then back before he said, “We’ve been up all day, we’re going to catch a couple of hours sleep. Dante and Tommaso will watch the house until we get up.”
“Dante and…?” Vincent’s question died as the newly repaired buzzer sounded, announcing someone at the gate. Eyebrows rising when Christian nodded, Vincent moved to the panel and asked who it was. He wasn’t surprised to hear the names Dante and Tommaso. He pushed the button to open the gate, then turned to catch Tiny peering warily at the two immortals. It made him wonder what threat the men had used to keep Tiny downstairs and away from Jackie.
Vincent turned his gaze to Christian and Marcus. “Dante and Tommaso—?”
“My cousins. Twins,” Christian explained. “You can trust them.”
Since Vincent hadn’t determined yet if he trusted Christian, his assurance wasn’t worth much, but he let it go.
“Which rooms do you want us to use?” Christian asked.
“The first two on the right are still empty,” Vincent announced. “If you’re all staying, you’ll have to double up.”
Christian nodded acceptance, then a knock at the door drew Vincent’s attention. Turning, he moved back to open it to reveal a man clad in leather and even larger than Tiny. Vincent managed to hide his startled reaction at his size. Nodding in greeting, he stepped out of the way for him to enter, noting that the second man, his twin, was also large and covered from tip to toe in black leather. Both men had long, black hair.
Vincent closed the door behind them as Christian rattled off a couple of sentences in Italian. He then added in English, “Vincent is in charge until I get up.”
Vincent’s eyebrows flew up at this announcement, but Christian was already leading Marcus upstairs and the two mountains that were Dante and Tommaso were turning expectantly his way. He didn’t have a clue what to say, or what orders to give.
“This is Tiny,” he said finally. He asked, “Do you eat?”
They looked young to him. Vincent couldn’t say what it was about them that made him think they were young, something about the eyes. He’d gotten good at judging the age of other immortals over the centuries and these two appeared to him to be young enough that they might still eat. Of course, they were big too, like Lucern, and it generally took food as well as blood to keep the muscle mass.
“We eat,” Dante said solemnly.
Vincent nodded. “There’s pizza in the kitchen.”
When the two men simply stared at him, he realized they didn’t know where the kitchen was. Turning impatiently, he headed for the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, “Go on up and look in on Jackie if you want, Tiny. Marguerite’s there.”
Tiny was halfway up the stairs before Vincent finished speaking. He led the twins into the kitchen and then eyed them uncertainly. He didn’t know them or their medical status. It was probable they could feed off bagged blood, most immortals could, but just in case he said, “Tiny is mortal. No biting.”
Dante and Tommaso exchanged a grimace that suggested they were insulted that he felt he needed to say as much, but both nodded as they moved to sit at the table. Dante dragged the pizza box closer and opened it to inspect the contents. It was still completely intact.
“No anchovies?” Dante asked.
“Sorry,” Vincent said, then stared as Tommaso ripped off the lid of the pizza box, lifted out half the pizza, and dropped it on the lid, using it as a makeshift plate. Dante then drew the bottom half of the box fully in front of himself, apparently laying claim to the other half of the pizza.
“Maybe I should order more,” Vincent muttered, turning to head out of the kitchen.
“Anchovies on two of them,” Dante called after him.
Vincent went into the office to place an order for four pizzas, two with everything, including anchovies. He then walked back up the hall and stuck his head into the kitchen.
“Give me a shout when the pizzas get here and I’ll come down and pay for them,” he instructed, thinking he might as well get in another bite while he could. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
Dante and Tommaso both grunted in response, their concentration on the pizza they were stuffing into their mouths.
Shaking his head, Vincent headed back upstairs. He hadn’t slept since the attack and was tired, but didn’t intend to sleep until he was sure Jackie was out of the woods. Marguerite seemed to think she was, but he wouldn’t be sure until she opened her beautiful eyes and spoke.
Jackie felt like hell. It was her first conscious thought and was accompanied by a moan as she shifted in bed. Her body was aching and weak. She’d obviously either been beaten black and blue and left to recover, or she was waking up from one hell of a flu.
She barely had that thought when her memory returned and the events of the night before flashed into her mind, harsh and stark. Sucking in a breath, she reached for her throat, almost expecting to find it still torn open and crusted with blood. She didn’t feel either. Her skin felt a little raised, but there was no blood, and surprisingly enough, no bandages or pain.
Her gaze slipped to the side and she peered at the man asleep in the chair by her bed. Vincent. He was a dark outline in the faint light. It was obviously nighttime and her room would have been completely black, but the bathroom light had been left on and the door cracked open to allow some of it out. In that bit of light, she could see that his eyes were closed, his head nodding on his chest.
Jackie watched him sleep, recalling his coming to her rescue on the beach. He’d charged in fearlessly, risking himself for her. She smiled softly at the memory as her fingers played over her throat again. Where was the wound? Troubled by its absence, she pushed the blankets aside and eased to a sitting position, shocked at how difficult it was. She was as weak as a baby.
