A Vampire's Promise (5 page)

T
here were three of them. Two guys and a girl, and they turned their heads almost in unison to look at us. The first thing that struck me was how impossibly beautiful they all were. Like Gabriel, they seemed to have stepped out of the pages of a high-fashion magazine. And my second thought was I knew, without having to be told, that somehow he belonged with them. Straightening up, they positioned themselves next to Francine's rear bumper.

Gabriel loosened his fingers slightly and then squeezed again. It felt like he was offering me reassurance that everything was going to be all right. What did he think would be wrong?

The taller of the two guys broke away and came toward us. His footfalls struck the asphalt with authority, and if he wasn't ex-military, then he was doing a damn fine imitation. He had the look down pat, but it was more than just the army greatcoat he was wearing. Something about the way he carried himself yelled “soldier” at me. I had no doubt he was ex-military. His hair was a dark buzz cut, and he was big, although it was difficult to tell how much was him and how much was coat. I was surprised he wasn't sweating inside the heavy wool fabric, but he seemed comfortable enough.

His face was almost comic-book square, and beneath dark brows his eyes were piercing. They latched onto me, and I shuddered involuntarily, but in all fairness, that might have been because, now that he was closer, I got a good look at the scar on his face—a vicious line running from temple to jaw that made him look dangerous. Whoever had stitched him up had cared little about aesthetics, but I had to admit, even with the scar, he was still a head-turner. He stopped in front of us and gave a single nod of his head.

“Gabriel.” His voice was a deep, agitated rumble.

“Aleksei.”

By comparison Gabriel's voice was calm, but I thought I detected a trace of irritation. I didn't know if the reason was seeing the soldier or having the soldier see me.

“See, I told you it was his car,” he flung over his shoulder at his companions. “No one else drives a blue Fairlane.”

Now I could hear his accent. If asked, I would have said he sounded Russian, even if I wasn't sure exactly where that was anymore. Civil unrest, global upheaval, and shifting borders had changed the landscape in that part of the world. His companions exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke. I had the feeling they weren't expected to.

Standing this close to Gabriel, the soldier Aleksei almost matched him for height, which meant he was well over six feet. Neither of the other two seemed to be as tall, but both had me beat. With the heels the girl wore it was difficult to judge her true height.

The other guy was probably closer to my age and matched Aleksei in the impact of his wardrobe, but his fashion statement was a leather bomber jacket with a sheepskin collar, something I've seen World War Two pilots wearing in history books. It had a worn look about it, so I guessed he'd probably picked it up in an army surplus store. Also, his hair was longer. Light brown, it curled against his collar and flopped across his forehead. He had a wholesome look, one of those flawless all-American faces that people like Ralph Lauren love to use to sell overpriced clothes.

The girl was another matter altogether.

Her hair fell in a straight curtain to her hips and was so black it shimmered blue. She was wearing a scarlet jacket that seemed to be more zippers than material, and a skirt so short I wondered why she bothered wearing one at all. But then I figured she needed something to break up the space between the bottom of her zipper jacket and the top of the thigh-high killer boots she had on. Looking at her made me feel awkward, gauche, and horribly insecure—and yanked my inner bitch wide awake. This was no inept barmaid I could reasonably hold my own with.

And it didn't help that she returned my gaze with a disdainful stare, dismissing me with a look that told me in no uncertain terms I was way out of my league. As if I wasn't beginning to figure that out for myself. I clenched the muscles in my jaw, several uncomplimentary thoughts running through my mind as I scanned her face, searching for flaws. I couldn't find a single one. The exotic slope of her eyes, her pert nose, and her impossibly red mouth were all
perfect
.

Dismayed, I tore my eyes away and looked back at Gabriel . . . who was watching Aleksei . . . who was watching me.

“Aren't you going to introduce us, Gabriel?” he asked.

“Of course, my apologies.”

