The Reluctant Vampire (12 page)

Harper chuckled with her, and then tilted his own head, and asked, “Is being saved by Scotty and the other rogue hunters the reason you became one yourself?”

“Partly, perhaps. They were pretty impressive. But I think we mostly joined up to make sure that what happened to the girls didn’t happen to anyone else.”

“We?” he asked, and then his eyes widened. “Beth?”

Drina nodded. “She’s my partner. We joined together. Trained together. Were partnered when we finished training and work together still.”

“In England?”

“No. Neither of us wanted to be there anymore. For Beth, England was a bad memory. As for me, well, the whole incident had rattled me. I’d always thought of myself as immortal, and while that’s what we call ourselves, we aren’t really. But that night in that house was the first time I was made to face it.” She swallowed, and then explained, “When the enforcers crashed in, Beth and I were both pinned to the ground by the women, and Jimmy was about to hack off our heads. In fact, he was in the process of doing so to me when Scotty rushed him. It knocked him to the side and he only half scalped me, but it was enough. I stopped calling myself immortal that night. We are vampires.”

He didn’t argue, merely squeezed her hand again, and Drina continued, “That was the first time in all my adventures that I actually feared losing my life. And it had the strangest effect. I suddenly wanted to see my family again, live close to them, spend time with them. But I didn’t want to leave Beth behind by herself. She was a baby vamp and needed training, and she had no one.” Drina shrugged. “We stayed to watch the house burn after the hunters were done inside, then went straight to the docks, and I booked us both passage on a ship back home to Spain. We talked on the journey, and more while visiting my family, and she decided to join as well. We joined the Spanish branch of the rogue hunters once she’d adjusted to being an immortal. We joined together, trained together, and as I say, we were paired up after training and are still partners.”

“She’s more than that,” Harper said quietly.

Drina nodded. “My brother welcomed her into our family. She’s like a sister and carries the name Argenis now.”

“A sister or an adopted daughter?” Harper asked solemnly, and Drina smiled.

“A bit of both I suppose,” she admitted on a chuckle. “But don’t tell her that, or she’ll squawk.”

He chuckled and she smiled and slid her wineglass away, but then said, “Well I’ve monopolized the conversation nicely. Your turn. I know you were a cook once and own a frozen-food concern now, but what else have you done?”

Harper grimaced. “Believe me, my life hasn’t been nearly as exciting as yours. It would bore you to tears.”

“I doubt it. And my life wasn’t all that exciting. It just sounds like it in the recounting.”

Harper snorted with disbelief, and then glanced around in question when their waiter appeared. The man smiled gently and slid a small leather folder onto the table before quickly retreating. Harper glanced at the folder and opened it to reveal a bill, then glanced around, his eyes widening.

“What?” Drina asked, and peered around as well. They were the only guests left in the restaurant. The remaining tables were empty and cleared and workers were quietly setting chairs upside down on the tables, she supposed so that the floor could be vacuumed.

“I think we’re holding them up,” Harper said, pulling out his wallet.

“It would seem so,” she murmured, glancing at her watch. “What time do they close?”

“Half an hour ago according to the waiter’s thoughts,” Harper answered wryly, setting a credit card in the folder and closing it.

“Oh dear,” Drina murmured, finding the man and casting an apologetic smile his way as she asked, “Is he very upset?”

“Surprisingly not. But I’ll leave him a big tip anyway to make up for it.” He pulled his phone out and was talking quietly to his driver when the waiter took the folder away. By the time he’d hung up, the waiter was back with receipts and slips for him to sign.

The waiter might not be upset by their staying so late, but apparently he was still eager to go home, she thought with amusement, as Harper quickly filled in the tip amount and signed the bottom. Not that she blamed him.

A cold blast of wind slapped at them as they stepped out of the restaurant, and Drina huddled into her coat, grateful she’d bought the long, heavier one today and wasn’t still wearing the lighter coat she’d worn to fly to Canada.

“The car should be along soon, but maybe we should stay close to the building for cover,” Harper said, urging her back toward the wall beside the door.

