Bitten in Two (14 page)

“I thought you were done with the office accessories,” I told him as he went for breakfast.

“Oh, no. You always gotta think progress,” he told me, nodding sagely. “I’m liking the shirt by the way,” he said, pointing at my chest as he stuffed half a rol into his mouth.

Around the flying crumbs he added, “Glad it fit. Got something else for you too.”

He cracked the case and slipped out a folded sheet of paper.

“What is it?” I asked.

He just smiled and rol ed one hand toward me so I’d open it and give it a read. As soon as I saw the signature I walked away from the table. It was from Vayl. The letter he’d written to me last night thinking I was an eighteenth-century damsel who could be wooed away from her badass vamp lover.
Well, let’s see what old-timey Vayl has to say
to Jaz-in-the-picture.

My Dearest Jasmine,

Please forgive my boldness, but your beauty
captivated me from the moment I beheld your
portrait, a work of artistry so intriguing I felt as if I
could reach out and touch your soul.

Can a man fall in love with a woman simply by
viewing her image? Perhaps not. But I am no man. I
am Vampere. I have looked into your eyes, and what
I see makes my heart race as never before. That,
itself, is a miracle. For I thought it had been broken
forever, a ruin no creature could rebuild after the
deaths of my sons. Perhaps you are the one who
could make me whole again, my Jasmine. If I could
but touch your hand, taste your lips, I would know. I
must see you tonight. Say yes.

Yours alone,

Vasil Brâncoveanu

Whew, baby!
I folded the letter and fanned myself.

“Dude knows how to put words together, doesn’t he?” asked Cole.

I spun around. “You
read
it?”

He shrugged, sharing one of those guy-smiles with Sterling that made me want to knock their heads together.

“Lord Brâncoveanu”—we rol ed our eyes—“can’t read or write. So Berggia had to do a little secretarying last night.” I came back to sit with them. “It’s fine. I’l write him back later this morning.” When Cole’s smile widened I added hastily, “It’s just to keep him from running off into the city looking for some tramp that I’m going to have to end up beating the crap out of sooner or later.” I paused to think.

“Probably sooner.”

Sterling began to laugh.

“What?” I demanded.

“Only you could get yourself into this kind of jam. Tied to a cursed vampire who’s hot for your bod—only he can’t see it.”

“And that’s only half of the story,” Cole claimed as he cracked open the briefcase and pul ed out a plastic, G.I.

Joe–sized dol .

“What’s the other half?” asked Sterling.

“That’s on a need-to-know—and you don’t,” I snapped.

He held up his hands. I pul ed back, an instinct that doubled Sterling’s grin. The jerk. Luckily his attention wandered before he could piss me off so much that I repeated history and ended up ribbiting and snagging flies out of midair. He’d become fascinated with Cole’s new project, which involved lathering his dol ’s bald head with superglue and then sticking tufts of platinum embroidery thread on top. Afterward he pul ed some scissors from his case and began to trim the dol ’s do. Sterling couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Is there a purpose to this hobby or do you just enjoy playing beautician?” he asked.

Cole snipped and fluffed as he spoke. “This is just a prototype. I figure to make mil ions when I sel this to Mattel.” He thought a second. “Or maybe Hasbro.”

“And why should they buy it from you?”

“Because it’s the Cole Bemont action figure.” I slumped in my seat. But Teen Me sat forward.
I don’t
know, it could be kinda cute.

Shut up; you’re too old to play with dolls.

She nodded toward Bergman as he shuffled into the courtyard.
He’s older than you and he has a bookcase full
of them.

Those are called collectibles
, I informed her.

Not if you talk to them when nobody else is in the
room.

I ignored her—because what we were doing wasn’t a whole lot more mature—and waited for Bergman’s greeting. It didn’t happen. Which meant the record was stil intact. Someday he’d make it into the Guinness Book for number of mornings waking up grouchy. Because until our techxpert had downed at least two cups of coffee, he wasn’t even fit company for a room ful of assassins. His mood did promise to improve later on, however, because he’d worn jeans that were ripped in
both
knees
and
he’d put on his gray pul over right side out this morning.

