Mercy's Danger: Montgomery's Vampires Trilogy (Book #2) (Montgomery's Vampires Series) (4 page)

I didn’t want to ruin the moment but I felt like I should bring it up. “What if you suddenly stop being immune to daylight?”

He twinkled in that special sexy way of his, raising one eyebrow and gently nipping my ear. “Then I’ll die a very happy man.”

We didn’t bother with foreplay, our desire to unite much too urgent. I cried out as he pushed himself into the center of my thighs, entering me slowly at first, and then faster, harder . . . ravenously.

And we were off.

As it turned out, sex with human Robert was just as amazing as sex with vampire Robert. Maybe even better, actually, since he was warmer to the touch and had a heartbeat.

We basked naked in the sun afterward, and a few questions struck me. I decided to pace myself, saving the most important for last.

“Does it feel different as a human?” I asked.

“Making love?”

“Yes.”

He sat up on an elbow. “This may shock you, Mercy, but I wasn’t a virgin when I was turned.”

I punched him lazily in the arm. “I know that! But it’s been so long . . .”

He thought about it for a moment. “The real difference is that I now get tired. As a vampire, I can keep going and going, which you know.”

“I sure do.” I winked at him. “But this way is nice, too. What do you feel now? Physically, I mean?”

“I’m no longer ill, and I have my wits about me again. But I do feel drained. What I feel most of all is . . .” He rubbed his belly. “I feel hungry.”

“For blood?”

He made a face. “No!”

“Then for what?”

“Do you remember that place you took me to on the first night we went out? That café in the train car?”

Of course I did. I was the greasy spoon diner where I fell in love with Robert. I chuckled. “You aren’t serious.”

He sucked in his bottom lip, abashed.

I said, “You want to go to Whistle Stop for your first meal in over a hundred and fifty years?”

He nodded.

“You sure you don’t want something more . . . fancy? Sushi or a hundred dollar steak or, I don’t know, gazpacho or whatever rich people eat?” I didn’t know what a rich person ate, as I’d never been one. I’d been raised on Velveeta and Hamburger Helper. But I’d dined at Whistle Stop plenty, as it had been my eatery of choice back when I was a student at Dewhurst. I could have probably recited the entire menu from memory.

“No way,” he asserted. “Remember, I wasn’t a wealthy man when I was changed over. I’ve never sampled ‘rich people’ human food. What I want is one of those frightening omelets—the one with all that stuff heaped on top.”

“The Scary Coronary Omelet? The one with the hash browns and hollandaise sauce and bacon?”

He grinned, “That’s the one!”

I poked him in his rock-hard midsection and chided, “You know, Robert, you’re going to have to worry about things like your heart now that you’re a human. And your weight. And your blood pressure.”

He smiled, giddy. “Being human is a dangerous thing.”

Something far more sinister than high blood pressure occurred to me. “Maybe it would be wise for us not to stray too far from home. At least for a little while.”

“Why?”

“If your vulnerability to the sun comes back, I’d rather it not be while we’re at the beach or on a roller coaster with no cover close by.”

He frowned. “I suppose you’re right.”

I figured now was as good of time as any to broach the formidable question I’d been saving. “Robert?”

“Yes, my darling?” 

“Do you plan on staying this way?”

He didn’t play dumb. He knew which way I was referring to. I loved that about Robert: no bullshit. “Vampire is the only way I know how to be, Mercy.”

“That’s not true. You were a human once,” I said mildly.

He was quiet for a moment. “Do
you
wish for me remain human?”

“I want you to be happy.” It was the most truthful way I could answer.

“I was happy as a vampire.”

“I see.”

“Will you leave me if I don’t agree to remain human?” he asked, worried.

“Of course not!” I breathed. “I love you, Robert. It’s just that you were so happy about being in the light and talking about eating human food. I’d hoped . . .”

“I enjoy my life as an immortal—having eternal youth.”

“Why do you think you’ve turned back into a mortal?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea why this has happened. Perhaps my body is like an automobile, and I now need a tune-up.”

That was a strange way to put it, but I grasped what he meant. “The tune-up being that you need to be changed over again by a vampire?”

“Yes.” He lifted my chin. “You’re upset with me?”

“No. Some part of me knew that you’d want to go back to being a vampire. You just seem so excited about your new human capabilities.”

