Real Vampires Have Curves (2 page)

“Gloriana, you never write. You never call.”

I stared at the phone as if it had sprouted fangs. Jeremy Blade being flip?

“Who are you and what have you done with my—” I couldn't finish the thought. Our relationship was too complicated.

“Your lover? Husband?”

“Definitely not husband.” Leave it to Blade to propose when I'd had it up to here with family togetherness in the Highlands. There had been some talk of a handfast, but I deny we ever did it. But about that family. Would you believe Blade has four brothers and two sisters? His folks didn't become vampire until after all the kids were born. Then Mag and Angus let their adult children decide their own future.

No one knows how Mom and Pop Campbell decided when to pose the big question. Trust me, none of the Campbell kids were retaining water on
their
V-day: the day each one got to choose—vampire and immortality, or the pitiful life span they could have expected way back then. Just my luck that's a no-brainer for the Campbell clan. You try living happily ever after with nine vampires.

“What
am
I then?”

“I call you ‘my ex.' That about says it.”

“You're breaking my heart, babe.”

Babe? I couldn't believe my ears and, trust me, a vamp's hearing is supercharged. Supercharged enough to glom on to the hint of a Scottish burr that had melted my resistance all those centuries ago. Nope. I was immune now.

“I can't break what doesn't exist, Jerry. Why are you calling me ‘babe'?”

“I decided you were right about a few things.”

That did it. I pulled off the highway and stopped the car on the shoulder. No traffic at three in the morning. And no wonder. This stretch of road wasn't exactly the scenic route. Rocks, scraggly bushes and sand. Period.

“
I
was right?”

“About fitting in. I've had a few skirmishes with some hunters recently.”

I felt sick. Skirmishes in Bladespeak meant he'd come within inches of being staked. We all feared vampire hunters. Living forever can be depressing, but I sure didn't want to go out with a stake through my heart.

“God, Blade. What happened? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. A new man you might say.”

“Good. Because the old one . . .” I didn't have the heart to ream him out like I usually did. A world without Blade. I bitch and moan, but our always interesting love-hate relationship was one of the things that kept me going.

“The old one has missed you.”

Now that tore it. “
Missed
me? Please. I know for a fact that you were in Vegas less than a year ago and didn't even bother to see my show.”

“You know how I feel about that show. I hope to hell you're not planning to continue exposing yourself in Texas.”

I felt instantly better. I'd told Blade my show was topless. It drove him insane. “I was a dancer, Jerry. Showing a little skin earned me a nice living.”

“You don't have to work at all. I'm responsible for what you are—”

“Who, not what. And I begged you to do it, so
I
am responsible for my condition. No one else.” God, we'd had this discussion at least a thousand times. Blade was nothing if not hardheaded. And with a memory like an immortal elephant. Once, almost three hundred years ago, I'd yelled at him that he'd ruined my life, robbed me of having children, blah, blah, blah.

It was a meltdown, brought on by too much Campbell togetherness. I'd gotten over it almost immediately, but Blade seemed haunted by it. I admit the children thing was a low blow. I don't know which would be worse. To see your kids grow old and die. Or turn them vampire so they can live forever and ever and . . . See? I thought about it. And I've come to terms with it. Jerry hasn't. Damn him, I would not feel
anything
for him. I took a steadying breath.

“Tell me about the hunters.”

“A bad group. Led by a man named Brent Westwood. He's a billionaire big-game hunter who has decided vampires are the biggest game of all.” Blade's voice was hard. “He takes trophies, Gloriana. He wears a necklace made of . . .” I heard him take a breath. A shaky breath. “Fangs.”

I thought I was going to be sick. “And they call
us
evil?” I swallowed hard.

“There's more.” Blade cleared his throat. “Be careful, Gloriana. He got MacTavish.”

“Mac! No!” I leaned my head against the steering wheel. Mac had been Blade's best friend and I'd loved him like a brother. I felt tears slip down my cheeks. Yeah, vamps can cry and Mac was definitely worth a little dehydration. Mac had been light where Blade was dark, in temperament as well as looks. Funny and loyal to the core. I pressed a hand against my mouth until I could speak again.

“Mara?” Mac's wife. Beautiful. More like Blade than Mac had been, a bit on the broody side.

“She's a survivor. Sad, hurt, filled with lust for revenge. She's staying with me. Westwood got away and got a good look at both of us. I'm sure we're on the top of his list now.”

I breathed through a nausea that I hadn't felt in decades. Blade's teeth dangling around a mortal fiend's neck. Not possible. Blade was too strong, too powerful. But then Mac had been just as strong.

“So you were there. You couldn't erase Westwood's memory? ” Stupid question. We have to
touch
a mortal to do that. “Or zap him with your mind control thing?” No one could do a mind-meld like Blade.

“I tried. He wears some kind of protective glasses.”

“How did he get Mac? An ambush?” I shut up. If I knew Blade, he was already blaming himself for Mac's death. He had a sense of responsibility a mile wide. Now he'd taken on Mac's widow.

“You could call it that. He knew us well before we sensed the danger. And, God damn him, I couldn't get close to Westwood. He's developed new technology. The glasses and some kind of scanner, a vampire detector.”

I hadn't heard Blade this upset since he'd broken things off with his family. And don't ask me to go into that now, it's a long story.

I was shaking and feeling sick again. A vamp detector. This was really, really bad news. I pride myself on my ability to blend in with mortals.

“Are you telling me I could be outed by some kind of ray gun?”

“Mara and I saw his device. It looks like a cell phone, Gloriana. There's no way to know if he's scanning or not until he comes at you. And he's harmless-looking. Average height, build. Check him out on the Internet and print out his picture. Show it to every vampire you know.” Blade spoke to someone in the room with him. Mara?

“I will. As soon as I get to Freddy's.”