Shifting her legs off the bed, Jackie managed to push herself to her feet, but her legs trembled as she stood and she swayed a bit. Using the wall as a brace, she made her way to the bathroom, glancing back twice to be sure Vincent hadn’t awakened and noticed her absence.
She slipped through the cracked open door, then eased it fully closed and moved to the counter in front of the mirror. Jackie stared at herself in amazement, the wound on her neck briefly forgotten. She looked about as bad as she felt, her complexion pallid, her hair lying in lank chunks around her head, her face almost oily-looking with the damp sweat blanketing it.
A small groan slid from her lips at the thought of Vincent having watched over her while she looked like this, then Jackie let that go with a sigh and turned her attention to her neck. Her throat was healed. Not fully. It was badly scarred, but it looked like a months-old injury, and Jackie was positive the attack couldn’t have taken place months ago. She couldn’t have slept here in this room for months. So what had happened?
You were turn
ed, some part of her mind whispered the answer, but Jackie shook her head. No. Impossible. Surely not?
No, she thought more firmly. If that were the case, she’d be svelte and beautiful like Marguerite, but she was her same old self, carrying fifteen or twenty pounds more than was considered beautiful in Hollywood.
Just the thought of her weight made Jackie realize that she was hungry, starved actually, and terribly thirsty. Turning the tap on, she bent over the sink and scooped some of the cold liquid up in her hands, then lifted it to her mouth to slurp up as much as she could before it ran through her fingers. She did that several times, but hardly managed to get any liquid out of it, certainly not enough to satisfy her raging thirst.
Giving up the attempt to drink from the tap, she instead splashed the water on her face and head, then ran her fingers through her hair to try to return it to some sort of order before turning off the tap. She straightened and moved back to the door.
Vincent was still asleep in the chair, Jackie saw with relief as she opened the door. She’d really rather he not see her this way. Too thirsty to waste time on dressing, she decided the large, bulky t-shirt would have to do while she went below and fetched a glass of water…or ten. She was parched, her mouth unpleasantly cottony and pasty.
Jackie crossed the room on shaky legs and eased the bedroom door open. Much to her relief, the hall was empty. She made her way slowly to the stairs and started down with determination. That determination pooped out before she’d gone halfway. It left Jackie clinging weakly to the rail, wishing she’d woken Vincent up after all.
Sighing, she rested a moment, then forced herself to continue. Jackie was incredibly relieved when she finally reached the hallway’s hardwood floor. At least if her legs gave out on her now she wouldn’t fall far.
“Jackie. What are you doing up?” Tiny rushed up the hall from the kitchen and she smiled with relief.
“I was thirsty,” Jackie admitted as he reached her.
“And hungry, no doubt,” he rumbled, slipping an arm around her to take some of her weight.
Jackie opened her mouth to answer, but instead paused and inhaled deeply as he urged her into his side.
“You smell good,” she murmured with surprise.
Tiny glanced at her sharply, obviously as startled by the comment as Jackie was that she’d made it. He frowned. “Are you okay? Your eyes are dilating.”
Jackie found herself leaning toward him, inhaling deeply. He smelled so good. Yummy even. She could just bite him.
Startled at the thought, Jackie pulled back and nearly overbalanced. Tiny quickly tightened his hold, keeping her upright, then they both stilled and stared up the hall as the kitchen door opened and a mammoth man stepped out. Fear rippling through her, Jackie immediately stepped closer to Tiny.
“It’s okay.” Tiny patted her arm. “He’s Dante, one of Christian’s men.”
“Christian?” Jackie asked with bewilderment, then forgot the question as her eyes landed on his throat. With his head turned to look at the big man, Tiny’s vein ran taut along his throat and she could actually see it pulsing with warm, life-giving blood.
“Christian is Neil and Stephano’s cousin. He’s here to help and has brought his men to keep an eye on things and help too,” Tiny explained.
It all sounded like “blah, blah, blah blood” to her. Had Tiny said something about blood? Or was that the thought whispering through her own head, Jackie wondered vaguely as she inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent. It was the oddest thing. His scent was making her mouth water as efficiently as the smell of freshly baked pizza. She stared at the pulse beating at the base of his neck, and felt an odd shifting sensation and pressure in her upper jaw.
“Bad!”
Jackie glanced to the side to find the large, dark-haired Dante there. She gasped in surprise when he suddenly scooped her up in his arms and turned toward the kitchen.
“No biting,” Dante said firmly as he carried her.
“But I’m hungry,” Jackie complained, then blinked in surprise as she realized what she’d said. She was hungry, and thirsty as well, but Tiny shouldn’t be associated with that. Perhaps it was because he cooked all the time, she reasoned a little fuzzily.
“Blood, Tommaso,” Dante said as he carried Jackie into the kitchen with Tiny trailing them.
Jackie stared with amazement at the second man as he lurched to his feet and moved to the refrigerator. He was an exact replica of the one carrying her. Tall, muscular, and handsome in a dark-eyed, dark-haired, Italian way.
