Bit the Jackpot (9 page)

Seamus sighed. "You could do that, but is it fair to the dogs to never go outside during the day?"

Her face went pale. She looked like she'd been slapped.

"Cara…" He didn't know what the hell to say. Reality was a bitch.

"Get out."

"What?" Her face was buried in Fritz's fur, but he was almost certain she'd told him to leave.

"Get out! I want to change."

She looked dangerously close to tears, so Seamus didn't even hesitate. She wanted him gone, he was out of there. A woman in tears was the last thing he knew how to deal with.

Not sure whether to shut the door or not, he left it open, but Cara slammed it the second he cleared the doorframe.

"Don't worry, I don't need my heels," he murmured.

"I heard that!" Cara called, her voice shaky.

Okay. Seamus would just take himself off down the hall, thanks. His dining room had a table, but he used it and the sideboard as a home office since he didn't need it for meals. He popped open his laptop, checked the schedule for the week, and cleared out his e-mail. They had only five weeks until the election.

The numbers from the latest poll danced in front of his eyes. Ethan and his opponent, Donatelli, were almost neck and neck.

Donatelli was winning with young vampires, and those who were called Impures, born to rogue vampires and mortal women, like Brittany Baldizzi had been. Donatelli supported finding these mortals with vampire blood and turning them. Ethan opposed the practice, feeling it was a dangerous policy of population explosion. The more vampires, greater the risk of exposure. There was also some question of whether or not Impures had full consent in their turning.

Seamus rubbed his temples. Ethan had one last major trip scheduled to New York. They had just spent the summer on the campaign trail, traveling from Saint Petersburg to Berlin and on to Paris. They'd done a flyby down in South America before heading back to the States. They were doing everything they could to win another term.

But Seamus was worried. Very worried. And instead of planning strategy or ferreting out Brittany's father, he had turned a stripper. It was like spitting on vampire policy. He clicked on his Excel spreadsheet for Ethan's appearances for the remainder of the month. He was doing another debate, a fund-raiser dinner, and a speech at the United Bloodworkers Union. It didn't feel like enough.

Cara could jeopardize the campaign. If she did something inappropriate, they'd be in trouble. Hell, her mere existence was going to cause a lot of eyebrows to shoot up. Seamus was known to toe the line, always. They would take Cara and turn her into an issue, make her a statement of the Carrick policy's weaknesses.

If Ethan lost the election over this, Seamus would never forgive himself.

Which meant Cara was not going to be able to leave Seamus's side until the election was over. She wasn't going to be able to even leave the casino.

This was not going to go over big with her.

Seamus wondered if there was a way to convince her he was right that didn't involve tears or screaming.

He'd much prefer it involve orgasms, and one for him, too, this time.

But the look on her face when she stomped her way into the dining room convinced him he was going to have to try an alternate form of persuasion initially. One that didn't involve him letting her feed off him. He still couldn't believe he had done that. More than once. It was totally against the rules and completely unnecessary. He had an entire fridge of bagged blood he could be giving her. Instead, he was slitting his wrist and letting her take from him because it gave him immense pleasure to feel her drawing on him, to see the ecstasy on her face, to feel like if he gave her his older, more powerful blood, it would somehow make up for the guilt he had.

And it really bothered him that she kept insisting his blood tasted bad. A small, illogical part of him didn't want her to taste mortal blood from a bag, decide it was delicious, and disdain his offerings. Right now she needed him, wanted him.

And he needed counseling. He'd lost his ever-lovin' undead mind.

"What are you doing?" she asked, peering over his shoulder.

"Just checking e-mail, verifying Ethan's schedule for the week, checking the election polls." Thinking about her.

"So you really are Ethan's campaign manager?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She'd changed into clean jeans and a red T-shirt that hugged her very impressive breasts.

"Three hundred and seventy-one last April."

"Are you Irish?"

"Yes. Are you Korean?" He wanted to know who Cara was, her likes, dislikes, what made her tick. They were going to be living together for a while, and it was important they talk, find some common ground.

