A Vampire's Soul (3 page)

“You can't come in without an invitation,” I muttered, more to myself than the closed door.

“No, I cannot.”

He sounded royally peeved. Guess I wasn't playing nice. Hearing him loudly expelling his own rush of air, I could almost picture his expression as he tried to get a handle on his temper. “I am sorry I told you untruth.”

Oh well, that changed everything. I mean if he was
sorry . . .
“Go away, Aleksei, I'm not going to invite you in, no matter what you tell me.”

“But Rowan, you might have danger—”

“You think?” My knees turned to jello. “Do you think I'm so stupid I don't realize Gabriel needs me to disappear now that I know what he is? What you all are?”

The sound of his fist banging on the door's wood paneling made me jump. The door was sturdy, but it was also quite old. I had no idea how much of a battering it could take. Not from a vampire.

“Gabriel is not problem,” the big guy growled.

Yeah? After last night I wasn't so sure. “What do you mean?” I yelled back, but the only answer to my question was silence.

Hurrying to the living room, I went to the bay window, which gave me an unrestricted view of the front porch. It was empty. Somehow I doubted Aleksei was hiding in the hydrangea bush at the bottom of the steps. I had a pretty good idea where he was headed, and a hollow feeling swirled in the pit of my stomach. How long did I have before Gabriel showed up?

T
he unopened bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on the kitchen counter next to the coffeemaker brought me to a screeching halt. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the realization that my vampire boyfriend knew me a lot better than I was willing to admit. But perhaps it wasn't that much of a stretch to suppose I might need something stronger than coffee. Or maybe he just figured a face-to-face would go a lot better if one of us was drunk. At least now I knew who'd stripped me down to my underwear and put me to bed the night before.

I got a glass from the cupboard, cracked the seal on the bottle, and poured myself a generous measure. I downed it in one go, spluttering a little as my throat caught on fire. Refilling my glass, I repeated the action. The idea of being totally shit-faced when Gabriel arrived seemed like an excellent plan. Carrying the bottle in one hand and my glass in the other, I pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. Might as well be comfortable while I waited.

Forty-five minutes later I made an unsettling discovery about the way my body processes alcohol. Terror negated the intoxication I was hoping for, even at eighty proof. The level of liquid in the bottle had dropped by at least a third, and I didn't have so much as a decent buzz. Fuck! There was a distinct possibility I was going to have to deal with Gabriel stone cold sober after all.

Folding my arms on the table, I leaned forward and put my head down. I just couldn't catch a break. Instead of strapping some steel to my spine and making me brave and bold, all the bourbon seemed to be doing was activating my tear ducts. That my tearful breakdown was witnessed by kitchen appliances was just wrong.

 

“Rowan . . . Rowan . . . wake up.”

My shoulder was being shaken, and although I understood the words, I really didn't want to open my eyes. I was feeling good, tranquil and stress-free, the way I imagine I'd feel after having a great massage at some swanky spa. All I needed now was cucumber slices on my eyes and a pedicure. That this particular fantasy was tinged a glorious shade of sippin' whiskey bronze only added to the ambience.

“Rowan, dahlink . . . open your eyes for me.”

The firm pressure of fingers on my shoulder brought me back to reality. The dull ache in the small of my back said I'd been hunched over the kitchen table for longer than I'd thought. I opened my eyes and blinked owlishly at the face smiling down at me.

“
Anashayshzia?
” From the way I slurred her name, it occurred to me I'd finally hit the technically wasted mark.
Well, it's about damn time!

With her arm about my shoulder, the lovely blonde helped me come a little more upright. I caught the scent of her perfume. Yves St. Laurent's Opium
,
a classic that smelled wonderful on her. Somehow I wasn't surprised by her choice. Everything about Gabriel's friend was lovely, elegant, and classic. I wasn't surprised that she and Gabriel were close.

“You need coffee,” Anasztaizia declared, giving me a sympathetic shake of her head. “Lots of good Russian coffee, I am thinking.”

Lovely, elegant, but not very bright. Coffee was the last thing I wanted. I wanted more bourbon. No, I
needed
more bourbon. I tried telling her this, but all that came out of my mouth was an incoherent perversion of the English language. Anasztaizia was not, apparently, well versed in drunken bourbon-ese, and she frowned at me. I was dismayed when she picked up my glass and the bottle of Jack Daniels and placed both on the counter, out of reach.

