Runaway Vampire (19 page)

Sighing, Mary finished slicing off the material she needed, then pulled the T-shirt back on and tucked the bottom of it into her waist again. She then strung the strip of T-shirt she'd cut off through the belt loops of her baby blue shorts and tied it up in front. It wasn't
pretty, she decided as she checked out her handiwork in the mirror, but it would have to do for now.

Shrugging, Mary turned and slid back into the bedroom, then simply stood there, unsure what to do next. If her purse had been there she would have simply slipped out, found a store or restaurant and bought herself something to eat. However, her purse wasn't there.

It was an odd feeling being without it. Mary had been carrying a purse since she was a teenager. She'd never thought about it much, but now realized that the leather bag was freedom of a sort. So long as she'd had her purse, she'd had pretty much anything she might need in an emergency; money, credit cards, keys, usually a couple of bandages, a lipstick, a tiny deodorant stick, perfume, often allergy pills and aspirin, a little packet of Kleenex, sunglasses, reading glasses, her phone, Handi Wipes, safety pins, a tiny emergency sewing kit, and a brush and compact.

Mary could have used several of those items right then, like the deodorant and perfume. Certainly the sewing kit and safety pins might have saved Dante's razor. If she hadn't been able to just pin the shorts so that the waistline was smaller and stayed up without a belt, the sewing kit had tiny scissors in it she could have used to cut her T-shirt.

Man, she'd never really considered how much she depended on her purse. Until now, when she didn't have it, Mary thought grimly and then simply went over and sat on one of the chairs at the table. Her gaze slid to Dante, but he was sleeping soundly and she didn't want to wake him. She glanced to his jeans, but while she
might have used a pocketknife while he was sleeping and then returned it to his pocket, she was not taking his money. Even though she would have returned it the first chance she got, taking it without permission just seemed wrong to her.

Sighing, Mary raised her hands and peered at them silently, then spread them to the side so she could see her legs. It was a new and pretty body, and exactly what she'd often fantasized about having, but really, it didn't feel comfortable to her yet. She was used to having more bulk and taking up more space; now she felt kind of scrawny.

The thought made her smile faintly. Mary had always bemoaned her figure for being too voluptuous and wished she was smaller. Now that she was, however, she felt like a foreigner in her own body . . . and wasn't at all sure she liked it. Perhaps that's why her diets had always failed and she'd never seemed to be able to get down to that more desirable weight the world seemed to insist on. Maybe she'd actually felt more comfortable being larger.

The hotel room door opened suddenly and Mary stiffened and glanced to it with alarm. Her alarm did not ease when she saw two men entering, one fair haired, and one with dark hair, but both tall and strong-looking. Standing, she started to move toward the bed to wake Dante, but was caught by the arm just as she bent to shake his shoulder.

“Let him sleep. He has been without it for days while watching over you.”

Mary turned slowly and stared at the fair-haired man
who had somehow crossed the room so quickly. Her gaze then zeroed in on his eyes, noting the golden color and sheen to them and she asked uncertainly, “Are you—?”

“Friend not foe,” he assured her with a smile that made the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkle. Releasing her arm, he offered her his hand, and introduced himself. “Russell Renart Argeneau Jones.”

“Argeneau,” she murmured, accepting his hand and shaking it. “Like that Lucian fellow.”

“He is my great uncle,” Russell confirmed. “My grandfather, Ennius Argeneau, was one of his younger brothers.”

“Oh,” she said simply. Mary could hardly tell the man that she didn't like his great uncle.

“Do not worry. Most people do not like Lucian,” Russell said with amusement as if she'd spoken aloud.

Mary's eyes widened and then she glanced to the man with dark hair as he appeared beside them. His eyes were a deep brown with shiny flecks of metallic bronze in them. Both men were obviously immortals then, she reassured herself as he said dryly, “Lucian is an antiquated ass who has no idea how to be civil.” He wrinkled his nose, and then added almost reluctantly, “Sadly, he is also one of the best people you could ever have on your side.”