“I am. However—”

“However, the benefits of being vampire outweigh the fun of being a human,” I finished for him.

“If you want to look at it like that, sure,” he stated. “But perhaps knowing that I have the option to remain human and yet I’m choosing to change back is evidence of just how splendid it is to be immortal.”

“I guess so,” I said. “It must be pretty great if you don’t even need to mull it over.”

“Mercy, you’re fearful of becoming a vampire, yes?”

“Yes, you know that,” I answered.

“I do. But that fear you feel towards becoming a vampire? That’s how frightened I am of remaining human.”

“You’re afraid that you won’t be able to change back?”

Robert seemed reluctant to say the words out loud, as if vocalizing his concerns made the possibility real. “Perhaps I’m stuck as a human.”

I put my hand over his. “I’m sure Leopold will have some answers.”

“Do you sincerely believe that he will?”

“Sure.” I kissed his forehead. “Are you going to ask Leopold to change you back?”

“I haven’t thought about it. I imagine that would be the best course of action.”

“But I think he’s coming out for less than a week.”

“Okay?”

“So . . .” I began, unsure of how to phrase my next words without sounding disappointed. “If he has to change you back before to retuning to London, that means you’re going to be human for only a few days.”

“Ah,” he said, catching my drift. “Will you understand if become vampire before he leaves? Since we don’t know why I transformed—this illness—I’m nervous that if I wait too long I may not be able to ever change back.”

Though I cringed inwardly that he’d compared humanity to illness, I said, “I understand completely.”

“Thank you, my sweet. I do love you so very much.”

“And I love you,” I said as we made a move back into the house. “If you’re going to be this way for only a short time, we need to get cracking on your human vacation.”

He chuckled. “Human vacation. I like that.”

4

Marlena came over the next evening.

She arrived unannounced, which was not like her. Marlena was the appointment queen.

I was hoping that it was Leopold who’d come knocking instead. According to Robert, Leopold was
not
the appointment king. I’d been warned that Leopold could show at any time, even though he’d promised that he’d call when he was on his way.

Until Robert had a full handle on his health situation, he didn’t want word of his newfound humanity getting out. Marlena was no blabbermouth, as proven by her successful management of Dignitary, but Robert’s secret wasn’t mine to reveal. I could relate to this perfectly, given that I had secrets of my own.

Robert had never been too fond of Marlena, anyway. He told me that he found her cold and prickly, words that carried a lot of weight when spouted from a vampire.

Suspicious of the contempt Robert felt for Marlena, I’d once asked him if he’d ever had romantic relations with her. He’d coughed out a laugh, declaring that he’d rather be burned at the stake than touch Marlena with a thousand-foot pole, which I took as his way of telling me no.

The funny thing was that there should have been oodles of men volunteering to touch Marlena
without
the aid of a pole. She was so stunning that it nearly made you weep. Her emerald green eyes and fiery copper hair were as dazzling as her alabaster skin and impeccable figure. But, as Robert had pointed out, her attitude could be off-putting to the opposite sex. Marlena was nowhere as dear to me as Liz, but I didn’t think she was as bad as Robert made her out to be. Robert said give it time.

Robert hid in the bedroom as I opened the door. I saw through the peephole that Marlena was holding a couple of boxes, the rectangular kind with lids on top that were typically used in offices.

“Took you long enough,” she commented sharply before I had the door all the way open.

I was sure Robert was listening and was now gloating. Marlena hadn’t been there more than thirty seconds and she was already starting in. Hey, I never said she was a saint. And I
did
owe the woman my life.

I invited her in. “Hello, Marlena.”

“Hi. Where should I put these?”

“Um, let’s go to the kitchen table. What’s all this?”

“These,” she said, setting the boxes down, “are all kinds of crazy.”

“Oh?”

“Michael’s stuff.”

“Oh.”

She pulled out a chair and sat down. “May I sit?” she asked as an afterthought.

“Of course.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? Can I offer you a glass of blood?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” she accepted crisply. It seemed she planned on staying a while. So much for Robert’s human vacation plans.

