“Maggie,” Ren said.
Maggie still couldn’t move. Her body wanted to run, just escape, but her feet didn’t seem connected to her body. They remained still.
“Why?”
For a moment, she didn’t realize the question came from her.
Ren shifted, and she vaguely noted his jeans were undone. The redhead had touched him. And he’d very obviously touched her.
Maggie swayed, feeling lightheaded.
“Maggie, this is who I am.”
She stared at him. That was his explanation? That was it?
She stepped back from the stall, her movements clumsy, jerky, as if her feet still weren’t truly a part of her body.
She half-expected Ren to follow her, but he remained, kneeling in God knows what, his head still level with the woman’s. Another disgusted sound gurgled in the back of Maggie’s throat.
The woman hadn’t even covered herself. And Ren had remained in position. Maggie realized that when she fled that bathroom, these two were going to continue exactly what they’d been doing—
as if she never existed.
Maggie battled the tears and the rush of nausea that threatened to strangle her. She turned from the sight, hoping that would help her gather her wits. But she knew that image would be forever burnt into her mind.
She somehow managed to find the door handle and pushed the bathroom door open, then she was free. She stepped through the doorway, and then she ran, not even sure where she was going. Not even seeing. Just trying to escape.
R en remained kneeling, watching as the bathroom door swung closed, seemingly in slow motion.
And once it shut, he knew it was done. Maggie was gone. He’d never see her again.
His plan had worked. Any love she’d felt for him was dead. He remained motionless—unable to breathe, unable to react.
“She was rude,” the woman stated from beside him, her nasal voice the vocal equivalent of nails on a chalkboard.
Ren felt her fingers tangle in his hair. Maggie had loved his hair. Played with it after they made love. Stroked it to comfort him.
Ren jerked away from the woman’s touch, pure, undiluted disgust flowing into his veins as if a valve had been opened.
He rose, not even looking at the woman. “Get out.”
The woman gasped, and didn’t move. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Don’t tell me that little bit of nothing is going to ruin the good thing we had going here?”
Ren closed his eyes, more revulsion washing over him. This was what she considered a good thing? Had he really been with women like this for decades?
“Come on, baby,” she murmured, again touching his hair.
This time he shoved open the door so hard it hit the wall with a deafening slam. “Go.”
He heard her rustling behind him, adjusting her clothes.
“This is the ladies’ room,” she pointed out, as a hint he should be the one to leave. But Ren wasn’t in the mood to be polite—or nitpick.
“Leave, goddamn it!”
The woman finished arranging herself and then teetered across the dirt-crusted tile floor. She didn’t say a word as she stepped back out into the nightclub. In fact, no one would even guess what had just happened in there.
Funny that the ending of a man’s existence could appear so uneventful.
Maggie wandered around the streets until she summoned the coherence to find a hotel.
Fortunately, the first one she entered had a room—and fortunately, she had her purse. She didn’t have the rest of her stuff. Her suitcase was still at Ren’s. And she had no intention of going back to get it. The hell with her clothes. She had her wallet. She had everything she needed to get home, and she could live without everything else.
She managed to hold herself together long enough to check in and make it to her room.
But once the door clicked shut, she collapsed on the bed and the tears began to fall. Big, fat, frustrated tears, rolling down her cheeks.
How could she be so stupid? Not for being with Ren. Not even for trusting him. But for ignoring the things he told her from day one. That he’d never love her.
She made a noise, then rolled onto her side, bunching the pillow up under her head.
She really was a schmuck. She’d thought she had him all figured out. That he was holding himself back because of what he was.
She made another noise, pulling the pillow over her head. On top of everything else, she’d fallen for a vampire. And she’d thought Peter was a bad choice.
God, she was a mess.
She remained that way, the pillow over her head, half hoping the weight of it would eventually smother her. It didn’t work, of course.
She tossed the pillow aside and stared up at the ceiling. Gradually, her disgust with herself, with her neediness and trust, morphed into irritation with Ren.
She hadn’t imagined his feelings for her. He had been caring and attentive. His feelings were real.
She knew he’d felt as strongly about her as she did about him. So why would he take a chance?
