Bound to the Vampire (5 page)

Latham glanced at the werewolf. “Their past is complicated. There were things he had to take care of.”

“He should have been taking care of V,” Avery inserted, feeling a ravenous loyalty to her friend.

“You young vamps,” Latham said with sigh. “Things weren’t always so easy. Not between your species. Not even among the same species. The LeBeau and Fabelle families have centuries of bad blood between them. Very bad blood.”

“But he’s worked it out and thinks he can just sweep back into her life?” Coco asked. Clearly she and Avery were on the same page here.

Avery didn’t like the idea that this man who’d crushed V in the past was suddenly back, ready to just step into her life again.

“What if she’d been married?” Avery asked. “Or mated to someone else?”

Latham shook his head. “Impossible. Bound pairs are matched for life. She’s the only one who can bear him children. Besides—”

He sighed and glanced around as if he’d said too much.

“Do you think that’s what he’s after?” Avery asked Coco and Izzy. “Kids?”

“That would explain the timing,” Coco added.

“I thought you ladies would be interested in a little match making,” Latham said, clearly confused.

The three of them turned toward him. Coco elected herself to speak. “If he’s here because he genuinely can’t live another day without her, fine. We’re in. But if there’s any funny business—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll take him down,” Latham said. He glanced at Grayson and Shade. Ceara and Maxim had left minutes earlier. Latham’s lips curved upwards. “I’d help you.”

He’d help them put the smack down on Dameon LeBeau?

“I thought he was one of your big fishes,” Izzy said.

“Dameon’s an old friend, but so is Valencia. I don’t think we have anything to worry about it.”

For Dameon’s sake, Avery hoped Latham was right.

Charles Latham glared down at the piece of paper in his hand. Though he was fluent in thirty six languages, the words on the page bled together until he couldn’t trust his eyes.

“What the hell is this?” He didn’t mean to thunder the words, didn’t intend for the lamp on his desk to quake at the ferocity of his tone. Nor did he expect his assistant, his wonderful, brilliant assistant to pull her shoulders down and back and stare at him head on.

She’d gotten past the cowering thing years ago, so he didn’t know why a shock of surprise at her defiance coursed through him now.

“Exactly what it says it is. My two weeks’ notice.”

“Rosanna—”

“You’re not going to change my mind, Latham.”

He turned and stared out the window. The courtyard was empty save for one couple in the corner. A volleyball game was in full swing on the sand, and two werewolves were paddling out to the waves.

Just another day in paradise.

Except that paradise was crashing down around his ears. Why had it never occurred to him that Rosanna wouldn’t remain by his side forever? Why hadn’t it occurred to him that she’d want more out of life?

And he could see it all in her face, hear it in her thoughts. She wanted more. Love, romance, passion, happily ever after.

He cursed in six languages and spun back toward her. Only, she wasn’t there.

Stalking across the office, he tried in vain to get his temper under control. If she left, he’d be in big trouble. She was the glue that held this island together and he was smart enough to know it.

She sat at her desk just outside his door as she normally did. In fact, everything looked so ordinary that for a moment he wondered if it’d all been a horrible day-dream. But he glanced back at his immaculate desk; Rosanna’s doing of course, and saw the dreaded piece of paper.

Her resignation letter.

“You can’t quit,” he said simply.

There. That should do it.

She paused mid breath, her fingers hovering above the keyboard a quarter of an inch. Her shoulders did that thing again and her spine lengthened just before she turned big brown eyes his way. Her perfectly plucked chocolate brown eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“I most certainly can and am quitting. You can’t stop me Latham.”

He threw his head back and laughed at that. How wrong she was. If he wanted to keep her locked in the office, chained to her desk for eternity, he damn well could do as he pleased.

But he wasn’t that bastard anymore.

“Do you want a raise?” he asked, choosing a safer tactic.

The corners of her rosy lips turned down in a deep frown. “This was never about money.”

He put his hands on his hips, trying to look intimidating. Her gaze followed his movement and the frown turned to a twist of censure.

“Forget it Latham. You can’t do your big, ‘
I’m a god
’ intimidation tactic. It won’t work with me. It stopped working years ago. I want more.”

“I can give you more,” he said quickly. If he lost her, he’d have to answer the phone and he hated that. Gods shouldn’t have to answer their own damn phone. Hadn’t he come farther than that?

“No you can’t, Latham. Do you know when my last vacation was?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the lack of knowledge. Sure, he could summon the information, but—
“Never. I haven’t taken a day off since we opened Mystic Isle. There’s always some detail that needs to be taken care of. Some issue to be worked out. A high roller that needs coddling.”

“So take next week off.”

She narrowed her gaze and tilted her chin down, reminding him of a bull ready to charge. But goring wasn’t what he needed to worry about. If looks could kill, he was pretty sure he’d be dead right this instant.

She spun back to her desk and finished whatever she was typing, thoroughly dismissing him. Rosanna had never dismissed him before.

He stared at her profile for a few seconds and realized she really wasn’t going to continue the discussion. Something about what he’d said had really irritated her which was odd since he had never known her to be so miffed. She was easy going and efficient which was why he relied on her so much.

While Mystic Isle was a relatively peaceful place, he always felt he was a second or two away from disaster. What with a tumultuous mix of insanely strong werewolves,
flashing
vampires, playful demons and the occasional sea-serpent.

And though he liked to think of himself as level headed, the truth was, Rosanna kept him steady. Would it make a difference if he told her that? Maybe compliments were the key to getting her to stay.