Robert kept his blood in a separate fridge than my human food, thankfully. Because gross, right? Undeniably, I didn’t find it so gross when he occasionally drank my blood during our trysts in the bedroom—back when he was vampire, that is. According to Robert, drinking a lover’s blood is the height of vampire intimacy. I had to agree with him on that one. It was kind of hot, a feeling no human man could offer.

I did a rapid summary of the labels on the carafes of blood. I’d lived with Robert long enough to know that this plasma had come from his preferred blood bank near Embarcadero.

Hundreds of clandestine blood banks across the city catered to the undead. Vampires had varying grades of blood much like humans had varying grades of food. They had their ultra high-end blood (Beluga caviar), gourmet blood (truffles), their everyday blood (wheat bread), and then their least desirable blood that was like human junk food (squeeze cheese in a can). How vampires gauged the “purity” of the blood had nothing to do with the gender, age, or race of the donor. It was based on lifestyle choices. Healthy humans—like athletes and raw food diet followers—fetched the highest sums for their blood. The cheapest blood came from donors who were less cautious about what they put in their bodies: smokers, heavy drinkers, and fast food consumers. I’d never sold my blood, but I imagined mine would be right around the midrange level. I was healthy in a drug free, four-days-a-week runner sort of way, but I still liked to indulge in the occasional slice of pizza and glass of wine. And I drank java like the world was running out of coffee beans.

From the fridge, I called to Marlena, “I’ve got a female vegan college student, a thirty-year-old male triathlete, or . . . Wow, this one says that the donor finished fifth in Tour de France.”

“I’ll go with the cyclist,” she replied. “That sounds good.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m curious what it’s like. I’ve never tasted it myself, obviously.” I joked, “I bet it has a leggy aftertaste.” Whatever that meant.

She laughed halfheartedly at my lame attempt at humor. “Doesn’t Robert tell you what the blood’s like?”

“Um, no. We don’t really discuss his taste in blood.” And we wouldn’t be for some time, either, with Robert’s newly acquired hankering for omelets.

“I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?” she commented.

I poured the blood into a crystal tumbler. I gave Marlena her drink and then took a seat at the table opposite her. “So . . . ? Are you going to tell me what your brought over?”

She started to remove the lid off one of the boxes and then stopped. She drummed her lacquered nails on the lid—glossy black today. Usually she sported red.

“Normally, Mercy, I wouldn’t dream of going to a
human
with something like this.” She said
human
in the same manner a human would say
leper.

I didn’t take offense. Marlena had been a vampire so long that modern forms of politeness were lost on her. She was a tad old school—stuck in her ways—though I couldn’t name what “school” Marlena was actually from. Her age could be two hundred or two thousand for all I knew. I didn’t know her well enough to ask. Some vampires were testy when it came to revealing their age, just like humans. I was certain, however, that Marlena preferred the company of vampires to humans. That was her prerogative. There were plenty of other individuals I preferred being around than Marlena, which she also probably knew.

“You’re saying I should feel flattered?”

Marlena shook her head. “I’m saying that I came to you because this is a matter I do not wish to discuss with vampires . . . or anyone else.”

“Why tell me?” I asked.

“Look, Mercy, I know that you and I aren’t exactly BFF’s.” Her brow furrowed. “This is what women say now, BFF? The modern term for female friendship?”

I bit my lip to stop myself from grinning. “Some do, yes.”

“Whatever the case, you and I have established trust, right?”

“Yes. I hope you trust me, Marlena. I think I proved my trustworthiness to you during my employment at Dignitary.”

“And I you.” We both knew what she’d done for me, and she was far too classy to tack on “for saving your hide.”

“So . . . the boxes?” I prompted. “You said this was Michael’s stuff?”

“Here’s the thing,” she stalled. “Once I let you look . . . You cannot tell anyone what you’ve seen. The information inside these boxes would cause a vampire hysteria that I wouldn’t want to imagine.”

Oh no. I considered Michael’s visions. Could this stuff be related?

“Marlena,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Just let me see.”

She opened one of the boxes and pulled out a stack of journals. They were made of assorted materials: the oldest were worn and leather, the newest glossy and plastic.

“What the . . . ?”

“Wait. There’s more.” Marlena opened the second box. Instead of taking the time to pull out each individual journal, she flipped the whole thing over and dumped out the contents. More journals—piles of them.

I was speechless.

She asked, “Remember how I told you that I suspected Michael had been murdering humans for some time?”

