Blood Eternal (13 page)

This past night had proved her words a lie but he resisted pointing out the obvious. The blood stains spread, eating the white of her makeshift napkin bandage. He swallowed. “There is a first aid kit inside the cupboard to your left. I keep it on hand for mo—emergencies.” Christ, he had nearly said mortals. He shook his head at his carelessness.

She reached up with her good hand, opened the cupboard and took out a white box. “Thank you, again. You can go back to your drinking now. I’ll use one of these Band-Aids.” She waved the sticky strip. “It’ll make me good as new. You needn’t worry. As I said before, I can take care of myself.”

She was angry. “Sarcasm?” He moved forward. “Because I am not quite sure you can take care of yourself?”

Savannah frowned as the Band-Aid slipped along her finger. “I’ve done fine on my own, until yesterday.”

“For Christ sakes. Please be careful. You cannot even put on a Band-Aid.” Luke wrapped his hand around her wrist.

“Hey, stop.” She tugged on it but he did not let go.

“Wash it off.” He opened the kitchen sink faucet and thrust her thumb in the running water. Blood and water swirled down the drain. “See.” He met her gaze. “Not so bad now, right? I swear, you behave like Victoria. Always without a care. I told her many times to be careful but she never...” He let go of her wrist, stunned that he’d spoken openly of his late wife. “Wipe your thumb dry. The bandage should not slip.”

“What were you going to say?” She stepped toward him. “She never what?”

Fuck. “Nevermind.” He turned, strode to a nearby shelf and grabbed an empty tumbler. Blast his ridiculous mouth. Taking another bottle of vodka from the freezer, he filled his glass. At this rate, he did not really need a glass but it seemed barbaric to do otherwise. “Want any?” He offered her the bottle without facing her.

“No thanks. I’m not a vodka fan.”

She did not like vodka. At least he understood why she’d nursed her drink the other night. “Why did you have me order Grey Goose at Blood Bar the other night if you do not like vodka?”

“Force of habit,” she said. “Ben used to buy it for me.”

Luke snorted. He would think any memories of Ben would be motivation to refuse the drink.

“Your turn to answer my question,” Savannah said. “Who are you? Who is Victoria?”

He released a long sigh and crossed the room to sit on a sofa. “Victoria was my wife.”

“Was?” She neared and sat cross-legged in a chair next to him.

“She passed many years ago.” More than two hundred years, and the words to describe the night of his late wife’s death stuck on his tongue, Victoria’s screams for help were still so vivid. “I prefer not to discuss this.”

“Okay.” She bit her bottom lip as if in thought. Her breasts weighed heavily against the thin, silky camisole.

He wanted her. The knowledge broke him as he thought about Victoria. “It is late.”

“What was she like?”

“Savannah.” His tone held a note of warning. And yet, he yearned to confide in her. Damn drink made him delusional.

“Please, Luke. I’m not tired.”

Sipping, he stared at the ash-strewn fireplace. He could barely recall Victoria’s face and her voice had faded over time but he remembered loving her smile. “She was happy and beautiful, like a sunny day in Bath. When she would laugh or smile, her whole face would light up.” His lips curved at the memory and he was surprised to see a similar expression on Savannah’s face. Why had he never noticed a dimple to the left of her mouth?

“Are you telling me she never got angry at you?”

Luke laughed. “Do not be daft. Of course she did. Quite a good portion of the time, in fact.” He sometimes wondered how she’d ever put up with him, or his mother.

“Not a surprise,” she said without a hint of sarcasm. Still, her eyes twinkled as she pursed her lips slightly. She teased him, and it felt surprisingly light within his chest.

“Victoria hated it when I would go wandering with my mates and detested imposed dances and society parties.”

Savannah rolled her eyes. “Who wouldn’t? Women’s evening wear is rarely comfortable. A nip here, a tuck there, a pinch everywhere. Not to mention, high society can be so boring, at least it was for me.”

“Yes. She often expressed frustration with the propriety of our, ahem...” Christ, what was he doing? He could not discuss late eighteenth-century society with her. She would think him mad.

“Propriety of what? Your social class?”

He tilted his head, hiding his relief at having caught himself before he’d revealed too much. “Yes, one could refer to it as such.” He leaned forward to stand. “Enough talk for tonight.”

“Why? I want to hear more.” She smiled wide, her dimple peeking through again. “Your wife sounds wonderful. Or sounded.”

Luke paused, his thoughts muddled over the strangeness of their conversation. “She was.”

“I think she and I would have gotten along.” Savannah’s words were almost a whisper. A sense of loss and confusion washed over him.

“What’s wrong?” She frowned. “Have I said something offensive?”

“No.” Through the daze, Luke knew she spoke the truth. Victoria would have enjoyed Savannah’s passion and sense of humor. Savannah behaved more a rebel than Victoria ever had and yet he imagined they would have made great friends.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, please.” Luke stood and rubbed a hand over his face. He grew tired—no, exhausted. And unfortunately, more sober than he’d hoped to be. “You have done nothing wrong.”

“Why do you look so upset?” she asked.

“I have not talked about Victoria in a long time.”

“Okay.” She scooted to the edge of her chair. “Maybe you needed to talk about it, get it off your chest.”