“Is bad to drink alone, dahlink.” Slipping off her coat, she draped it over the back of an empty kitchen chair and pulled from the depths of her oversized purse a brightly colored canister. “Filters?”

I mumbled, and waved a hand peevishly at the cupboards lining the wall. If she was going to cut me off, then she could find the damn filters all by herself. Apparently Anasztaizia was a whiz at sign language because she found the right cupboard on the first try. I put my elbow on the table and plopped my chin in my hand, watching as she made herself at home in my kitchen. A lot of women are proprietary about their kitchen, but not me. Want to bake me a cake? Go right ahead!

I wiped my mouth on the heel of the hand that was holding my head up. My tongue felt thick, my head thicker. By rights I ought to have been passed out under the table, and I had no idea why I wasn't. I stared at the clock on the wall, but my focus was off, so it took me a couple of tries to read the hands correctly. I would have sworn on a stack of bibles that I'd put my head down for only a couple of seconds—okay, five minutes at most—but according to the clock I'd misplaced two hours.
Two hours?
Sheesh!

Anasztaizia busied herself making coffee. I had no idea what she was doing in my kitchen—well, I knew
what
she was doing; it was the why that was a complete mystery. And it was one I didn't have time to solve right now. If Aleksei had been gone for two hours, then Gabriel was going to be here any minute. Actually I was kind of surprised that he wasn't here already, but in any case I had to get rid of Anasztaizia before he showed up. I didn't care how friendly she was with him at her family's restaurant; being caught up in my drama was not something she needed.

I stood up—a monumentally bad idea as the kitchen took a wild lurch forward, forcing me to sit down again in a hurry. With both elbows on the table this time, I cradled my head in my hands and moaned. It was a few moments before I felt brave enough to try moving again. Turning my head slowly seemed to be okay.

“Anashtayshza . . . you gotta go,” I implored. “Gab . . . Gab . . .” Good Lord, I couldn't even say his name!

“Gabriel is not coming,” she said, rescuing me from verbal ineptitude. “At least not tonight.” Crossing her arms, she leaned back against the counter and gave me a look that said she knew a lot more about my current predicament than I was aware of. “He does not know that you have refused to invite Aleksei inside.”

I would have bet even money Aleksei had headed straight for his boss when he'd left my doorstep earlier, but now, if I understood Anasztaizia correctly, it would seem not. I stared at the Magyar beauty; her blond hair shimmering beneath the overhead fluorescent gave her an angelic halo. I didn't understand what was happening, and being semi-drunk was a definite impediment. I wanted to apologize for my inebriated state, but a sudden bolt of pain stabbed me behind my eyes, leaving a horrible throb in its wake and forcing me to look away.

“You are very lucky that Aleksei came to me instead.”

Luck was just a matter of degree. Drunk or not, it seemed to me that one problem had been exchanged for another.

“Why would he do that?” I asked, wondering if more than the bourbon was confusing me.

After setting the coffeemaker to brew, Anasztaizia pulled out a chair and sat down opposite me. “Because he thought you might prefer to talk to me first.”

“I don't understand,” I mumbled, as the pain in my head began to settle into a slow, steady, barely tolerable throb.

“Of course you don't.” She patted my hand gently. “Trust me, this is not the ideal way to find out someone you care about is a vampire.”

Despite the fact that my very eyelashes hurt and I was probably risking blindness, I opened my eyes wide at her words. I should have been shocked, but I wasn't. Who was I kidding? Of course Anasztaizia knew exactly what Gabriel was. The way she dropped the V word without batting an eyelid was proof enough. I had known, of course, that her friendship with Gabriel had been established long before he and I had become an item, but what surprised me now was the expression on her face. I wasn't so drunk I couldn't see she was angry. I just hoped it wasn't because I was too shit-faced to fully appreciate her coming to my rescue. If that's what this was. God knows, I hadn't sent the big guy to get her—why would I?—and if she knew Gabriel was a vampire, I was willing to bet she knew Aleksei was one as well. If she wanted to bust someone's balls about being forced to hold my hand, then she could take it up with him. I felt certain he had a set big enough to kick.

Of course there was always the possibility I was on the wrong track. Perhaps the beautiful Hungarian shared Katja's disdain for my relationship with Gabriel. Maybe she also had ideas about being with him, and if that were the case, I'd rather it be her than the psychotic Goth Queen who'd schemed to take Gabriel from me. But if Anasztaizia was here to lecture me about my love life, she was in for a disappointment. A verbal sparring match becomes pretty much redundant when one of you has difficulty stringing more than three words together.