“Why?” Mary asked dubiously.

“Because he is frightfully strong,” the man said solemnly. “In character as well as physical strength. He always judges fairly, always does what needs doing, and, if he approves of you or your cause, he will fight to the death for you.”

“Oh,” she breathed and had to admit that sounded pretty admirable, which was a shame; it made it harder to dislike him, and Mary really hadn't liked him by the time she'd finished the one and only conversation she'd had with him. She did not enjoy being threatened, by anyone.

“This is Francis,” Russell introduced quietly.

“Francis Renart Argeneau Jones,” Francis said, extending his hand now as well.

Mary raised her eyebrows over the shared last names, and as she shook the offered hand, asked, “Are you brothers or something then?”

Russell exchanged a glance with Francis and they both smiled faintly, before the fair-haired man took her arm to urge her away from the bed.

“Or something,” Russell murmured, as he led her to the chairs by the table. There were only two chairs. He urged Mary into one, held the other for Francis to sit down, and then bent to press a kiss to his neck before moving to lean against the window ledge next to the table.

Mary glanced from one man to the other as they shared an affectionate smile and breathed, “Ohhhhh,” with sudden understanding.

Francis chuckled at her wide-eyed look. “You are not scandalized.”

It wasn't a question.

“And you are not disgusted,” Russell said with equal certainty.

Mary blinked at the comment. “Of course not. Why would I be disgusted?”

Russell shrugged mildly. “Some people are.”

Mary clucked with irritation. “Some people need to keep their minds out of your pants then.”

Both men blinked briefly, then burst into laughter that they both quickly quelled when Dante murmured sleepily and turned on his side in bed.

They were silent for a moment, each of them practically holding their breath as they peered at Dante, but when he didn't stir again, they relaxed and glanced at each other.

“I like that,” Francis said quietly, and then echoed her words slowly as if savoring them. “Some people need to keep their minds out of your pants then.”

“Well, they do,” she said quietly. “Love is love and shouldn't upset anyone. So what else are they thinking about when they get upset at your partner preferences?” she asked reasonably, and then answered the question herself. “Their minds are in your pants and on what you do. And while they're welcome to bury their brain in their own pants, they have no business in yours.”

Francis glanced to Russell and grinned. “I like her.”

“Me too,” Russell said with a smile.

Mary blushed and turned to glance at Dante for a minute, but then turned back and asked, “You said Dante hasn't slept for a while?”

“This is the first time he has slept since the accident,” Russell said solemnly. “He watched over you throughout your turn. We helped of course, but we did take breaks, and we offered to spot him so that he could rest as well, but he refused to leave your side even for a twenty-minute nap.”

Mary turned to peer at Dante again at this news, her eyes traveling slowly over his sweet face in repose. The man must have been exhausted when he'd finally collapsed that first time they had sex, and yet he'd not made a single complaint when she'd woken him up for another go round . . . or for the third one, or the fourth. Mary felt bad about her greediness now. She almost felt like she should apologize to him . . . except she'd have to wake him up to do so.

“There is no need to apologize,” Russell assured her solemnly. “He will be fine.”

Mary turned slowly back to stare at the fair-haired man as another realization struck her. “You're reading my mind.”

“I am afraid so,” he acknowledged. “I apologize, but it is hard not to.”

“Why? Because you're so used to reading everyone?” she asked, curious.

“Not quite, although that is a factor too,” Russell allowed.

It was Francis who explained, “Mary, honey, as a new turn and a new life mate, it is difficult
not
to hear your thoughts. It would be like trying not to hear what someone was shouting in your ear.”

She tilted her head and eyed him uncertainly. “You're suggesting I'm somehow shouting my thoughts at you?”

“Basically,” Francis said with a shrug, and then leaned forward to pat her hand. “Do not worry. It is common among new turns as well as new life mates, and you are presently both.”

“Right,” she breathed, sitting back in her seat as
questions immediately began whirling through her head.