Such human naivety. Perhaps she had a point, but where did these moments of closeness leave them? She remained his victim and until he spoke with Broderick about getting her back on a plane to Boston, nothing had changed. Even still, he was not sure returning her was an option. Head bowed, he said, “Thank you for this discussion, but I find myself tired and suddenly very sober. If you will excuse me, I bid you goodnight.”

12

Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping...waiting...and though unwanted...unbidden...it will stir...open its jaws and howl... It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace...but we would be hollow...

—Joss Whedon

Lorenzo sat back as the stunning blonde before him lifted her leg and slid off his lap. An amazing release. Made even more so by recent good news, a crowded bar and watchful eyes. “
Mille grazie, signorina
.” He buttoned his pants and zipped the fly closed. Based on his contact’s phone call earlier, he had even more to bargain with. Apparently Luke’s latest gem of a victim was definitely more gem than victim. Lorenzo had suspected something different since the beginning.

White fangs flashed as the blonde smiled. “My pleasure.” She pulled down her snug leather skirt, winked and walked away.

“I see you haven’t changed a bit.” Rafaelo Costa neared his table. Vampires and humans alike averted their stares from the well-known Ancient, his presence almost overbearing.

“Rafe, just in time.” Lorenzo’s nerves stirred as he stood and nodded with respect. “I’ve arranged for a more private location in the back.”

“It’s a wonder you didn’t think to take care of your business there too.” He raised one dark brow.

“I have a reputation to uphold.” And he simply liked to fuck, but that excuse wouldn’t please the Ancient.

“So you do.” Rafe pushed aside a curtain and slid into a black leather booth. “I must admit your call surprised me, especially after what transpired between you and Drago. Why did you contact me?”

“I want to make a deal with the Ancients.”

Rafe’s steel gray eyes narrowed. “Is this a joke? If you’ve wasted my time...” He rose.

“No.” Shit. This wasn’t working out how he had hoped. “I know the Ancients are watching Luke.”

“Drago’s concern, not mine.”

“He sees Luke as a threat. Only two hundred years old, and his strength rivals those of our kind who are three times his age.”

“I don’t know if I’d agree with such a far-fetched assessment and quite frankly, I’m not sure what Drago sees these days.” Rafe sat down, brows drawn together. “Mr. Evans is of no interest to me so if you’re looking to make a pact, you’ve contacted the wrong Ancient.”

“You know I cannot contact Drago. You said as much yourself.”

“Not my problem.”

Lorenzo sat back, released a long exhalation. He would have to tell Rafe what he knew. “What about the woman, his latest victim? Does she interest you?”

“Beautiful women are a dime a dozen. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“I want my life back. I want any kind of bounty on my head to disappear. And I want free reign over any activities I choose to partake in.”

Rafe pulled aside the curtain surrounding their booth. “It doesn’t seem to me you’re suffering much.”

“I’m a marked man. It’s no way to live. I can’t go a day without your minions down my back.”

“Hire more security.”

The urge to grab Rafe’s collar and shake him senseless surged but the rash move would only get him killed. Instead he lowered his voice. “You’re not listening.”

“No, you’re not. No one crosses Drago. And considering you fucked his sister and almost got her killed, I’d say you’re a thousand steps back from everyone else. If you want to walk free, you’ll have to negotiate terms with him.”

“I’ve tried. You’re his right hand man. You have to help me.”

The table between them trembled. “I don’t have to do anything.”

“I could make it worth your time.” He lifted a decanter and poured the Ancient a glass of whiskey.

Rafe smiled then his expression grew serious. “Cut the bullshit. I could care less about you being a hunted man and so far you’ve offered me no reason why I should help you. Actually, you’ve only given me a desire to up the bounty on your head or finish the job myself.”

“Have you heard of the Blessed?” Lorenzo calmly slipped out a cigarette. “I know you have your underground blood circuit, therefore, you must know of them.”

“What do you know about the Blessed?” Rafe leaned back in the booth, eyes steely, mouth a straight line.

“I know enough to know they interest you.”

“I don’t play games.”

“I know their blood is sacred and powerful,” said Lorenzo.

“Doesn’t do me any good.” Rafe stood as if to leave.

“Fine. I know the human must have a near death experience and be blessed before returning to earth. I know they have to stop breathing for a certain period of time.” He reached across the table and grabbed Rafe’s arm. “Please, I’ll tell you what I know about Savannah Michaels.”

Rafe looked down at the hand in warning and Lorenzo pulled it back. The Ancient sat. “Who is Savannah Michaels and why should I care to know more about her?”

“Luke’s latest victim. Aren’t you watching him?”

“I told you, I don’t involve myself in Drago’s games.” He leaned forward, pinpointing Lorenzo with his eerie silver eyes. “Is she a Blessed?”

“I have reason to believe she is. My contact says a car hit her nearly two years ago. Savannah stopped breathing for several minutes.”

“And who is this contact of yours?”

“I am sworn to secrecy, but what if I could get you proof?” How far should he offer to go? No risk equaled no reward. “A blood sample? Or what if I brought her to you so you could see for yourself?”

“I’m not sure your buddy Evans would agree.”

“Don’t concern yourself with Evans.”

Rafe rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Last I heard, you and Luke were pretty chummy.”

“He isn’t a friend so much as a nuisance, a temporary one.” Especially as Luke refused to partner with him.

“Fine,” Rafe said. “But I’m not making any guarantees. Bring me something of interest and I’ll get you a conversation with Drago.”