“See that dude?” Cole whispered to Sterling. He waved toward Bergman, who was scratching his unruly mop as he yawned so big that for a second I thought I could see his lungs. “He did his hair just like mine on purpose because he thought it would get him more girls.”

“Has it?”

“No, but that’s only because he keeps forgetting to ask.

I’m tel ing you, this action figure is going to earn me my way into—” Cole stopped when he realized Sterling wasn’t listening anymore. He was staring at the woman who’d fol owed Bergman into the courtyard. Wel , actual y two had come out. Monique had brought a pitcher to refil the orange juice. And Kyphas had strol ed in.

What a contrast. The human, her hair pul ed back in an elegant French twist, looked cool and sweet in a light blue sundress covered with embroidered daisies. Bergman didn’t even growl at her when she patted his shoulder and asked if he’d hand her the half-empty carafe. How could he? That smile had been made for him.

The demon, on the other hand, had let her hair fly free, and it seemed like no layer was quite the same shade as the next, giving it the flow and glow of a lion’s mane. Her bright red capris hugged her curves like they’d only just met, and her black tank had the word “angel” written across the chest in shiny red rhinestones. She skipped the buffet completely and strode toward the gazebo, her eyes glued to Cole, who seemed determined to pretend she didn’t exist.

Sterling hadn’t hidden the fact that he was wel aware of her presence. His eyes hadn’t left her since she entered the courtyard. Both his hands rested easily in his lap, but his fingers were touching the bracelets, his equivalent of cocking a gun.

Shit!
Knowing what it would cost me, I put my hand on the warlock’s arm. Hard not to gasp at the sudden drop in energy, like I’d just been dumped into the aftermath of a 10K run. His fingers hadn’t moved, so I kept my hand in place.

Sweating now, I said, “Kyphas is with us. She signed a no-harm contract. You’re included under that umbrel a now.” When his hands dropped to his thighs I pul ed away. So tired that I knew it would be a major undertaking to drag my sorry ass up the stairs, I turned to Kyphas. She’d final y gotten Cole’s message, backed off whatever open display she’d intended, and decided to be social instead. Which was when she realized we had a visitor. If I hadn’t been exhausted I’d have gotten big hairy kicks out of the bug-eyed terror on her face. She yanked off her scarf.

“Stow it!” I snapped. “He’s with us!”

She shook her head. “No. No, this is too much. I wil not hold to my vow to protect the likes of
him
!”

“Jaz.” Bergman nodded at Monique, who was looking at Kyphas curiously. I jerked my head, motioning for him to get her out before al hel literal y broke loose. He shoved his plate in her hands, picked up his coffee, and slipped his arm around her waist so he could guide her to the door.

“You were tel ing me before about the ramparts that were built around the medina. I looked some of it up online.

Real y fascinating stuff. Could you explain what you were saying about some of the old legends relating to the gates?”

“Of course!”

The rest of us remained frozen in place until Bergman had escorted Monique from the courtyard. And then Sterling rose to his feet. Slowly, like a monk beginning evening prayers, he said, “I thought I threw you back into the pit once already.” His pupils had dilated so drastical y I couldn’t tel where they stopped and his irises began. Bolts of black lightning flew within the amulet he wore, and I could feel the power building kind of like Vayl’s did, only this was a sense of bottomless wel s of fire preparing to explode.

Kyphas snapped her
tahruyt
in the air, transforming it into the ruby-hilted flyssa she’d threatened me with before.

“Stop!” I stepped between them, holding out my arms, too aware of how my hands were shaking. I dropped them before it showed, pissed that Sterling’s shining power was partial y fueled by me.

I said, “Kyphas, you know exactly what wil happen to you if you break your contract. So go stuff your face with some damn eggs until you’ve calmed down enough to pretend you’re normal. And you—” I turned to Sterling. “Get it through your thick skul that I need her, at least for now.”