“It’s snowing,” Drina murmured, eyeing the flakes whirling wildly around them with a frown.

“Yeah, here I’ll block the wind.” Harper turned to face her and stepped up close, offering his body as a shield.

“Thank you,” Drina murmured, fighting the urge to sway toward him.

“Where’s your new scarf?” he asked with a frown. “Did you leave it in the restaurant?”

“No,” she said, slipping her hands out of her pockets to catch the lapels of his leather coat and hold him in place when he started to pull away as if to rush back into the restaurant to fetch it for her. “I’m afraid I forgot it.”

“And your hat and gloves too,” he muttered, covering her hands with his gloved ones.

Drina smiled wryly. “I’m not used to needing them. Spain never gets this cold.”

“No,” he said, and then fell silent, his eyes seeming frozen on her lips.

Drina stilled, nearly holding her breath. She was sure he wanted to kiss her. When a moment passed without his doing so, she used her hold on his lapels to draw him nearer, whispering, “It’s cold.”

“Yes,” he growled. He released her hands and let his drop to slide around her back, pulling her closer still. “Does this help?”

“A little.” She sighed, squeezing even closer. She could hear his heart pounding, a quick tattoo, and slid one hand from his lapel to glide it up to touch his face and then onto his ear. Caressing the cooling skin gently, she whispered, “You’re cold too.” Then she leaned up on her tiptoes and blew her hot breath against his ear before whispering into it, “Does this help?”

Harper muttered something she didn’t quite catch, and then he turned his head and claimed her lips. Drina immediately slid her hands into his hair and let her mouth drift open, inviting him in . . . and all hell broke loose. It was as if she’d torn away chains that had bound and gagged him. She found herself suddenly pressed hard against the wall behind her by both his hips and his hands at her shoulders, and then he was undoing her coat, his hands almost tearing at the buttons in his eagerness to reach what was inside. And all the while his mouth devoured hers, his tongue invading and exploring.

Drina responded in kind, digging the nails of one hand into his scalp while the other dropped around to clasp his behind and urge him on as he ground his hips against her. They both gasped with relief when he managed to get the last button of her coat undone and jerked the lapels apart. When his hands immediately moved to cover her breasts, she moaned and arched into the touch.

They froze when the door opened beside them. Harper tore his mouth from hers, and they both turned to stare blankly at the waiter, who had frozen halfway out the door. The mortal’s eyes were wide and his expression amazed as he peered through the glass door at them. Their waiter.

“Oh,” Harper muttered, and then, seeming to realize he was still clutching her breasts, released them at once and stepped back from her, only to step closer again when the wind caught her open lapels and began to whip them about. “Here.”

He quickly pulled the sides closed, then glanced around almost desperately. Relief rushed across his face when he spotted the car at the curb, and he caught Drina’s arm and urged her quickly toward it, muttering, “Have a good night,” over his shoulder.

Chapter Seven

Drina nearly fell into the car when Harper opened the door. She quickly scrambled across the seat, her eyes flashing to the driver and then skittering away as she wondered how long he’d been there and what he’d seen. Then Harper was inside, and they were pulling away. A glance out the rear window showed the waiter still standing frozen in the open restaurant door, staring after them, and Drina shook her head and turned to face front, her hands automatically doing up the buttons of her coat.

Once done, she felt a little less scattered and glanced nervously to Harper. Spotting the frown on his face, she bit her lip, worried about what he was thinking. It seemed to her that giving him time to think too much was probably a bad thing at that point, and she opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he was quicker.

“I’m sorry.”

Drina smiled. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault the waiter came out.” He blinked at her words, and she quickly added, “Now it’s your turn. You said you were a cook?”

Harper hesitated, but then relaxed back against the seat. “Yes.”

“Was your father a cook too?”

“No. He was a baron with a large holding of his own, as well as one he gained on turning and marrying my mother. He wanted me to take over running Mother’s holding, but I had other interests.”

“Food,” she suggested.

