The Fertile Vampire (26 page)

“Come,” I said, holding out my hand.
 

Mutt didn’t come. Instead, he tilted his head a little and stared at me.
 

“I’m going to put you in the bathroom.”
 

He stayed where he was.
 

I couldn’t put him outside in the garden. I hadn’t informed the complex management I had a dog. Plus, I didn't know if he would be a barker.

Conscious of the passing of time and the fact I’d expended my twenty minutes plus another ten, I frowned at him.
 

“I can’t leave you here. You have to go in the bathroom.”
 

He put his chin down on his outstretched paws, stared up at me with soulful brown eyes and whined.
 

“Do you promise not to eat the carpet, or anything else?”
 

Whine.
 

“Or pee anywhere? And the other one is totally off limits.”
 

Whine. Whine.
 

“Promise?”
 

He lifted his head and grinned at me.
 

I was getting loopy about this dog. I had to hurry up and find his family fast.
 

“Okay, but if you have an accident, that’s it. No more Ms. Nice Guy.”
 

He tilted his head again.
 

I surrendered and stood in front of him, twirling in a slow circle. “So, what do you think? Will I do?”
 

He made a huffing sound I took as approval. I made my way downstairs to my date, hoping I wasn’t making a terrible mistake. Not the one about Mutt as much as the one about going to a vampire ball.
 

I didn't see Dan in the parking lot. Had he been summoned by Il Duce? Meng startled me by emerging from the shadows and burying his nose against my neck.

Having Meng sniff me was disconcerting to say the least. I pulled back, grateful my period was over.

“Jessica McClintock,” he said, nodding.
 

“Yes.”
 

Was Meng a perfume guy? Some men were. They seemed to know scents the way I could tell extra sharp cheddar from its smell, or Boar’s Head Blue Cheese from any other brand.

My stomach growled in response. I couldn’t even think about food lately without getting hungry.
 

Meng looked startled. Vampire stomachs weren’t supposed to growl.

I plastered on a smile and walked with him to the curb. When he raised his hand in a signal, tried not to gawk when a limo pulled up in front of us.
 

I’ve ridden in a limo before, and I know it sounds very plebeian of me, but I don’t think they’re very comfortable. First of all, you have to shuffle to the back seat bent over. Not easy to do in heels and a tight skirt. Or you have to slide an impossible distance. Depending on the type of dress that, too, was problematic. With all the sequins on my butt I had no choice but to do the crab-ass routine.
 

I finally settled on the long bench seat, Meng joining me.
 

He grinned at me, all shiny enamel. His fangs were showing the tiniest bit which bothered me. It was like coaxing your dog to sit beside you on the couch, spend a few minutes petting him only to realize he had an erection.
 

I didn’t know what I’d done to get Meng aroused, but I wanted him to stop right now.
 

“Have you ever been to the Midnight Madness Ball?” he asked.
 

I shook my head. I’d heard of it, especially after the brouhaha with one of the local charity groups here in San Antonio. The ball had originally been named The Chrysanthamum Ball but the charity had taken umbrage since their largest fund raising event had the same name. With a bit of a flounce, the Council had changed the name to Midnight Madness. It could have been worse, I guess. It could have been something like the Blood Ball. Or the Fang Fest.
 

“I didn’t think you could attend unless you were a vampire,” I said.
 

“I was invited last year. A friend.” He grinned again, a little more fang showing. “A female friend.”
 

Goody for Meng. Doug hadn’t invited me anywhere but a bedroom. The sudden juxtaposition of Meng’s face over Doug’s took me by surprise.
 

I narrowed my eyes and frowned at Meng. Was he doing the mind thing? I thought of steel door like the one in a bank vault. The image abruptly stopped at the same time Meng’s eyes ceased glittering at me.
 

Was the whole night going to be one of me stopping the hint of fang and the images of sex? If so, then I’d better go into it a little better informed than I was.
 

“How many people are going to be there?” I asked.
 

He blinked. “People?”
 

“Vampires. How many guests?”
 

“I don’t know.”
 

I sat back, trying to ignore Meng and his peeking fangs. Tonight was probably going to be like Opie’s funeral, an opportunity to be ogled and propositioned without a word.
 

If we were other people, Meng would probably have offered me a glass of champagne. At least I could have sipped my drink. Now I was forced to stare out the window as we traveled through a suddenly drizzly night.
 

I bit back a yawn. I needed a nap and something to munch on - which was probably not forthcoming. Going to a vampire event, where no one ate food, was right up there with expecting a selection of fashionable clothing at a nudist colony.
 

Halogen lights illuminated the lush growth on either side of a private road. I didn’t remember this entrance, but then I hadn’t come by limo earlier. I held onto the strap above the window as the limo made a sharp left, heading up a sloping drive.
 

My heart beat heavily, thudding against the wall of my chest.
 

Meng glanced at me, his face smoothed of all expression.
 

I was revealing too much of myself. First, my hunger and now the fact my heart was beating faster than normal for my condition. Did Meng’s heart even beat? If I had super vampire hearing, maybe I could tell, but I didn’t. But I could stand in the sun, so that beat any other enhanced sense.
 

The limo finally pulled into the portico entrance of the Wildroot.