As I prepared to let Anasztaizia know, shit-faced or not, I was no pushover, her expression shifted. Something in her face said she wasn't here to pass judgment on either me or my relationship with Gabriel. As I bathed in the unexpected warmth of her acceptance, a far more mundane question came to mind.

“Howdja get in?” I asked, recalling the two tries it took for me to drop the dead bolt once I realized Aleksei was gone.

Smiling, she gave a dismissive wave of her hand, nearly blinding me with the diamond on her ring finger. The thing was the size of a doorknob. Despite my condition, the girly part of me, the part that loves makeup and high heels, wanted to
ooh
and
aah
and ask how many carats it was.

“One of the things you need to remember,” Anasztaizia said, her voice bringing me back to the here and now, “is that many vampires can manipulate locks. Opening a door is not a problem. Crossing the threshold is the problem. They cannot enter any premises if they have not been invited to do so by the proper authority.”

“What does that mean . . .
proper authority?
” I was amazed at my ability to coherently string together this many words.

“It must be the person who actually resides on the property,” she continued. “It cannot be a guest or visitor. I cannot invite Aleksei into your house, and neither can your best friend.” She pointed at the floor with her forefinger. “This is
your
home, Rowan, only you can invite a vampire—any vampire—inside.”

I wasn't so drunk I didn't see the flaw in what she was saying. “But that's not true of every building, is it?”

“No, I'm talking about personal dwellings only. Any building open to all people is common ground, and no invitation is needed.”

A sudden image of murder and mayhem, vampire-style, in the downtown library filled my head, and I shuddered. “And they only have to be invited one time, right?” I asked, moving on from imagined carnage in children's fiction. I didn't really need an answer because Gabriel had only asked me to invite him in the very first time. I'd been so impressed by his insistence, I'd thought it was some quaint Norwegian custom. Hah! Since then, he'd pretty much been able to come and go as he pleased. “So I guess you're not a vampire then?”

“No, I am not,” Anasztaizia replied wistfully. She might not be a vampire, but her expression told me she wanted to be one. “Aleksei unlocked the front door for me, and now I apologize for entering your home uninvited.” She leaned forward, her expression becoming earnest. “And Aleksei is very sorry that he lied to you.”

“Um . . . where is he?”

Anasztaizia motioned her head toward the front door, a graceful gesture that made me think there wasn't anything she did that was clumsy. “He is waiting outside.” She hesitated, a small wrinkle appearing between her eyes. “You really should invite him in, Rowan. He is only here because Gabriel wishes it.”

I stared at her, aghast. Was that supposed to make everything all right? Had she any idea what I'd been through?
What I'd seen?
Twenty-four hours ago I'd had no reason to question the reality of the world I inhabited, wouldn't have realized I
could
question it. Its configuration was dictated by a natural order that had kept me safe for the past twenty-five years, and it was all I'd ever known. Now all bets were off.

My ordinary life, the one where I fell in love with Mr. Right, got married, and had his babies, had been destroyed in the blink of an eye. My blissful ignorance had been shattered. The curtain hadn't just twitched, it had been yanked open, and I'd had no choice but to view what lay behind. It would have been better if there had been a wizard with an ego as big as all get-out, but instead I'd found another world. One that apparently coexisted with mine, but a world no human was ever meant to know about.

And it made no difference how it had happened. I hadn't asked to look behind the curtain, it had been forced on me, and now that I knew . . .

The sputtering sound of the coffeemaker coming to the end of its brewing cycle was a welcome interruption, as was the wonderful aroma that now filled the kitchen. No coffee I made had ever smelled this good, not even the Starbucks blend I occasionally treated myself to. Taking two mugs from the cupboard, Anasztaizia filled them with the dark brew, setting them down on the table before going to the fridge for the half-and-half.

“Is Aleksei going to kill me?” I blurted out. “Is that why he's here?”

The milky stream hiccupped in mid-pour. I can honestly say the sound of my voice cracking startled me as much as it did my Hungarian visitor. She just hid it better. I felt scared and resigned all at the same time, knowing there could be only one response to my question. Anasztaizia didn't really need to answer because I already knew what she was going to say.