Single White Vampire (5 page)

As he expected, her cheeks pinkened with blood and her eyes sparked with anger, and Lucern decided that Kate C. Leever was a pretty little thing when angry. He enjoyed looking at her.

And despite her unhappiness with him, the irritation on her face suddenly eased and she commented, “You have more color today. I guess there was no lasting damage from that head wound after all.”

“I told you I was fine,” Luc said.

“Yes, you did,” she agreed. Then she looked uncomfortable and said, “I'm sorry I didn't check on you after that first time. I intended to, but I didn't hear the alarm
go off again. I must have turned it off in my sleep or something.”

Lucern waved the apology away. He had turned the alarm off himself, so she had nothing to apologize for. And he didn't think she'd appreciate knowing that he'd crept into her room while she was sleeping. She most definitely wouldn't want to know that after finishing the task, he'd found himself standing at the side of the bed just watching her sleep for a while, staring with fascination at her innocent expression in sleep, watching the rise and fall of the bunnies on her flannel nightgown as she breathed. How he'd wanted to pull the top of that oh-so-proper nightgown away from her throat to see the pulse beating there. No, she definitely wouldn't want to know all that, so he kept it to himself and sipped his coffee again.

The drink was bitter, but an oddly tasty brew. Lucern couldn't think why he'd avoided it all these years. True, he'd been warned that the stimulant in coffee would hit his body twice as hard as a human's, but he really hadn't noticed any effects yet. Of course, he'd only had a couple sips so far. Perhaps he shouldn't risk any more. He set the cup down.

“So, what are we doing?” he asked abruptly, to get Kate off the topic of not waking up to check on him last night.

“Well, I've been dividing the letters into categories. A lot of them have similar themes or questions, such as requests as to whether you'll write Lucern's or Bastien's story next,” she explained. “So I've been putting all those asking that question in one pile. That way, you can write a form letter for each pile, reducing the letters
you write to twenty or so rather than hundreds and hundreds.”

“Of course, it would be nice if you read each letter and wrote a line or two to personalize your response,” she added, sounding tentative.

Lucern supposed she thought that the idea of all that work would annoy him. Which it did. He couldn't help but grumble, “I did not suffer these difficulties with my other books.”

“Other books?” She blinked in confusion, then said, “Oh. You mean your historical texts. Well, that was different. Those were nonfiction. Most of them are used in universities and such. Students rarely write fan letters.”

Lucern grimaced and gulped down another mouthful of coffee. It helped stop him from telling her that his novels were nonfiction as well, and that they were just peddled as vampire romance.

“Anyway, I think we have enough categories to make a start. I can tell you what each category is, and you can compose a sort of general response to each while I continue to sort the rest of the letters,” she suggested.

Nodding his acquiescence, Lucern crossed his arms and waited.

“Wouldn't you like to get a pen and paper or something?” she asked after a moment. “So you don't forget any of them? There are at least twenty categories and—”

“I have an excellent memory,” Lucern announced. “Proceed.”

Kate turned in a slow circle, apparently trying to decide where to start. “Dear God, he sounds like that bald
guy in
The King and I
,” he heard her mutter.

Lucern knew he wasn't supposed to hear that, but he had spectacular hearing. He quite enjoyed her exasperation, so he added to it by commenting, “You mean Yul Brynner.”

She jerked around to eye him with alarm, and he nodded. “He played the king of Siam, and did an excellent job of it.”

Kate hesitated; then, apparently deciding that he wasn't angry, she relaxed a bit and even managed a smile. “It's one of my favorite movies.”

“Oh, did they make a movie of it?” he asked with interest. “I saw it live on stage on opening night.”

When she appeared rather doubtful, he realized that admitting to seeing the Rodgers and Hammerstein Broadway show—which had premiered in 1951, if he wasn't mistaken—was rather dating himself. As he looked to be in his mid-thirties, it was no wonder she appeared taken aback. Clearing his throat, he added, “The revival of course. It hit Broadway in 1977, I believe.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You must have been all of…what? Seven? Eight?”

Unwilling to lie, Lucern merely grunted. He added, “I have an excellent memory.”