I had no idea if we were early by vampire standards or late. The door was opened by a man in a black suit who bowed.

“Welcome, Miss Montgomery.”
 

I scooted out as well as I could, knowing I was revealing too much leg. My thighs felt very bare suddenly. So did my top, which was barely more than a sequined band across my breasts.
 

Meng joined me, walking slightly ahead.
 

I thanked the doorman as he held out one of the double doors for me. I was desperate to find the lady’s room. I needed some more lipstick, a touch of blusher, and a spritz of perfume.
 

I should have packed a taser in my purse since Meng’s fangs were still visible.

The minute I crossed the threshold, I knew I was in trouble.
 

This wasn’t a country club. This was a private home. Granted, a very spacious private home, but not the Wildroot.
 

I stood looking around the enormous tiled black and white tiled foyer. Above me, a gold chandelier as big as my bed was sparkling with a thousand crystals. White doric columns led from the foyer to two rooms on either side while an enormous wide, sweeping staircase with wrought iron balusters and banister led to the upper floors.
 

I wasn’t getting a good feeling about this. I glanced at Meng. He wouldn’t return the look.
 

“Where are we?” I asked.
 

“You are in my home, Marcie.”
 

I felt him rather than saw him. A heaviness like a dark cloud traveled down the stairs, a two ton bat of compulsion winging its way toward me. I glanced up and Il Duce, framed by the ivory walls behind him, a perfect statue of raw, naked power on his mahogany steps.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY

So bite me

Il Duce was dressed in black trousers and a shirt so blindingly white it looked like a detergent commercial. His collar was open at the neck giving the appearance of casual elegance.
 

Il Duce was never casual.
 

His hair was slicked back, his cheekbones even more pronounced this evening. Tonight he was every inch the prince.

His eyes were piercing as they studied me.
 

I wondered what he saw, other than too much bosom and leg.
 

Meng disappeared from the foyer, melting somewhere like a servant, obsequious and silent. The doorman, if that’s what he was, also vanished, leaving me alone with Niccolo Maddock.
 

“How many square feet do you have here?” I asked, feigning a nonchalance as I glanced around me.
 

“Does it matter?”
 

“I hope you have adequate fire protection. And liability insurance. The staircase, alone, looks like a death trap.”
 

He descended the rest of the steps.
 

“You are looking lovely,” he said, extending his hand.
 

I reluctantly placed my hand in his, surprised at his warmth. Evidently, he’d fed before greeting me. Had it been from a bottle or a willing person?
 

“Come,” he said. I didn’t know if he actually spoke the words or if I heard them in my mind.

He led me past the pillars on the right to another room, one that might laughingly be called a living room if you could ignore the size. My entire townhouse could easily fit inside it.
 

A marble fireplace six feet wide sat flanked by a series of floor to ceiling windows. Only by looking closely could you see the hinges for the concealed shutters. Evidently, Il Duce liked to pretend he was like anyone else.
 

Rain wept against the glass, droplets sparkling in the light from the lamps on the tables. Two seating areas sat on either side of the room. Il Duce led me to the one in front of the fireplace. Someone had lit a fire. I doubted he’d done it. Niccolo had people to do his bidding. People who were now conspicuously absent.
 

I sat on one end of the pale blue couch, holding my hands out to the blaze, wishing I weren’t so cold. My suddenly frozen fingers and toes had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with being led, like a lamb to the slaughter, to Il Duce’s house.

He sat on the chair at the end of the couch, far enough away I relaxed a little.
 

“Why am I here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
 

“I wanted to see you.”
 

“You could have come to my apartment.”
 

“We did not part on good terms. You were angry at me.”
 

I wasn’t angry. I was just tired of everything. I didn’t like being manipulated. I might be ignorant about this whole vampire business, but I know when someone is jerking my chain and Niccolo Maddock, Duke Whatever, was most definitely attempting to manipulate me.
 

He smiled, a completely charming expression outweighed by the intensity of his gaze.
 

“You haven’t called me,” he said. “Or summoned me.”
 

“Maybe it means I haven’t been in trouble.”
 

“I know about the shooting at the VTA.”
 

My stomach clenched. “Then maybe I didn’t need you.”
 

“I hope that isn’t true,” he said. “I would hope you would always need me.”
 

I didn’t flirt well. I especially didn’t want to flirt with Il Duce. He had about five hundred year’s experience on me.
 

His gaze flicked over me, settling on my breasts.
 

I was a female, whatever species I might be. I hungered for touch, for love, for affection and friendship. I wanted to be appreciated, even adored. I craved the light of lust in a male’s eyes, the knowledge I was wanted, for however long the wanting lasted.
 

Il Duce, the Prince, was a hard act to refuse. For a few minutes I allowed myself the luxury of stupidity. I pretended he wanted me for who I was, Marcie Montgomery, not whatever I might be. I was not Dirugu or capable of walking in the sun. I was simply Marcie and he wanted me.
 

What a blithering idiot I can be sometimes.

The very last man on earth I should be entertaining lustful thoughts about was my host. He was charming, urban, sophisticated and danger on the hoof.
 

I wondered what he knew. Had Dan told him about the sun? Disappointment settled in my stomach like vinegar.
 

“What did you do with Meng?”