"A quarter Korean. The other three fourths, who knows, something European." She gestured to the very chest he'd been ogling with a rueful look. "No Asian woman has a chest like this naturally."

"And yours is? Natural?" That pleased him more than it should.

She leaned against the table, dogs hovering around her ankles. "Yes. Not that it's any of your business.

"I need to call my grandmother's nursing home and give them this number. My grandma is pretty far gone with dementia, and I want them to know how to reach me."

"Sure, I understand. I can call the nursing home tomorrow if you have trouble staying awake past sunrise." Seamus pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his leg over his knee. "Anything else you want to know?"

"How did you become a vampire?"

That was easy enough. "I was an Irish farmer until Cromwell. Then I defied my father and joined the rebellion against the English. I was a good soldier, until I met Ethan. He ran his sword through me. Then for whatever reason, he pulled me off that field and gave me this life back."

"So it's his fault you died? And he felt guilty and made you a vampire?"

"Yes." He had always been grateful to Ethan for that. War was war and by all rights he should have died.

"Hmmm… I see a pattern here. Sounds exactly like what you did with me."

Where was Freud when you needed him? "Maybe."

"So give me the book of rules. I want to study all this and go home. I don't know how I'm going to go to school, since there aren't any night classes, but I want to be in my own apartment at least. And I can't be gone for more than two weeks at work or they'll replace me."

Her hand was out. Seamus stared at her in disbelief. "Cara, I don't have a written manual for vampirism. The rules are verbal for the vast majority of us. There are hard copies, but only the ancients and the president have access to them."

Cara crossed her arms. "How am I supposed to know if I'm doing it wrong or right?"

"I'll tell you."

"I don't want to be with you," she said, her teeth grinding together.

"Sorry." He meant that. Sort of. "But that's the way it is."

She made a hideous noise and threw her arms up in the air. "You're like a block of wood. You're
impenetrable
. Your expression never changes. You always look vaguely annoyed. Even when I'm… you know"—her voice dropped down to normal tones— "you don't even react. You don't try to have sex with me. Not that I want you to. But you don't even try. Are you gay?"

"No!" This was why he avoided women. They were freaking crazy. How could she not notice his erection? How could she not see his drool when he looked at her? And why did she want to
penetrate
him in the first place? She didn't even seem to like him.

"I am not gay. And I don't try to have sex with you because I don't want to take advantage of you when you're confused and adjusting."

"I'm confused?"

"You're not?" Was she saying she wanted to have sex with him? Seamus felt an erection spring up of nowhere.

"I don't think so." She chewed her bottom lip.

Very convincing. "Uhh… what are you in school for?" When in doubt—confusion, cluelessness, utter know-nothingness—change the subject.

Cara frowned. "I'm in veterinarian school. I intended to be an animal doctor, though this has the potential to seriously screw that up."

Well, that explained the fur menagerie. "Maybe you can take some of your classes online." Seamus loved the Internet. It was the best invention since electricity.

"I hope so."

Then to his utter horror, she gave a sniffle.

"I've worked so hard… dancing at night, classes and studying all day…" Her words wobbled and her lip trembled.

Oh, crap. "Cara, I'm sorry. I really am. I'll help you figure it out. We'll get it all worked out and everything will be fine." Or he'd impale himself. He couldn't stand to see the look of unhappi-ness on her face, knowing this was all his fault.

She pressed her mouth with her palm and took several breaths like she was getting herself under control. "Why did you approach me last night? Was it to feed off me?"

"Well." He should have known he'd be called to the mat for this sooner or later. Honesty seemed like the wisest course. That's what he always told Seamus when campaigning, just come clean and apologize or it will bite you in the ass later.

"Normally we discourage live feeding from mortals. I haven't live-fed in a few hundred years. But last night I saw you dancing. I was attracted to you, to the way you move, the way you understand your own body." He felt hard just remembering. It didn't help that her eyes were dilating, that he could feel sexual tension vibrating between them harder, faster, and louder than that little toy of hers could ever manage. "I wanted to seduce you. That was my primary goal."

Her cheeks went pink. "You wanted to have sex with me?"

