Immortal Heat (The Guardians of Dacia Book 1) (9 page)

"Marilyn. I've heard a lot about you."

His accent was difficult to place, but it was his smile that instantly had her on guard.

"He's a moroii! Is he one of Vamier's?"

"At one time, perhaps…I managed to find my own way thankfully." Ballue straightened and led them into the darkened hall. "Come. You are safe here for now."

The hall opened up to a grand room of dark mahogany and shelves upon shelves of books lining the walls. A grand fireplace, complete with roaring fire, pulled Marilyn into its warmth. Even with all her layers the bitter cold had soaked into her bones.

"Let me make you something to drink," Ballue said.

"She would prefer something to eat…if you have food."

"I keep a freezer full of meat in case I need it. I took a couple of steaks out last night, thinking I might need them, but my groceries came in on time." He looked at Draylon before turning back to her. "Would a steak suffice?"

The sound of the word 'meat' made her saliva glands activate. She could drool all over the polished hardwood floor. No, but she might faint. The dizziness indicated low sugar levels or running on empty. But that was impossible.

"Let's go into the kitchen while I prepare it for you."

Marilyn trailed behind the two men down a short hallway into a large modern kitchen with old style charm. Nothing was pre-pressed plywood or plastic. Like Nonni's, this place exuded masculine warmth and ruggedness. The wooden beams across the ceiling looked original, the stucco plaster walls with their black iron sconces and simple candles had her thinking more along the lines of medieval castles. Only the sterling silver appliances made for a restaurant gave it away.

"Sit. I'll pour some wine and wait for the grill to heat."

Watching as Ballue took the raw steak out of the refrigerator, her eyes narrowed on his every move. He laid the plate of meat on the counter in front of the bar where she sat. The two guys weren't paying any attention to her, they were catching up on some local news. Marilyn's taste buds went crazy. The hunger deep in her stomach exploded.

Before she knew what she'd done she tore into the slab of raw meat. Juices coated her hands, running like bloody gashes from her fingers. A hand reached out to try to take the meat. Snarling her lip, she growled in warning not to come any closer.

Within moments the meat was gone, devoured, her hunger satiated for the time being. She licked the bloody juices from her fingers, making sounds of pleasure. When she finished, she looked up to see the two men gawking at her.

What were they staring at? She glanced from them to her plate and back. Bloody traces of what had once been a large piece of raw meat smeared the fine china. She felt sick. She'd never eaten raw meat.

The minute her brain digested the truth, her stomach decided it didn't want to digest anything. Holding her hand to her mouth, she gestured.

"First door on your left—down the hall," Ballue said quickly for her benefit.

Draylon followed on her heels and burst through the door before she could shut him out of the bathroom. Her stomach rolled, emptying everything she'd just eaten and then some. Holding her hair back from her face, Draylon maneuvered to reach for a washcloth. Soaking it in cold water, he tried to place it on her forehead as another bout of pangs struck her.

"Anything I can do, Old Man?"

"Have any ginger on hand? She could do with some ginger tea. Then I think she'll be fine."

"All right. But I don't think tea will solve her problems."

#

Getting Marilyn out of the country wasn't easy. Draylon wouldn't have Ballue expose himself to daylight, but today, the weather was on their side. He needed the help right now, especially with Marilyn passed out from sickness. It was good to have friends in low places. It was rare to find a rogue Vamier, but Ballue was one of the few he could trust.

Moroii were created by other Vamiers. Most were men dying on battlefields over the millennium, wanting to live and being offered a second chance. Technically, the Vamiers weren't doing anything against the contract written by the gods. As soon as they had the okie-dokie from the fatally wounded, they were fair game.

What didn't sit well with Draylon or Rick, was Vamier's treatment of his victim-offspring. They would starve them and only then offer the blood they so desperately needed to survive, like cocaine to an addict—for a price, the price being "loyalty" in exchange for nourishment. They never let their victims learn to care for themselves. Blood banks all over the world were bootleg businesses for Vamier and his top goons in order to supply his kind.

But a few made it through their control, realizing the game for what it was. They would work to fight the addiction, move out under seclusion, always wary of being lured back. Some found their way to the Dacian Compound where they were safe, once investigated. If there was a price on their head from Vamier, then they were usually legitimately in need of sanctuary.

Rick had his own form of working with them. He would give them a chance for a new start and have them work in some capacity for him—depending on their abilities. Most became an underground railroad of sorts for those wishing to leave the Vamier life-style. Ballue was one of them. He also had connections with government and political allies who could work to get diplomatic situations taken care of.

Right now, they didn't have to deal with any paperwork. Even though Marilyn still had her passport on her, it didn't matter. He was taking her to his house in Austria, where she didn't need to clear customs.

"So what's so important about her that has you taking her to Eskardel? You've never taken anyone to Eskardel as long as I've known you," Ballue said.

"Aiden is after her. He wants to tutor her in Dacian History. She supposedly wrote a paper on Dacian folklore that Aiden found quite fascinating."

"And that's why he has his army of moroii after her?"

"I know. It doesn't add up."

Draylon shuffled that idea around in his head. No, Aiden wouldn't send his troops out on a rampage just because she had an 'A plus' mind on Dacian history…unless she'd come across something that Aiden Vamier didn't want her to, or worse yet, something that Aiden
or
Rick didn't want anyone to know.

He remembered Rick's dire need to see Marilyn safe. He'd never seen the man more tortured or frantic. The man had been less concerned when Romania became communist. Was it because of her connection to Diane Reddlin and Livedel? He couldn't see that being a reason. No, Rick still hadn't calmed down, even knowing she was safe with him. There had to be another reason.