“You wish to know more about this life mate business,” Francis said with a smile.

Mary shrugged. “Wouldn't you?”

“I did,” he admitted with a grin. “I wanted to know absolutely everything when I found out I was Russell's life mate. And I imagine you do too.”

“Yes, definitely,” Mary admitted sitting forward again and resting her arms on the table as she peered curiously from Francis to Russell. “So you weren't both born immortal?”

“No. Russell was and turned me,” Francis said, sharing another smile with the man. Turning back, he added, “I was not even gay when we met.”

Mary blinked in surprise at this and he burst out laughing at her expression.

“Sorry, I am just teasing,” he said, patting her hand again. “I was ‘in the closet,' as they say now, but definitely preferred men to women. It was Russell who had no idea of his sexual preference.”

Her gaze shifted to Russell then to see that he was watching Francis with amused affection. She glanced back to Francis and narrowed her eyes. “You're teasing me again, right?”

“Not this time,” he said with wry amusement, and then assured her. “He really had no clue. Russell was just wandering through the centuries with a bad haircut and worse fashion sense, waiting for his dream girl to pop up.” He smiled and added, “But what
popped up
was no girl.”

“Behave, Francis,” Russell said with wry amusement, and then glanced to Mary and said, “I was old enough by the time we met that I had not bothered with relationships, sex or food for a millennia. And then this annoying fellow,” he said the words affectionately and smiled at Francis to take away any sting before continuing, “appeared in my life and just would not go away. Worse yet, I could not take control of him and make him leave me alone. And then of course, I found I was suddenly eating again and . . . well, other interests were reawakened and . . .” He shrugged.

“I don't understand,” Mary said slowly. “You weren't eating or . . .”

“Apparently,” Francis said, taking over again. “When immortals are old and alone for centuries, they become sad old men who lose interest in everything.” Taking on a horrified expression, he added, “Including food and sex. Can you imagine?”

Mary's eyes widened and she glanced to Russell for verification.

He nodded solemnly. “It is quite common.”

“But Dante was eating and—”

“Oh, he is not old,” Francis said dismissively. “He and Tomasso are just baby immortals. Heck, I am two hundred and I am a baby by immortal standards.”

“Oh,” Mary said slowly. “So Dante was still interested in—”

“Yes, he and Tomasso were both still scarfing down everything and anything, and banging every female from—” He paused abruptly when Russell stuck a foot
out to nudge him. Grimacing, he said instead, “He was still active on the dating scene.”

“Ah,” Mary said with amusement. She wasn't surprised that Dante had been “active on the dating scene.” Between his looks and his size, she was sure women would have been throwing themselves at him left, right, and center.

“But don't worry, Mary,” Francis said now, patting her hand. “Now that he's found you, he will want only you.”

She tilted her head curiously. “Why?”

“Why?” Francis asked blankly. “Because you are his life mate, honey.” Frowning, he asked, “Did he not explain about life mates to you?”

“He said something about a life mate being the one person an immortal couldn't read or control and that they could live happily with or something,” she said slowly, trying to recall his exact words.

“Oh, dear,” Francis muttered and rolled his eyes. “He is a good-looking brute, but not big on talking, that one.”

Mary raised her eyebrows in surprise at that claim. It seemed to her that Dante had talked a lot since she'd met him. Or had she done all the talking? She worried suddenly.

“All right, I shall have to fill you in,” Francis said determinedly, then scooted his seat closer, took her hand, looked her in the eyes and announced, “Mary, sweetheart, you are like the holy grail to Dante.”

She raised her eyebrows, but didn't speak her doubts aloud and he continued.

“Now that he has you, Dante will never ever be the least interested in another woman, mortal or immortal.”

“Why?” she asked at once.

Francis's eyes narrowed on her forehead, and then he clucked impatiently. “You
know
why. You have experienced the shared pleasure with him. That alone is enough to ensure he remains always faithful. Sex with anyone else simply could not compare. It would be like choosing Alpo for dinner over a gourmet meal.”