“Good. But, like I said, you still might not recognize him. He's not roaming around in camouflage and a Mossy Oak cap. He wears those tinted glasses, but they're ordinary too.” He was silent for a moment while my mind whirled.

“Damn it, Gloriana, I need you here, where I can protect you.”

I let that demand go for the moment. “How . . . how did he get Mac?” Garlic and crosses didn't take us out like in some of those legends mortals groove on. But the stake thing was all too true. “I can't see Mac standing still for anyone.”

“He didn't. I told you Westwood is a hunter. He's got a bow and arrows made of some exotic wood. Obviously he's a crack shot. An inch or two off and we'd have dragged Mac out of there with us.” More conversation with someone else.

“Mara said those arrows smelled funny. She thinks they're olive wood. Use that smell as a warning.”

“How did you get away?” Vampire hunting as sport. What next? Vamps stuffed and mounted? Oh, God.

“When it was obvious Mac was lost to us, Mara and I got the hell out of there.”

“I'm sorry. I loved Mac too. Poor Mara.” I wiped at my eyes.

“Yes, it's hard. I'll say it again. Be careful, Gloriana.” Blade sounded tired. Was he feeding? Centuries of caring for someone couldn't just be turned off. Even though I'd certainly tried.

“You weren't wounded, were you?”

“Slightly. I healed.”

Slightly. Which could be anything from a nick on the arm to a gut shot. No wonder he sounded tired. Vamps heal when they sleep but it takes a lot out of them.

“Where are you?” Of course Mara was with him and how sick to be jealous of a grieving widow. She was Blade's friend. His
beautiful
friend. With the kind of flaming red hair and green eyes that any Scotsman would kill for. Certainly the Campbells loved her. And she was thin, of course. Next to her I'm an overblown English rose.

“Lake Charles. In Louisiana. I have a casino here. It's just across the Texas border. Forget Austin. You
will
join us. I can protect you here. I've got state-of-the-art security and guards around the clock. Now that we know about Westwood, he won't be able to get near us in the casino.”

A casino. Why not just stake me now? I'd never told Blade about my little gambling problem and wasn't about to now. Being under Blade's protection . . . I'd never felt safer than when I was with him.

But he hadn't asked. He'd issued an order. And I quit following his orders over a century ago. Because I also tended to revert to a Glory I didn't particularly like with Blade. Dependent, giving up my power . . . Can you tell I read self-help books?

Damn it. Technofreak vamp hunters. No wonder I felt chilled to the bone and more than a little tempted to get to Lake Charles as fast as my aging Suburban could carry me. I sucked it up.

“I'll be with Freddy. He's as strong as you are, maybe stronger.” A dig, but baiting Blade beat the full-out crying jag I felt like going for.

“Is Valdez with you?”

I glanced at my dog who was checking out the countryside.

“Of course.”

“Keep him close until you get here. You are
not
going to Frederick. I will expect you—”

I hung up on him. Just like that. I turned off the phone before flinging it onto the seat.

“The big boss givin' ya grief, angel face?”
Valdez. Obviously not your ordinary companion animal.

“He's not my big boss and I'm giving
him
grief.” I grabbed a tissue from the console and blew my nose. “But I know he's
your
big boss. In your next report, tell him to kiss my—”

When Blade and I parted ways, we'd argued until he wore me down and I'd agreed to let him provide protection for me. I'd expected bodyguards. Instead he'd sent dogs. Not ordinary pups, but creatures with special abilities. This was Valdez number one hundred and twenty-five. They had all been willing to give their lives to keep me safe. And they had. These dogs were usually mortal and it broke my heart each time I lost one.

I have no idea how he did it—vamp magic, I guess—but Blade had made each Valdez more powerful, more . . . interesting. Besides being able to create a circle of safety around me, the last dozen or so had been able to communicate. Not out loud, but in my head and inside any head within range. Impossible to tune out. And impossible to explain in a crowd. That's why we had strict rules about when and where Valdez can speak.

It amuses Blade to surprise me. The last one had sounded just like the Chihuahua in the fast food commercial. This one is a thug, Travolta in
Get Shorty.
What ever happened to the strong silent type?

“All right. All right.” I jerked open the door and hopped out. “Hurry. We're miles from nowhere.”

“Don't I know it. Seems okay though.”
He sniffed his way to a bush and took care of his business.
“Next gas stop, I want a bag of Cheetos and some Twinkies.”

Typical. “I should get you a can of Alpo. That other stuff's bad for you.” Can you believe this dog? I think he eats those things to torment me. I haven't had a bite, of food, that is, since 1604 and while I always liked my meals back then, I would have killed for something that smelled like a Cheeto.

“Cheetos and Twinkies aren't—”

“So stop for a Big Mac and fries. And you owe me. So far I've listened to
Evita
,
Phantom of the Opera
and
Oklahoma
. And,”
he gave me a long suffering look,
“you ain't no Chiquita Rivera if you know what I mean.”

“Chita Rivera. Chiquita is the banana.” I know my pop culture. It's a survival skill. And, yeah, I knew what he meant. I can dance, and act, but sing? A girl can't do everything perfectly.

“Chill out, fur face. I could go back to ‘We Are the Champions.' ” My fave. And one I knew Valdez was really sick of. I'd heard him howl through it more than once to drown it and me out.

“I thought you were in a hurry.”
Valdez settled into his seat with a sigh. If he wasn't being so aggravating I'd bury my fingers in his soft fur and scratch his ears. Don't get me wrong. I love dogs. They're great company. Normal dogs anyway. But no way was I letting him eat fries in my car again. Talk about torture. And the delicious smell lingered for
days
.

“I
am
in a hurry.” And I was seriously creeped out and seeing a wild-eyed hunter behind every scraggly bush. I put the car in gear.