Gabriel moved so he was now standing behind me with his hands lightly on my shoulders. His long fingers circled below my throat like a necklace . . . or a collar. It was a gesture that smacked of pure possessiveness, a statement of ownership almost, saying I belonged to him. I should have been pissed. Such an assumption was way out of line, but for some reason Gabriel didn't make it feel at all proprietary. With him it felt nice, it felt safe. Just like holding his hand had been.

“Rowan,” I felt him lean down and his lips brush the top of my ear, “allow me to introduce you to Aleksei.”

Most people would have followed that up with additional information. Something like
he's an old college buddy,
or
we grew up in the same town,
or
we work together,
something like that. Instead what I heard in Gabriel's voice made me think that their relationship was something more than co-workers, but less than tight friends, and couldn't be defined. And it felt weird.

One hand moved slightly. A finger stroked my neck. The possessiveness became a little more intense. “Aleksei . . . this is Rowan.”

The soldier stepped forward and took my hand. Lifting it in an old-fashioned gesture, he kissed the back. It startled me, but I figured it was the custom in Russia or wherever he was from.

“So, this is Rowan.”

He made it sound as if he had been waiting to meet me, but as that was completely ridiculous, I put it down to English not being his first language. The wrong inflection can unintentionally alter what is meant. Raising a finger to the livid scar on his face, he winked at me.

“Please don't let my good looks sweep you off your feet.”

I couldn't stop myself from smiling back at him. He was ferocious and charming, all rolled into one. “It'll be hard,” I said, matching the playfulness of his tone, “but I'll do my best to resist your obvious charms.”

The rumble in his chest exploded as a laugh that made me jump.

“If you don't mind?” With a gentle tug I persuaded him to release my hand.

“She's charming, Gabriel,” he said, looking over my head, “simply charming.”

This had to be another European peculiarity because he should have been addressing me.

“So, why have you come looking for me, Aleksei?” Gabriel asked, his voice still courteous, but now with an edge.

In that moment I knew that even though he shared something in common with the three of them—and what that might be I had absolutely no idea—he was also somehow different from them.

“Permit me a moment of your time?” Aleksei's manner returned to its earlier unease, and the finger stroking my neck paused as something passed between the two of them. “It's important,” the soldier added.

Dropping his head, Gabriel spoke. “Forgive me, Rowan, this will take only a moment.”

Inordinately pleased that he felt it necessary to apologize to me, I smiled up at him. “Of course, take as long as you need.”

There was another silky stroke along my neck before he strode away, followed by Aleksei. They went far enough that their conversation could not be overheard, but curiosity made me observe their body language.

Aleksei was definitely tense. The playful manner he'd used to put me at ease had vanished. There was a noticeable stiffness to his posture that carried through in the thrust of his comic-book chin, and the sharp, edgy way he used his hands to emphasize whatever he was saying. I could tell it was important, and serious.

Gabriel, on the other hand, appeared relaxed and unfazed. Though his arms were folded across his chest, there was no tension in his stance. He seemed to be listening with an air of unruffled calm. And it was obvious who was in charge. Even though Aleksei gave off a menacing air—due to his military training, no doubt—it was Gabriel who seemed the more dangerous of the two men. I had no idea why such a thought should occur to me, but it did, sending a shiver down my spine as I thought it. Not wanting Gabriel to think I was trying to eavesdrop, I turned around—and about jumped out of my skin.

The exotically beautiful girl was now standing right next to me. She'd managed to walk across the asphalt in her fabulous spiked heels without making a sound.

“It seems that both Gabriel and Aleksei have forgotten their manners,” she said with a theatrical sigh. Like her companion, she, too, spoke in accented English, although with enough of a difference to tell me she and the big guy were not from the same place. “I am Katja.”

Another first-name-only deal, but she said it with a certain amount of expectation. Like it meant something. It crossed my mind that perhaps she really was a model or, failing that, some tabloid personality. I hoped she wouldn't be disappointed by my lack of fawning recognition.

“I'm Rowan,” I said, sticking out my hand and deciding I could play the single name game as well.