“Are you two—?”
“Twins.” Dante set her down at the table and Jackie peered into his face as he straightened, her attention narrowing on his eyes. They were not silver-blue like Marguerite and Vincent’s. They were black with silver streaks. Definitely vampires then, she decided.
“Open your mouth.”
Jackie glanced to the side with a start and found the one called Tommaso standing, patiently waiting with a bag of blood in each hand.
“What are you going to do with that?” she asked warily.
“Open,” he insisted, setting one bag on the table.
Jackie hesitated, then opened her mouth.
“Teeth out.”
“She won’t have control over them yet, Tommaso,” Dante pointed out and—much to her amazement—pulled out a pocket knife and used it to jab the end of his own finger. She watched in horrified fascination as a pearl of blood bubbled to the surface, then he ran it back and forth under her nose. Jackie started to shrink away, but paused and inhaled deeply as the tinny scent of blood quivered up her nostrils.
“Oh,” Jackie breathed, amazed at how pleasing the scent was, then she blinked in surprise and raised a hand to her closed mouth as she again felt the odd shifting pressure along her upper jaw.
“Open,” Tommaso repeated.
Jackie frowned and opened her mouth to ask why, only to find the blood bag suddenly in the way. Worse yet, it appeared to be somehow affixed to her teeth, she realized.
“Just relax. You need this,” Tommaso instructed.
Jackie tried to scowl at him over the bag, but was distracted as she realized the bag was shrinking and her aches and cramps had begun to subside. Within moments the bag was empty, and replaced with the second full one. When that too was gone, he took it away and peered at her expectantly. “More?”
Jackie stared, her mind in an uproar as she moved her tongue almost fearfully across her teeth. Something sharp nicked her tongue and she was suddenly off her seat, hurrying toward the only mirrored surface in the room. The toaster.
Jackie stared into the reflective surface and saw silver-green eyes peering back. She blinked, surprised she’d missed that when she’d looked in the mirror upstairs, then reluctantly opened her mouth to reveal her teeth. There they were…Her teeth…But with a difference. A pair of sharp canines were now protruding on either side of her incisors.
Fourteen
It was a piercing shriek that woke Vincent up. He sat up with confusion in the chair by Jackie’s bed, his gaze immediately searching for her. His heart seemed to stop when he saw that the bed was empty. Then he was suddenly wide awake and on his feet.
He was sure the long, drawn-out shriek he was hearing was Jackie’s, and it was coming from somewhere downstairs.
Vincent heard doors open behind him as he rushed out into the hall, but didn’t bother glancing back. The scream had ended by the time he started down the stairs, but it didn’t slow him in the least. He practically flew down the steps, his feet barely touching the treads he sailed over. Then he was pounding up the hall.
Vincent saw Dante and Tomasso standing in the hall, burly arms crossed over their wide chests as they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the kitchen door, but he didn’t really think they would try to stop him from getting to Jackie…until he reached them and they didn’t move out of his way.
“Move,” he growled, trying to squeeze his way past, but there wasn’t room to slip between t
hem and they weren’t moving.
“Dante? Tomasso? What’s happening?” Christian’s voice made Vincent glance back to see Marcus and Christian walking up the hall toward them. Apparently the scream had woken them too.
“Tiny and Marguerite are talking to Jackie,” Dante answered.
“Marguerite said to keep everyone out,” Tomasso added, scowling at Vincent as he tried once again to get past them.
Christian hesitated, then caught Vincent by the shoulder.
“Tell them to move,” Vincent turned to snap at the man.
Before Christian could respond, Marguerite opened the kitchen door, peered over the shoulders of the two large men in front of the door and said, “Vincent, go wait in the living room. I’ll call you when you can come in.”
Vincent opened his mouth to argue, but Marguerite was already closing the door. Scowling, he shifted from one foot to the other, then turned and stomped back up the hall and into the living room, aware that Christian and Marcus were following. Dante and Tomasso apparently stayed at the door like a couple of gargoyles, Vincent realized when they didn’t follow.
“What do you think happened?” Marcus asked as the three of them began to pace the living room.
“I think she didn’t take well to the idea of being one of us,” Christian said dryly.
Vincent frowned at the suggestion. He hadn’t thought about how Jackie would take being turned. His main concern had been that she survive the attack, that he couldn’t let her die. But he’d forgotten one small fact. Despite how well they’d been getting along the last couple of days, Jackie had hated immortals since her experience with Cassius at nineteen.
“Cassius,” Christian murmured and Vincent turned his head sharply to find the man’s eyes narrowed on him. He’d been reading his mind. Even as he opened his mouth to tell him to mind his own thoughts, Christian said with surprise, “She hates immortals.”
“You don’t hate immortals,” Tiny said firmly for the third time.
“I do.” Jackie scowled at the giant. He was being annoyingly calm and soothing about all this. “How could you let them do this to me?”