He went back into his office and stared at his desk. Then the scene outside his window.

Two weeks… He had two weeks to get her to change her mind.

***

“Scotch, please,” the man two barstools down said.

Dameon fingered the stem of his wine glass and turned toward the voice. The werewolf was big, but all werewolves were big. He wore casual clothes and had an accent Dameon couldn't quite place. Eastern European maybe.

He recognized the demon to the wolf's right from Valencia's party. The fact that they were both drinking at six am surprised him. But perhaps they were just winding down after a long night.

“Dameon, how's it going?”

He turned to his left, toward Latham’s voice. The god took the empty seat next to him and nodded at the bartender. Normally easy going and affable, Latham looked tense, stressed even. There was a subtle twitch in his jaw and Dameon couldn't help but wonder what in this universe could cause Charles Latham to lose his cool.

Dameon rather liked the idea, bastard that he was. Knowing that something, anything, could tilt Latham’s world off its axis made him more human. And it brought home the fact that no one had an easy time of it.

“I've shot the first volley,” Dameon answered. Although, the truth was more like he’d shot a cannonball of emotion and memories at Valencia.

Latham raised three fingers at the bartender.

“Wow. It is that kind day already?” Dameon asked, keeping his voice low.

Latham just grunted and watched the bartender pour three fingers of a very expensive whiskey and slide it across the bar. For a moment he seemed mesmerized by the amber liquid in the glass but then he glanced up and pegged Dameon with a look.

“Just keep it quiet, okay? I've got enough trouble to deal with.”

Latham threw back the whiskey in two long swallows. Dameon’s brows shot up but he quickly reined in his surprise. Nodding, he mulled over Latham’s words.

“Anything I can do to help?” Dameon found himself asking. He was normally not one to involve himself in others affairs but he liked to stay on the good side of gods.

Latham gave a single shake of his head. Then he nodded to the werewolf to Dameon's right. “Maxim. Shade. Have you met Dameon LeBeau?”

It was just like the god to change to the topic when it suited him.

Dameon would do the dutiful thing though and play along. For now. But he sensed that there was an interesting story, a war going on inside of the owner of Mystic Isle.

“Not formally,” he said, turning to the men at his right.

Latham left his empty glass and stood. He stopped between Dameon and the wolf and waved his finger at them like a metronome. “You three have something in common.”

“Besides our good looks,” the demon said with a grin.

Latham's lips twitched and he clapped the demon on the shoulder.

“Besides that. Dameon, Maxim here is mated to Valencia's young coven mate, Ceara.” He nodded at the werewolf who'd turned atop his barstool to study Dameon.

He felt the wolf's curiosity and thought perhaps that he'd been told of the little scene during Valencia’s Masquerade party. He didn’t remember seeing the wolf there and he was used to cataloging faces. He had plenty of enemies as his bodyguard Hassan always reminded him.

Let the girls talk about him; that suited him just fine. The more they talked about him the better.

“And Shade here is scheduled to marry Izzy, what, four days from now?”

The demon nodded and reached around Maxim. “Nice to meet you.” He stretched out his arm and Dameon shook his hand. He wasn't surprised by the strength there; he’d fought plenty of demons during the war. For the briefest of seconds he wondered which side Shade had fought on.

“The girls in bed?” Latham asked.

Maxim nodded.

So Izzy and Ceara were young vamps, too young to withstand the daylight. Dameon filed that information away.

“So how do you know Valencia?” Maxim asked, waving at the bartender for another Scotch.

“That's a really long story,” Dameon said.

“They were betrothed,” Latham supplied.

That got the other men’s attention. The wolf's brows jumped up his forehead and Shade cocked his head to the left.

“Really?” Shade said, his tone impressed and disbelieving at the same time.

“Honestly,” Dameon replied with a nod.

“Now that's a story I've got to hear,” Shade said and moved to the empty barstool between Dameon and Maxim.

“I'll leave you guys to your drinks. Maxim, we're still on for the dolphin excursion tomorrow night?”

“Wouldn't miss it. You know how crazy C is about those things.”

Latham chuckled, his mood lighter for the moment, and strode off.

While Dameon was sad to lose the opportunity to find out what was troubling Latham, he welcomed the chance to, how did they say, get cozy with the mates of Valencia's coven mates.

“Valencia's never mentioned you,” Maxim said between sips.

“She wouldn't have.” Of that much Dameon was sure. Valencia had always been a private woman. Privacy was coveted in a houseful of vampires. But still, her silence about their past rankled and he couldn’t put his finger on why. Though he’d thought of her every day, he hadn’t spoken of her often. Better to leave the past in that past. That had been his motto…until last week.

Shade frowned. “Why do you say that?”

Dameon gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. Shrugging wasn't an action he made very often. He was decisive, rarely unsure. Somehow Valencia brought out insecurities in him that no one else could.

“We were in love. Met by chance actually. She was so vibrant and full of life and her laugh...” He got lost in the memory. Her laugh had seduced him instantly.

“Yer shittin' us,” Shade said.

“Valencia doesn't laugh,” Maxim said.

Dameon frowned at that. Surely they were mistaken, but then, they’d obviously spent enough time around her to know.

“She used to laugh all the time. I've never heard another like it. It's like a siren's call and I was...well, I was unable to deny her. Ours was the kind of love affair that Shakespeare wrote about, the kind legends are made of. And then we realized we'd been betrothed to stop the war between our covens.”

“Fate,” Shade said.

Dameon could forgive the demon for his idyllic mindset; he was getting married before the week was out after all.