“Yes. Of course you do.” Kate sighed and picked up a letter. She read aloud, “‘Dear Mr. Argeneau. I read and adored Love Bites, volumes one and two. But the first was my favorite. You truly have a talent! The medieval feel to that novel was so gritty and realistic that I could almost believe you were there.'” Kate paused and glanced up. “All the letters in this stack are
along that line, praising you for the realism of your writing and the fact that it reads as if you were actually there.”

When Lucern merely nodded, she frowned. “Well?”

“Well, what?” he asked with surprise. “That reader is right.”

“That reader is right?” She gaped at him. “That's what you're going to write? ‘Dear reader, You're right?'”

Lucern shrugged mildly, wondering why she was raising her voice. The reader
was right
. His books did read as if he'd been there in medieval times. Because he had been. Not during the precise time period when his parents met, but not long afterward—and in those days, change was slow enough that little had differed.

He watched his editor slam the letter back on the pile and move on to another. She muttered the whole time about him being an arrogant jerk, and added other uncomplimentary descriptions. “Insensitive” and “lacking in social skills” were just two. All of which Lucern knew he wasn't supposed to hear.

He wasn't offended. He was six hundred years old. A man gained some self-confidence in that time. Lucern supposed that to most people he
would
seem arrogant, possibly even a jerk. Insensitive certainly, and he knew his social skills were somewhat rusty. Etienne and Bastien had always been better at this social stuff. Yet, after years of living as a reclusive author, he was terribly lacking and knew it.

Still, he couldn't see any good reason to sharpen those social skills. He was at that stage in life where impressing someone seemed like a load of bother.

He'd taken a waitress for dinner once who'd ex
plained the way he felt rather nicely. She'd said, “You can go along, working your shift and everything's fine. Most of the customers are pretty good, though there might be the occasional bad one. But sometimes you have that night where you get a real nasty customer, or even two or three in a row, and they bring you down, make you tired and miserable, feeling like the whole human race sucks. Then a baby might coo and smile at you, or another customer will say “Rough night?” with a sympathetic smile. Then your mood picks up and you'll realize maybe people aren't so bad.”

Well, Lucern had suffered a couple of bad decades, and he was feeling tired and depressed and as if the whole human race rather sucked. He didn't have the energy or desire to put up with people. He just wanted to be left alone. That was why he'd started writing—a solitary pursuit that kept him busy and took him into much more pleasant worlds.

He knew that all it would take was someone to smile and say “rough decade?” to change that. Someone like Kate. As much as he'd resisted having to deal with her, he'd begun to enjoy her company. She'd even made him smile several times.

Realizing the path his thoughts were taking, and that they were rather warmer than he was comfortable feeling for his unwanted house guest, he drew himself up short and began to scowl. Dear God, what had he been thinking? Kate C. Leever was a stubborn, annoying woman who had done nothing but bring chaos to an orderly existence. He—

“‘Dear Mr Argeneau,'” she read grimly, drawing Lucern out of his thoughts. “‘I've read your vampire nov
els and enjoyed them immensely. I have always been fascinated with vampirism and read everything on the subject voraciously. I just know that there really is such a thing, and suspect you yourself really are one. I would love to be one. Would you please turn me into a vampire, too?'” Kate rolled her eyes and stopped reading, glancing at him. “What would you say to
her
?”

“No,” he said firmly.

Kate threw the letter down with a snort. “Why does that answer not surprise me? Although I suppose it would be ridiculous to try to explain to someone of that ilk that you really aren't a vampire, that there truly is no such thing, so you couldn't possibly ‘change' her.” She laughed and moved on to the next pile. Looking at the first few letters there, she added, “It would be kinder just to tell her to go to her local psychologist to see if he couldn't help her with her reality problem.”

Lucern felt his lips twitch, but he didn't say anything, merely waited as Kate settled on the next letter.

“‘Dear Mr. Argeneau,'” she began. “‘I haven't read Love Bites, One, but I will, I guarantee it. I just finished Love Bites, Two, and thought it was wonderful. Etienne was so sweet and funny and sexy that I fell in love with him even as Rachel did. He's my dream man.'” Kate paused and glanced up expectantly. “What would you say to those letters?”

That was easy enough. “Etienne is taken.”