“Why?” Such a reasonable question. But my eyes were drooping so badly now that even if I wanted to tel him I thought she would be the one to find the Rocenz for us, I’d probably be asleep before I could make any sense of it for him. So I said, “Cole, tel him everything you think he needs to know. I’m going back to bed. You’re in charge of Vayl’s safety until I wake up again.”

“Okay,” Cole said. “Just remember, he’s going to want a reply to that letter.”

“Fine. I’l do one before my nap.”

Which turned out to be a good thing. Because the person who woke me up, with a tooth-clicking shoulder shake that made me feel somewhat queasy, was Vayl.

Madame Berggia, how can you be sleeping at a time like this!” I opened my eyes. Vayl’s face, hovering inches above my own, had locked down so tight I could see the muscles jumping in his jaws.

I shot up in bed, pul ing Grief out from under my pil ow as I did so. “What’s wrong?”

“Your husband says you have a note for me from the Lady Jasmine. Why did you not bring it to me the instant I rose?”

I loosened my grip on the gun. “What time is it?”

“Eight in the evening. Why are you abed? Are you il ? It matters not. Where is the letter? I must have it!”
Just remember, eventually he stopped being an
asshole
, I told myself as I swung my feet onto the floor. I would’ve glared at him, but why waste a perfectly good expression on the broad back of a clueless vampire? He’d turned away from me, so anxious to read the letter that he’d begun to search for it himself.

“Hey!” I yel ed. “Get outta my trunk!”

He rose to his ful height, holding his cane in one hand and a pair of black pantyhose in the other. “What are these?” he asked, hefting the hose. “They seem not to stop where garters would be required.”

I put my hand to my chest because, seriously, I thought my heart might’ve skipped a couple of beats. It was the first time he’d seen my clothing as something not straight out of a museum. “They’re a new invention,” I said. “They stay up al by themselves.”

He dropped the cane, not even noticing as it clattered against the rug, and used both hands to stretch the waistband. “Fascinating.”

“Yeah. Uh, how did you… sleep?”

He shrugged. “As usual.”

“And when you woke up? How did you feel?” He dropped the hose. “I could think of nothing but the woman whose portrait Berggia showed me yesterday. Her face has begun to haunt me. Come, where is the letter? I cannot wait for it a moment longer.”

“Geez, quit being such a freaking Romeo before I have to gag or something. Here.” I trudged over to the bed table.

I couldn’t remember half of what I’d written, I’d been so tired at the time.
That’s the last time I touch you, Sterling, you
damn leech!

Vayl was so excited to read it that he rushed to the table before me, and for a few moments we stood together, two people sharing space meant for one. He was bent over, ful y involved in the message I’d left, his hands flat on either side of the ivory stationery as if to keep it from flying off and leaving him stranded there.

He’d turned the lamp on. He didn’t need it, but he’d probably done it for my sake, so as not to freak out the old gal during her rude awakening. I was glad of the light, though. It gave me the chance to fol ow the dance of his short, dark curls across his head and down to the strong expanse of his neck. My fingers ached to glide down that path, to slide under the col ar of his dark almond shirt and feel the muscles of his back move under my hands. He stil wore suspenders, which I found oddly charming, and tonight they held up a pair of gray pinstriped trousers that made it real y hard to look away from his ass. But I managed it when he shoved the paper into my face.

“The words look lovely, almost as if she painted them.

Tel me what they say.”

Tel me what they say.”

I tried to back up, but the bed got in my way, so I ended up bouncing on my butt a couple of times as he moved toward the bench. I watched him get comfortable. “You want me to… read it out loud?”

“Yes.”

“Won’t you be embarrassed?”

“Not unless you run out and tel everyone in the street what you have just read.” He stared me down, and I discovered a spectacular reserve of happiness saved just for this moment when I rejoiced not to have ever been one of his victims.