I nodded.

I’d let Marlena believe that I was privy to Michael’s murdering only because
she
had told me about it. The truth was that I’d heard it straight from the horse’s mouth—Michael’s—but it was a detail I’d kept from Marlena since I did not wish to delve into Michael’s prophecies. Vampires were clever—Marlena especially. I feared that if she began prying into the source of my knowledge, she might unearth the not-so-small secret I was keeping about possibly endangering the entire vampire race. Marlena was under the impression that the motivation behind Michael’s murders was old-fashioned jealousy: that Michael had been killing off humans who were involved with vampires romantically because he’d been jilted by a vampire lover back when
he
was human.

Marlena was
so
wrong.

So the less I said, the better.

“It appears Michael had been busier than I thought,” Marlena stated, regarding the journals.

“What do you mean?”

“Each journal represents one of Michael’s human targets. I knew some of these humans personally—like Raquel and Penelope, who, as you are aware, used to decoy for Dignitary. Others, I’ve never heard of. These journals date back many years.” She shook her head in disgust. “There is a lot of information; Michael certainly did his homework. He recorded the history of each human, their blood type—how or why he found that out is beyond me—and their daily schedules. He even drew sketches.”

I asked, “Sketches? Of what?”

“This is why I’m here.”

“Okay, so . . .” I looked over the journals. “Are you telling me that all of these people are dead? There must be two dozen journals here.”

“Twenty-seven,” she said. “But not all of these humans are dead.”

“Oh?”

Marlena plucked one of the newer journals off the table and placed it in my hands. It was large, decorated with red, black, and white stripes.

“This human is still alive. The only one.”

I gasped when I opened the journal. Written on the backside of its cover was a name.

“That’s right, Mercy,” she confirmed. “This is yours.”

Michael had indeed been thorough. I felt nauseous as I flipped through pages that were indicative of a stalker’s twisted scrapbook. He’d somehow obtained a copy of my Dewhurst degree, information on my blood type, and photos of some of my nightly activities: trips to the grocery store with Liz, dates with Robert . . . and, oh man, one of me sleeping, taken from the outside of my bedroom window.

“Flip to the last page,” Marlena said flatly.

I did as she commanded.

I nearly dropped the thing.

“There are similar sketches in all the journals, even the earlier ones that date back decades. You can appreciate, Mercy, why I cannot approach other vampires with this information. Since Michael could truly see visions of the future, I must assume that some part of these drawings are factual.”

I was too horrified to speak.

“I came to you because Michael felt you were important enough to keep tabs on, so I’m hoping you’ll have an idea about what some of it means. And because you’re the only one to have survived.”

I swallowed. “I, uh . . .”

The sketches were of an outdoor scene that featured a group of vampires. They were emerging from coffins, unharmed by the daylight, and staring up at the sun. Some of them were rejoicing while others were weeping. But they all had one thing in common: Every single one of them was holding a set of bloody fangs.

The other sketches were equally peculiar. Some were simply nuts, the ravings of a lunatic in bizarre picture form: splatters of blood, a pile of stakes scattered across dirt, balls of fire. It was impossible to decipher them since no context was given. There were also drawings of a large contemporary building. But what kind of building it was or where it was located was impossible to tell. The drawings did not include telltale details like neighboring structures, automobiles, or trees. For all I knew, the building could have been a dentist’s office in Cincinnati or a nightclub in Cairo. Whatever or wherever the structure was, it was important. I’d come across four separate drawings of the same building so far, and I still hadn’t gone through all the books. Even stranger, Michael had drawn two of the sketches long before buildings like this had been invented. The building depicted could be no older than ten, maybe twenty years old, but the journals I found the sketches in were dated decades earlier than that.

I stared at Marlena. It was strange for her to show up when she did, I realized, right after Robert had become human. Had I been more disposed to paranoia, I’d almost suspect that she had an ulterior motive.

“I may not be able to read minds, but I can plainly
see
that you know something, Mercy,” she said with sharpness. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Why did you come to me with this today?”

Her face was fixed with confusion. “I didn’t. It’s night.”

I slapped a hand against my thigh. “Semantics! That’s not what I meant. Day, night—that’s not the issue! What I mean is, why didn’t you come to me with these journals sooner?”