Harper nodded, and then chuckled, the last of the tension slipping from him. “I
loved
food. So much so, I think had I been mortal, I would have been four or five hundred pounds by the time I was twenty. I spent all my time in the kitchens, following our cook around and learning all I could. Not to mention sampling every little thing that went through it.

“By the time I was old enough to leave the nest, I had decided I wanted to be the greatest cook ever. Of course, to be the greatest cook, I had to have access to every possible ingredient there was, which meant I needed to work for someone wealthy enough to find and purchase those ingredients. I left home and went straight to the home of the wealthiest person I knew of. Emperor Elect Maximillian.”

Drina’s eyebrows rose, and a smile tugged at her lips. “Straight to the top, huh?”

Harper nodded wryly. “I presented myself in the kitchens, sure they would be glad to have me. Unfortunately, the head cook was less than impressed. He wanted nothing to do with me, but with a little persuasion, I managed to convince him to give me a position.”

“What kind of persuasion are we talking here?” Drina asked with amusement. “The mortal or immortal variety?”

“Immortal,” he admitted ruefully. “But, only enough to convince him to give me the lowest position in the kitchen. I wanted to prove myself and work my way up to chef.”

“Ah,” Drina said, and then asked, “and you did?”

“Yes.” He smiled faintly. “It took me a lot of years though, and then I only got to be his head chef for a couple of years before I had to move on.”

“The not aging can really be a pain,” she said with sympathy.

“Hmm.” He nodded, and then shrugged. “It turned out all right. He gave me the medieval version of an employer reference and wished me well. I spent the next fifty years or so cooking in royal palaces in various countries, extending my knowledge and honing my skills.

“Eventually, however, I grew tired of working for someone else and wanted to open my own business. As much as I love cooking, it wasn’t going to make me the money I needed to do that, though, so I had to hang up my spoon for a bit. I tried various things, but the most successful was working with a band of mercenaries. Much to my surprise, I turned out to be a natural on the battlefield.”

“Why would you be surprised?” she asked with a smile. “Immortals are naturals in battle. We’re stronger, faster, and hard to kill.”

“Yes, but you also need skill, or you’re likely to lose your head, and I’d spent most of my life in the kitchens. Even as a youth, I shunned practice in the yard with the men to trail the cook around,” he said solemnly. “However, I found that I was a natural in battle. And I turned out to be a whiz at planning for successful attacks and defenses, which turned out to be not much different to planning a large feast.”

“What?” she said with disbelief, and he nodded solemnly.

“It’s all in the details,” he assured her with a grin, and Drina burst out laughing. He watched her with a smile, and then said, “Actually, my knowledge of castle kitchens came in handy during sieges. I knew what they were likely to have on hand and how long it would last and so on.” He shrugged. “I did well for myself. Well enough that I made the money I needed to start my own pub. And that did well enough that I was able to start a second and so on, and then I moved on to restaurants, and then hotels.”

“How did you end up moving from restaurants to hotels?” she asked with surprise.

“Well, I had opened one of my restaurants on the main floor of a hotel in Paris. The restaurant earned a reputation and did a booming business, but at the same time the hotel was beginning to flounder. I was considering moving the restaurant elsewhere before the hotel folded altogether, but I was becoming a bit bored. I had lost my interest in food after a couple of centuries, and it took a lot of the joy from cooking. The moment I had noticed that happening, I’d hired the best chefs I could find to take over the actual cooking in my establishments, but it left me basically a pencil pusher. I needed a challenge, so rather than move the restaurant, I decided to buy the hotel and see if I couldn’t make it a successful concern again.

“I renovated it floor by floor, and the restaurant handled the room service. We built a reputation, and the hotel started to flourish as well. So I opened another, and then another.

“Everything rolled along nicely, but I soon grew bored again, and then in . . . I think it was the 1920s,” he murmured, then shrugged it away as unimportant and continued, “I read an article about a brand-new technique for preserving food.”

“Frozen food,” Drina said with amusement.

Harper nodded. “I got in on the ground floor. We started with vegetables, and then branched out to entrees, and, as I said, we recently added wine to what we do.” He smiled wryly. “See, I told you that my history wasn’t nearly as exciting as yours.”