His editor threw her hands up in the air. “This isn't a joke, Lucern! You can't just—” She paused as the doorbell chimed, then turned away with a sigh as Lucern reluctantly stood to answer it. He already knew who it would be. Thomas had delivered the blood, which left
the only other company he ever got: his family. And since Etienne and Rachel were busy with wedding preparations, and Bastien, Lissianna and Gregory would all be at work at this hour, the only person it could be was his…

“Mother.” His greeting was less than enthusiastic as he opened the door to find Marguerite Argeneau standing there. He really had no desire to have his mother and Kate Leever in the same room; it would definitely give the older woman ideas. And since he already suspected she tended in those ideas' direction, he didn't think it was good to encourage her. But what could he do? She was his mother.

“Luc, darling.” Marguerite kissed him on both cheeks, then pushed past him into the house. “Are you alone, dear? I thought I'd drop in for a spot of tea.” She didn't wait for his answer, but followed her maternal instincts to the door of the living room and smiled brightly when she spotted Kate. “Well, it looks like I'm just in time. No doubt you two could use a break, too.”

Lucern closed his front door with a resigned sigh, and his mother sailed fearlessly into his cluttered living room. The woman never simply stopped by for tea. She always had a purpose. And Luc very much feared he wasn't going to like her purpose in stopping by today. He just hoped to God she knew better than to try any of her matchmaking nonsense on him and Kate.

“Why, you could be Luc's date!”

“Er…” Kate cast a frantic glance Lucern's way at his mother's suggestion, only to find him sitting with eyes closed, a pained expression on his face. She suspected he was begging for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, or even to swallow him in pieces, so long as it swallowed him. It almost made Kate feel better. It was nice to know that she wasn't the only one with parents who managed to humiliate her at every opportunity.

Still, Marguerite was really something else. Kate had spent the better part of the half hour since the woman's arrival merely gaping at her. This exotic and beautiful creature was Lucern's mother? Oh, certainly, the resemblance was there. And he was equal to her in looks, but Marguerite Argeneau didn't look a day over thirty herself. How could she possibly be Lucern's—or Luc, as everyone seemed to call him—mom?

“Good genes, dear,” had been the woman's answer when Kate had commented.

Kate had sighed miserably, wondering why such genes couldn't run in her family, too. After that, she'd merely stared at the woman, nodding absently at everything said, while trying to spot signs of a face lift. She obviously should have been paying more attention to what Marguerite was burbling on about. Lucern's brother's wedding had been the topic of conversation. Kate wasn't quite sure how that had led to the last comment she had heard.

“Date?” she repeated blankly.

“Yes, dear. For the wedding.”

“Mother.” Lucern's voice was a warning growl, and Kate peered over to see that his eyes were open and sharply focused on his mother.

“Well, Luc darling. You can hardly leave the poor girl here alone tomorrow night while you attend.” Marguerite laughed, apparently oblivious to her son's fury.

“Kate has to return to New York,” Lucern said firmly. “She won't be here tomorrow ni—”

“That sounds like fun!” Kate blurted. Lucern fell silent and aimed his gimlet eye at her, but she ignored him. There was no way she was leaving without first gaining his agreement to at least an interview with one of the newspapers clamoring to speak to him. And falling in with Marguerite's suggestion meant that not only could he not force her on a plane back to New York, but by the time the wedding party was over, it would be too late for Kate to fly home the next night as well. Which gave her until Sunday to work on the man. That thought
made her beam happily, and she silently thanked Lucern's mother.

The only thing that worried her was that Marguerite Argeneau was looking rather pleased in return. Kate had the sudden anxious feeling that she'd stepped neatly into a trap. She hoped to God that the woman didn't have any matchmaking ideas about her and Lucern. Surely Marguerite realized what a cantankerous lout her son was and that he wasn't Kate's type at all!

“Well, wonderful!” the woman said. Ignoring her son's scowl, Marguerite smiled like the cat who got the cream, then asked, “Do you have something to wear to the wedding, dear?”

“Oh.” Kate's smile faltered. She'd packed something for every possible occasion except a wedding. There'd been no way to see
that
coming, and Kate didn't think the slinky black dress she'd brought to cover the possibility of an evening out would work.

“Ah-ha!” Lucern was now the one looking pleased. “She hasn't anything to wear, Mother. She can't—”

“A quick trip to my modiste, I think,” Marguerite cut him off. Then she confided to Kate, “She always has something for just such an emergency. And a visit with my hairdresser will work magic on your hair, and we'll be set.”