What made him want to destroy what they’d had?
She pushed upright, reaching for the pillow she’d flung aside, hugging it to her chest.
The image of him in that horrible bathroom stall, his hands on the most private parts of that woman. The image made the nausea rise up in her chest again. But she also recalled the look in his eyes. She focused on that, rather than the overall awful image.
He’d had that haunted look. That heartbroken look.
“Why?” she asked the empty room. Why had he done that? Why had he ruined what they’d had?
Why?
“We’re having a fucking great time tonight,” Ren shouted out to the crowd. A crowd that consisted of about twenty people—most of whom didn’t appear to be partying quite as hard as Ren was.
He weaved slightly, using the microphone stand to steady himself.
“Stacy,” he shouted to the bartender, his voice over the mic deafeningly loud. “More Jäger! Shots for everyone! On me!”
That got the crowd cheering, which was good. Who the hell liked to drink alone?
Drake came over to him, placing a hand over the mic to speak to him privately. “Ren. I think maybe you should take off for the night. You ain’t right, my friend.”
Ren smiled, swaying as he did so. “You are right, my friend. I’m a fucking vampire. And I’m fucking cursed. I’m so not right. Not at all.”
Drake frowned at him, then cast a look out at the audience, checking to see if any of them had heard Ren’s announcement.
Like Ren gave a shit if they did. Maybe one of them would come up with the bright idea of staking him through the heart. He could go for that right about now. A stake had to hurt a hell of a lot less than the pain that was already there.
And the damned booze wasn’t helping at all. He needed more.
He peeled Drake’s hand off the mic. “Stacy!”
Then he noticed Vittorio in the doorway. What was it with his brother? He had this way of appearing so randomly. And frankly, tonight he wasn’t in the mood for his brother’s searching looks and know-it-all commentary on Ren’s life.
Ren ignored him, turning to Drake. “Let’s sing ‘No Sugar Tonight’ by the Guess Who.”
Drake raised an eyebrow, perplexed. “We don’t do that one.”
Ren groaned, disappointed. “We really should.”
Drake stared at him for a moment, then Wyatt, the always-quiet rhythm guitarist, joined them.
“Ren. I really think you should take the rest of the night off.”
Ren blinked at the one band member who never voiced an opinion.
“Why?”
“You are drunk.”
“So?” Hell, they were rockers on Bourbon Street; they’d all performed drunk before.
“You are a mess,” Wyatt stated.
Ren blinked again. “I like you better when you don’t talk.”
Wyatt glanced at Drake and then backed away.
Drake leaned in toward the mic. “Hey dudes, we are going to take a break.”
Ren frowned at the guitarist, then out at the crowd. Man, his band was a freakin’ buzzkill tonight.
He watched as the band left the stage. Then he decided to follow. He’d get a drink faster if he went directly to the bar anyway. He stumbled across the stage, nearly tripping on some of the cords duct-taped to the floor. He also had to catch himself on the few steps leading down. When had all of this gotten so damned difficult?
“Ren?”
Ren stumbled to a halt, not suppressing his groan. He’d forgotten about his brother. Turning slowly, in part because that was the best way to keep the room from spinning and in part because he really didn’t want to talk to Vittorio, Ren faced him.
“Where’s Maggie?”
Ren groaned again and rolled his eyes. See, he knew he didn’t want to talk to him.
“She’s gone?”
“Gone where? I thought she was here for another two days.”
“Was she?” Ren twisted back toward the bar. He needed a drink. Now.
But before he could take a step, Vittorio caught his arm.
“What’s going on? What happened?” Vittorio demanded.
“Why do you do this?” Ren asked.
Vittorio frowned, clearly confused. “Do what?”
“Show up now. You disappear for weeks at a time, and then when I really don’t want to see you, you show up. And meddle. You are a meddler.”
Ren expected Vittorio to be hurt by his words, but instead he smiled. “And you are a drunk.”
Ren stared at him, swaying a bit. “Fair enough. Then leave me to it.”
“No.” Vittorio tugged his arm, hauling him easily away from the bar. Several times Ren thought to struggle, but it was really hard enough just to concentrate on keeping his footing. He remembered Maggie when she’d slipped on the Mardi Gras beads. She’d been so mad. So mad and so cute.