"Is she going to be all right? She doesn't look so good," Ballue asked as he turned in the passenger seat of the BMW he'd let Draylon drive.

"I don't know. I'm not sure what's wrong with her."

"Could she be wolven?"

Draylon stared at his friend. "She happens to be birthed by two mortal humans, one, and two—when was the last time there's been a female wolf in the pack?"

"But did you see the way she devoured the steak?"

"Yes, I saw." Draylon still mulled the issue over in his head. Something about Marilyn didn't add up. He would like to know more about her. The one thing he did know was her mother was a pain in the ass—maybe she ate raw meat, too. Yeah, he could see her chewing on someone's hide. The woman's bite was definitely worse than her bark. One hell of a businesswoman, but damn did she turn people inside out to get things done.

"And that doesn't worry you? Did you see those teeth? I wasn't sure if she was wolf or Vamier. And her eyes turned all cat-like with those tiny slits for pupils."

He'd seen it all. Ballue didn't have to recap the situation. Looking in his review mirror, he was thankful to see their subject of discussion still sound asleep. She'd passed out on the tile floor of the bathroom after twenty straight minutes of heaving up her guts. With her physically exhausted and mentally weakened, he knew they couldn't stay there any longer than necessary. Calling the airport, he made sure his crew was ready to depart as soon as they arrived.

When they pulled up onto the tarmac, the whine of the engine of his personal jet was the only sound, other than the high winds whipping through the valley. Draylon rolled down the window as his personal assistant, Donovan, came forward, holding onto his bowler hat against the heavy breeze.

"Sir, so good to see you. Everything's awaiting your orders."

"Thank you, Donovan. Go prepare the sofa sleeper for our guest. She's not feeling well and needs some rest."

Donovan nodded and went to carry out the task.

"Call me when you get settled. I'll find out what I can about Vamier. If she's as important as you say, he's going to be pretty pissed by now, knowing you have her. I'm just surprised he doesn't have more of his people out looking for her than he does."

"I know. That's worrying me, too." Getting out of the car, Draylon walked around and retrieved one Marilyn Reddlin from the backseat, marveling at how light her body seemed to be. Was it her illness or was she always so tiny? "I'm not sure of anything right now. But if that's why Rick wants her out of country, it's a good bet she's not safe anywhere. He never wanted her to set foot in Europe, much less Romania."

"Fascinating."

Ballue followed behind with their bags, the only personal luggage they had at the moment. Again, Draylon was thankful for Marilyn being a light packer. It made their desperate attempt to flee Romania easier.

Ballue stored the backpacks in the travel closet and turned to Draylon. "Have a safe flight, my friend. Keep me informed when you can."

Draylon grabbed Ballue in a man hug, pounding his fist on his back. "Keep safe. Let me know if you hear anything out there about our situation."

"Will do."

The jet engines whined higher, preparing for take-off. Draylon watched from the window as Ballue made it back to his BMW and drove away. Once the night darkened, the moroii would be out and then, not even Ballue would be safe.

As soon as the plane took off and reached a steady elevation, Draylon tended to Marilyn. Her features were so pale even her freckles had begun to fade. The contrast set her hair ablaze with warmth. He inhaled her scent, the undertones of sweet vanilla and soothing lavender kicked him straight in the groin. Damn. He didn't have time for these ridiculous thoughts. It'd been awhile, but there were other issues to worry about.

Like her health.
Yes, he needed to focus his attention on her well-being. Sitting next to her, he lifted her limp torso so he could remove her woolen coat, scarf and hat. He couldn't help but smile, remembering the difficulty he and Ballue had getting her back in her winter weather gear.

Marilyn's senses started to awaken. He could see her mind opening, trying to put everything together and make it through the fog of illness. Only days ago she'd suffered from fevers and now this. She wasn't fully recovered. Had he pressed her too hard before she had a chance to heal?

Her mind may be waking but her body was still uncooperative. Struggling with removing her outer sweater equaled wrestling gelatin onto a dessert fork, it just wouldn't work. He managed to pull the sweater inside out over her head but the tight collar was secured about her neck. If he pulled any more he feared her head would pop off.

"Would you care for a hand, sir?"

"Yes Donovan, I would." Draylon huffed.

"Young women can be difficult to undress, though I had the opposite experience. My daughters were impossible as tykes—they squirmed, hated wearing dresses with a passion, and preferred running around naked. My wife and I had to chase them down the street one summer's night because they'd taken their bath and went streaking when we tried to put their nightshifts on them."

Occasionally, his friend would talk about his family, but not often. The wounds were too deep. Draylon didn't know the whole story other than a group of moroii, high on induced blood, had broken code and attacked Donovan's family while he was away on business. They'd tried to cover their bloody massacre by setting fire to his house. The fire was extinguished before the evidence could be destroyed.

When Rick heard about the injustice and the man who wanted his revenge, he took Donovan under his wing and showed him what he could do to avenge his family's death. It wasn't about the revenge so much as learning how to take care of the present and help others against the moroii. Draylon learned that even a man in his mortal forties, given the right training and discipline, could kick the shit out of a Vamier…when the need arose. These mortal men were known as Shields. They were invaluable in their day to day activities with the human race.

"So this is the young woman you were sent to protect?" Donovan asked as he sat down across from Draylon. "She doesn't appear to be your average consideration in women."

Donovan knew his type of woman and no, Marilyn didn't fit the image. He nodded, smiling at the sleeping bundle, snoring away beside him. "I guess this one
is
different."

"Not all women are the same. The problem is finding the right one in a lifetime."

"Whose lifetime?" Draylon's mood turned serious again. "Theirs or mine?"

Chapter Six