Kate felt herself relax, and could have hugged the woman. Marguerite was wonderful. Much too good to have a son like Lucern. The woman was clever, charming and a pleasure to be around. Unlike a certain surly man. Kate's gaze slid to Lucern, and she almost grinned at the misery on his face. She supposed she should feel guilty for forcing herself into his home and staying
there, but she didn't. He was in serious need of assistance. He was terribly lacking in social skills and obviously spent way too much time alone. She was good for him—she was sure of it.

“Well, now that it's all settled, I'll be off.” Marguerite was quickly on her feet and heading out of the kitchen—so quickly that Kate nearly got whiplash watching.

Getting up, she hurried after the woman. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Argeneau,” she called as she jogged down the hall in pursuit.

Lucern's mother didn't just look young, she was as spry as could be for the mother of a man who had to be at least thirty-five. How old did that make her? Kate wondered. At least fifty-three. Impossible, she thought, but kept the thought to herself and merely added, “I really appreciate your generous offer to help me shop and—”

“Nonsense, dear. I'm grateful to you for being here to accompany Luc.” Marguerite paused and allowed Kate to catch up. “Why, you should have seen the poor man at his
sister's
wedding. I've never seen Luc run so fast or hide so much. It's the ladies, you know. They tend to chase after him.”

Kate's eyebrows flew up in patent disbelief at that.

A bubble of laughter burst from Marguerite. “Hard to believe when Luc is so curmudgeonly, isn't it? But I think it's the hunt that attracts them. He makes it obvious he isn't interested, and they react like hounds after a fox. With you there to act as his escort, he'll be able to relax and enjoy the celebration this time. And once he realizes that, he'll be grateful for your presence, too.”

Kate didn't bother to hide her doubt that Lucern Argeneau could ever be grateful for anything. The man was more than curmudgeonly in her opinion.

“He may seem crusty on the outside, dear,” Marguerite said solemnly, obviously reading her thoughts. “But he's rather like a toasted marshmallow, soft and mushy in the center. Very few people ever see that center, though.” Leaving Kate to consider that, the older woman continued on to the door and opened it. “I shall pick you up after lunch. One o'clock. If that's all right with you?”

“Yes. But will that leave time to get everything done?” Kate asked with concern. In her experience, weddings were usually around two or three o'clock in the afternoon.

Marguerite Argeneau looked calm. “Oh, scads of time, dear. The wedding isn't until seven p.m.”

“Isn't that rather late?” Kate asked with surprise.

“Late weddings are all the rage today. I hear Julia Roberts married her cameraman after midnight.”

“Really? I hadn't heard that,” Kate said faintly.

“Oh yes. She's started a trend. Till tomorrow then,” Marguerite finished gaily. The woman then closed the door behind herself, leaving Kate standing in the hallway feeling rather as if she'd just survived a tornado.

Kate stood there for several minutes, just staring at the door, her mind whirring through everything she would need to do to be ready for this wedding, before the door to the kitchen opened and Lucern stalked out.

“I'll be in my office.” His voice was short, his expression forbidding as he passed her on the way to the stairs.

Kate—always a smart girl when it came to matters of self-preservation—kept her mouth shut and merely watched him disappear up the stairs. He was angry, of course. Which was to be expected, but she hoped it would pass.

A door slammed upstairs. Hard.

Well, perhaps he wouldn't get over it tonight, but he would by tomorrow. She hoped. With a little help, maybe. She turned and peered at the mess in the living room. There was no way she was going to be able to get him to work on those letters tonight. Which she supposed was a good thing. She was beginning to fear that any letters he wrote were more likely to offend and scare readers than please them. She'd be doing him a big favor by composing the form letters herself and just having him sign them.

Kate grimaced at the idea. It meant a lot of work for her, and the readers were hardly likely to be all that happy. They'd certainly be happier with her meddling, however, than with receiving a letter that read:

 

Dear Reader.

No.

Sincerely,

Lucern Argeneau

 

Oddly enough, Kate found herself chuckling at the idea. He really was rather amusing in some ways, this author of hers. The problem was, he didn't mean to be.

Heaving a sigh, she turned into the living room to start to work.

 

Lucern grabbed a bag of blood from the small office refrigerator where he'd placed it earlier, then paced his office like a caged tiger. He did so for more than an hour before working off enough energy so that he could relax sufficiently to sit. He didn't know if it was his anger or the caffeine that had got him so wound up. And he didn't care.