He nodded. "I thought I might encourage you with a little vampire persuasion." Which sounded cheap and disgusting now that he was repeating it out loud. He was such an Irish pig. "But I assure you I wouldn't have done anything you didn't want me to do." Like that made it sound any better.

"So I looked like the kind of woman who would be up for a good time?"

He wasn't going to answer that on the grounds that she might castrate him.

Instead, he said, "I thought you were beautiful. The first woman to tempt me into impulsiveness in two hundred years. Clearly I should have put more thought into it, given the way it's turned out."

"Clearly."

But to his relief, the trembling lip was gone, and she didn't appear all that upset.

Seamus turned to print off a fresh copy of the week's agenda, grateful to have dodged that silver bullet.

He wasn't prepared for Cara to insert her curvy, sexy body between him and the computer screen. Startled, he found himself eye to eye with her breasts. Whoa, boy. Much better than his geometric shapes screen saver.

When he managed to drag his eyes off her chest and look higher, he watched in fascination as her lips opened sensually and her hips swiveled toward him.

"How about a lap dance, soldier?"

Ringo paced back and forth in the back of Donatelli's luxurious suite in the Venetian hotel and tried to ignore Smith's complaints and whining.

"It wasn't my fault, Mr. Donatelli, I'm telling you. The woman distracted me."

"The woman." Donatelli unfolded his linen napkin and placed it in his lap as he sat at the ornate round table in the sitting area. "The woman distracted you?"

His voice was calm, and he wasn't even looking at Smith, but Ringo knew he was angry. His temple pulsed and his shoulders were rigid. "That is the second mortal woman to distract you in recent months. The second mortal woman you've killed."

"I didn't kill her!" The color blanched from Smith's beefy face. He went from vampire pale to nearly translucent.

"But you did kill Alexis Baldizzi, didn't you?"

Ringo stopped pacing and studied Smith's reaction. He hadn't known Donatelli was responsible for Alexis's mortal death, however inadvertent. Donatelli's strategies were never clear to him. Ringo just did what he was told to do, like a dead doormat. Donatelli yelled, he jumped, and in return he got blood delivered to him laced with nicotine, alcohol, and an irresistible hint of heroin.

He hated Donatelli, hated his dependence, but knew he wasn't strong enough as either a vampire or a man to attempt to escape both his master and his addiction to drug blood.

Smith didn't answer Donatelli directly, clearly recognizing his guilt in killing Alexis Baldizzi. "The woman last night, I don't even know who she was. She was just there all of a sudden, screaming and running, and… and… a car hit her."

"Does she belong to Fox?"

"I don't know."

Ringo did. He had watched from the shadows, sensed that she was moving on Fox's orders, that they were mind linked. Perhaps lovers, perhaps his blood donor. Which from what Ringo had learned in the past two months was against Carrick's political views. Carrick supposedly didn't believe in mortal slaves.

"Thank you, Smith. You may return to your room."

"Yes, Mr. Donatelli." Smith looked relieved, his thick shoulders sagging in his ill-fitting gray suit. He turned toward the door.

"Oh, and one more thing before you go." Donatelli sipped from his wineglass, the thick scent of blood filling Ringo's nostrils and making his stomach clench. Donatelli tilted the glass, staring at it, running his tongue along his thin bottom lip to catch a stray drop. He had the look of a weasel—thin, wiry, sly, dark eyes filled with malice. "Mr. Smith, no feedings for you until Tuesday."

Smith stopped near the door and turned, jaw dropping. "Five days without feeding? Mr. Donatelli, no, you can't do that!"

"Make that six."

Smith shut up. Ringo went cold as he watched the panic in Smith's eyes. Like a cruel parent, Donatelli waved his hand. "Go on. To your room. Think about what you've done and why it was wrong."

Something like a whimper came from Smith's big frame, but he left, the door closing quietly behind him.

Ringo hesitated, but only for a second. Then while Donatelli took another deep swallow of blood, he told him, "Mr. Donatelli, I think the woman is Fox's. I sensed a mind link between them. I sensed his fear for her."