He’d been able to fix that mad. He’d never fix what he’d done tonight.
“Where are we going?” he finally thought to ask, but by then Vittorio was pulling him into his favorite bar and toward the room in the back.
“Sit.” Vittorio gestured to a barstool. Gladly, Ren did. God, he was drunk.
“So what’s going on?”
Ren frowned at his brother. “Didn’t you already ask that?”
“Yes. And you didn’t answer.”
Ren considered that. “Are you sure?”
Vittorio shook his head. “Man, you are a stupid drunk.”
Ren tried to muster up some indignation, but he had to agree. Hell, he was just plain stupid. So totally and utterly stupid.
“Where is Maggie?”
“Gone,” Ren stated, waving a hand. “Gone forever.”
This information actually seemed to irritate Vittorio. “What do you mean? What asinine thing did you do now?”
Ren frowned at his brother. “This wasn’t asinine. I saved her life—thank you very much.”
Vittorio stared at him for a moment, took a deep breath and then perched on the seat next to him.
“Explain.”
Ren shook his head. No. But for some reason his mouth didn’t listen to his brain. “I saved her life.” He took a deep breath. “I broke her heart, but I saved her life.”
Vittorio again made a face—bewilderment and irritation at the same time.
“Explain. More.”
“Maggie told me she loved me.”
Vittorio’s drawn eyebrows and grimace made it clear, even to Ren’s addled mind, that he wasn’t following.
“Sheri, I need a drink.” Ren waved to the bartender.
Vittorio waited for him to continue.
Finally, Ren sighed and said what he hadn’t said to anyone but Maggie—and she hadn’t believed him. Little fool. “Dude, I’m cursed.”
Again, Vittorio didn’t react even remotely the way Ren thought he would. He laughed, his deep chuckle filling the back of the bar.
“What the hell are you talking about now?”
Ren stared at his brother. And he’d always considered Vittorio the sensitive one. The ass.
“I’m cursed. Mother cursed me. The bitch.”
Vittorio studied him for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “She made us both vampires, but I really don’t think, in this case, that has to be a curse. I think Maggie would understand if—”
“She knows about that.” Ren still couldn’t believe she knew that. And that she hadn’t even been remotely frightened by the idea. She could be so spunky, his Maggie.
His Maggie. He had no right to think of her that way. He nearly snatched the drink out of Sheri’s hand as she went to place it on the bar in front of him. He took a long swallow, hoping the alcohol burning his throat would drive from his mind the memory of her face as she’d discovered him with the other woman.
It didn’t.
But he’d done the right thing. He had. It felt like hell—it felt so completely wrong. But it wasn’t.
“So did she freak out when you told her? Is that why she’s gone?”
Ren shook his head. “No. She figured it out herself.” He placed his drink on the bar. “She’s so damned smart. Too smart for me.” He shook his head just thinking about the intelligence he could see in her eyes. Smart, sweet, sexy. Perfect.
“So she was okay with it.”
Ren nodded. “Yeah.”
Vittorio stared at him, then sighed. “So what the hell are you talking about a curse for?”
“Because I’m cursed.”
Ren got the feeling Vittorio wanted to scream—or maybe hit him. Vittorio’s fingers clenched where they rested on the bar. Yeah, definitely hit.
Ren took another sip of his drink, which Vittorio then extricated from his hand and set further away.
“Explain this so it makes some sort of sense.”
Ren looked longingly at the drink, but then pulled in a deep breath. “About ten years after Mother made us lampirs, she came to me to write her an opera. It was right after La Conzoni di Vita started to receive some attention. She wanted me to write an opera for her. Starring her. I refused. She was furious. A few days later, she returned and began chanting some sort of gibberish. You know, this was when she was in her dark-arts phase.”
Vittorio nodded, then sighed. Their mother had been involved in everything from Satan worship to the kabbala.
“I just thought she was being ridiculous and melodramatic. Until I woke up the next morning with this.” He pointed to his white eyelashes.
“I did wonder how that happened, actually,” Vittorio said.