Groaning, he leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed his face with his hands. His mother had just cursed him to two more nights of Kate Leever's presence. And Kate hadn't helped matters with her quick agreement. The woman was like lichen. Like muck you couldn't scrape off the bottom of your shoe. Like—well, none of the things popping to his mind were very attractive, and, as annoying as Kate Leever could be, she was also attractive, so Lucern gave up his analogies. He tried to be fair about such things whenever possible.

Letting his hands drop away from his face, he turned to consider the computer on his desk. He wanted to avoid Kate for a bit. He was still cranky enough that he was likely to hurt her feelings were he around her, and he didn't wish to hurt her—

“Well, hell! Now you're worried about her feelings?” he said to himself. This wouldn't do at all. He tried to be firm with his unruly sentiments and lectured, “The woman is your editor. She will use manipulation, clever ruses and any weapon necessary to get what she wants from you. Do not start getting all soft and sentimental about her. You don't want her here. You want to be left alone to work in peace.”

The problem was, he didn't really have anything to work on. He hadn't started anything new since finishing
Etienne and Rachel's story—which had been in print for a month now. And Lucern didn't have a clue what to work on next. He knew that Kate and Roundhouse Publishing wanted another vampire romance, but Bastien wasn't showing signs of obliging his brother by falling in love any time soon.

Well, Lucern decided with a shrug, it wasn't as if he needed the money. His investments over the years had always done well. He could relax if he wanted. Roundhouse would just have to wait until he came up with something.

His gaze fell on the video game on the corner of his desk—
Blood Lust II
. The game was Etienne's newest creation. Part I had sold out several times and won countless awards. Its success wasn't a great surprise to Lucern; the game was fun and action-packed, with awesome graphics, lots of villains to slay, lots of puzzles to solve and a great story line. Lucern wasn't the only one in the family who could write a story. Blood Lust II was expected to do even better when it was released.

Grinning, he popped the seal on the package and pulled out the game CD. He had played the first couple of levels of the prototype before the game was even finished, and he and Bastien had got the first two full copies hot off the press. It paid to be brothers of the creator.

Lucern slipped the game into his computer and prepared to enjoy himself. He would work off some of his anger by slaughtering bad guys. And he'd also avoid Kate for a while. He'd found the perfect solution.

 

He had played for several hours and was deep into the game when he heard the knock at the door. At his distracted “What?” the door opened and Kate stepped into the room carrying a tray.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

Her tentative words, along with the smell of food, drew Lucern's attention away from the game. He sniffed with interest, thinking he could manage some at that moment. He, like the rest of his family, ate food as well as ingested blood. If they didn't, they'd all be skinny wraiths.

“What is it?” he asked curiously.

“Well, I knew I was going to be busy—I've been working on the letters,” she informed him. “So, after your mother left and you went upstairs, I threw the roast we picked up into the oven with some potatoes. That way it would cook while I worked. You said you like rare everything. I hope that includes roast, because this roast is pretty rare.”

“Perfect.” Lucern took the tray and set it on his desk, noting that there were two plates of food and two glasses of what looked to be wine and two glasses of water as well. She'd covered all the bases.

He was just relaxing when she began to drag a chair around the desk to join him and said, “I was hoping we could discuss—”

She was about to bring up the publicity issue again. Lucern immediately felt himself begin to tense; then Kate's gaze landed on the computer screen.

“That looks like Blood Lust.”

“Blood Lust Two,” he corrected.

“You're kidding. Really? It isn't supposed to be out until Monday. I have it on order.”

“I know the creator,” Lucern admitted reluctantly. “I got an early copy.”

“No way. You lucky dog! Is it as good as the first?”

“Better.” Lucern began to relax again as she continued staring avidly at the frozen screen. He recognized a fellow gamer when he saw one. Any talk of publicity had probably just bit the dust for the night.

He glanced at the screen and saw that his character had died while he'd been distracted. The game was waiting for him to decide what to do next. His options were to start over, or quit the game. He considered the matter briefly, then asked, “Do you want to play? You can play doubles on it.”

“Really?” She looked terribly excited. “Yes, please. I love Blood Lust, and I've been waiting forever for Two to come out.” She dragged her chair even closer. “This is great.”