She dropped her chin slightly, looking down at my outstretched hand as if she didn't know what to do with it. The expression on her face made me do a double take just to make sure I didn't have something icky smeared on my palm. It took all I had not to wipe it on the leg of my jeans. And then, almost as if something in her brain was kicked into life, she clasped the offending part of my anatomy in her own. I'd been expecting her to barely grasp my fingertips and make a somewhat half-assed, limp-wristed effort, but her grip was surprisingly strong, although the movement was stiff and jerky, as if shaking hands wasn't something that came naturally to her. But that was the least of my worries. My inner bitch was gnashing her teeth. Loudly.

Up close, Katja was even more dazzling and perfect, and I found myself staring at her. Probably being horribly rude about it, too, but I couldn't help it. Only she didn't seem to mind. I suspected that, like Gabriel, she was used to having people stare at her. How could she not be?

Her face was oval with skin so pale it looked unnaturally white. I wondered if that was because she was European. It seems to me they don't get as much sun over there. Her eyes, smudged with kohl and far too big for her small face, were the color of violets. But it was her mouth that caught my attention. Her lips were flawless in both size and fullness, and were colored the most amazing shade of dark red. I wanted to ask her what brand of lipstick she was wearing, only I wasn't a hundred percent sure it was lipstick. I couldn't see any telltale line edging her mouth. Had to be lip stain, I told myself. Really good, very expensive lip stain, the kind movie stars and models wore.
Well, duh!

As I watched, she parted her lips and smiled at me. Her teeth were very white, gleaming behind the pout of crushed cranberry, and curling the tip of her pale pink tongue, she ran it across her lower lip. I was gripped with the sudden, insane need to touch her. The urge to run my fingers across her satin-smooth skin, to taste the sweetness of those cranberry lips was intense, overwhelming—and completely irrational. I've never wanted to do the girl-on-girl thing, not even as an experiment.

“Katja!”

Her name was a whip crack that snapped inside my head. Strong hands gripped me from behind as I realized, with a start, that I was leaning toward her. Leaning so far forward I was about to fall over. It was Gabriel who had called her name, but the hands that saved me from kissing the ground weren't his. They belonged to the guy wearing the bomber pilot's jacket. I'd been so focused on Katja, I'd all but forgotten he was there.

“It's okay, ma'am, you're safe with me.”

I almost laughed aloud with relief at the comforting midwestern twang, an accent I easily recognized. I shook my head before looking back at Katja. Her hand had been almost wrapped about my waist, and she now slid it off and raised it to my face. Softly she stroked my cheek, a perfect imitation of what I had wanted to do to her. It was shockingly intimate, making me jerk my head back and bounce it against the hard chest of Kansas Boy.

“Never mind, Little One, perhaps next time,” she cooed huskily.

There was something horribly condescending in her tone, and it pissed me off. “I don't think so,” I said, turning my head away.

Her hand gripped my chin, twisting my head so I was forced to look at her. She appeared to be of barely legal age, yet I knew I shouldn't be fooled by her youth. She was older than I thought. Pouting her lips, she gave me an air kiss before releasing my chin and walking away. I shuddered with relief as I watched her go.

“Thank you.” I murmured, tilting my head up and looking over my shoulder at the Ralph Lauren model, grateful his quick action had saved me from complete humiliation.

“You're welcome.” I could almost hear the summer breeze rippling through fields of wheat as he loosened his grip and stroked my upper arms lightly with his hands. “If there's ever anything I can do—” He broke off suddenly, his face flushing unexpectedly before he turned on his heel and went to stand next to Katja.

Gabriel and Aleksei reached me, and I let Gabriel enclose my hand once more in his, although I was puzzled by Kansas Boy's reaction. To my mind it was completely uncalled for. It was as if he had crossed an unseen line by speaking to me. I glanced over at Aleksei, who was staring at Katja. His eyebrows were knitted together, making him look quite fierce. He reminded me of a bear. A big Russian grizzly bear.

Smoothing out his expression, he turned to me. “Don't mind Katja,” he said quietly, “she's all bite and no bark.”