Читать книгу Vampire Undone - Shannon Curtis - Страница 9

Chapter 2

Natalie groaned as she hid her head under her pillow. She wished she had a gun. If she couldn’t shoot Lucien, she’d shoot herself to put her out of this misery. Maybe she should just use her chain? Lash him with silver. She needed to do something. He was outside her bedroom window, singing.

Badly. Which surprised her, because he had such a deep, sexy voice when he spoke... What happened in his larynx that he could sound like a brawling tomcat when he sang?

“Four hundred and sixteen bottles of beer on the wall...”

He’d started at one thousand bottles of beer on the wall.

She sat up in her bed and glared at the curtains shielding her window. She’d take one of those darn bottles and—Her hands fisted. She couldn’t stand it. All evening, he’d tapped at the windows, the doors. He’d cajoled, he’d teased. Now he was trying torture.

She rolled out of bed, stomped over to the window and whipped aside the curtain. He sat in the crook of the maple tree outside her window, looking way too comfortable for her liking. He stopped singing when she slid up the sash.

Lucien grinned. “Well, hello, minx.”

The nickname stopped her cold. He used to call her that, all those years ago. It had been used in exasperation, affection, but never in that slightly flirty tone.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

“What should I call you? Nina?”

She lifted her chin. Okay, so he knew. Didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. “Don’t call me that, either.”

“Why not? It’s your name.”

“No. Nina died a long time ago. My name is Natalie.”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you’d prefer to call yourself—”

“It is. Now, please go away.” How she didn’t have the neighbors lining up to complain was a mystery. He must have compelled them, damn it.

He folded his arms, eyeing her figure.

She was wearing pajamas from her neck to her ankle. She hadn’t felt comfortable wearing anything less, not with a vampire stalking her home.

“I need to talk with you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”

She glanced at her watch. “That’s fine. Sunrise is in three hours. Nothing like smoked vampire with a side of bacon to go with my morning coffee.” She raised her arms to close the window.

“Four hundred and fifteen bottles of beer on the wall,” he began to warble.

She took a deep breath. She was tired, she was cranky, and if this meant she’d snatch some much needed sleep, she’d let him say his piece and get it over with. “Fine, talk. You have five minutes—and then I’m going to sleep and you can sizzle, for all I care.”

His eyebrows drew together and the downward turn of his mouth reminded her of Terry in one of his snits. “What happened to you? You used to be so nice...”

She snorted as she folded her arms and leaned her hip against the windowsill. “That was a lifetime ago, Lucien.” Literally. She glanced pointedly at her watch. “Four minutes.”

“I need your help.”

She stared at him for a moment but his expression was enigmatic as he stared back at her. He, Lucien Marchetta, scion of the Marchetta vampire colony, needed her help. She burst out laughing.

He arched an eyebrow and her laughter trailed off. She blinked. “Good grief, you’re serious.”

His mouth quirked. “As a heart attack.”

“How could I possibly assist the great Lucien Marchetta?” she asked, curious despite herself. The man moved in circles far removed from her own and, up until a few hours ago, he’d been completely unaware of her existence. From what she’d heard—and there were plenty of stories circulating about the man—he’d been living mainly on the west coast, establishing the family business...which was code for spreading the Marchetta influence to straddle the whole country.

And she...well, she was a professor of mythology and folklore studies, which was code for using teaching students as an opportunity to indulge her keen interest in stories set in bygone eras—and to find answers for her own problems. She couldn’t help him with the Marchetta empire—the idea was so ludicrous, she almost giggled. Almost. She hadn’t giggled in years.

“I was told you’re the best in the field when it comes to everything arcane and mystical,” he said quietly.

She arched her eyebrow. “Don’t think you can flatter me,” she said brusquely, ignoring the warm pride that bloomed in her chest that suggested he could, indeed, flatter her.

“I need to find something.”

She kept her expression impassive but her mind started to race. What was he looking for? Something arcane and mystical, apparently. Something that drew him to a quiet little professor in a quiet little town. What mystical thing could a vampire want or need? A resistance to silver? No, there were any number of witches who could do some sort of protective spell for that.

An object that protected the wearer from sunlight? She knew of some stories that hinted at the existence of such artifacts. A book? Something that could reveal the clues to a lost pre-Troubles treasure? There were so many possibilities and her imagination was going wild.

“What?” She kept her tone cool, casual. She wasn’t interested. Not really. Nope, not—

“Anything that would neutralize a toxin in a vampire’s system.”

Interested. She tilted her head and tried to look nonchalant. “What kind of toxin?”

“The lycanthrope kind.”

She frowned as she digested the remark. Did he just say—? “A werewolf bite?”

He nodded. She lowered her arms as she straightened.

“A werewolf bite,” she repeated slowly to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding her and she wasn’t misunderstanding him.

He said nothing, just met her gaze grimly.

“A werewolf bite,” she said, this time rolling her finger in a circle. “You want to find a vampiric cure for a werewolf bite? You are hearing me, right? A werewolf bite?”

His lips tightened. “Yes, I hear you. And, yes, you’ve got it right. I want to find something that will cure a vampire of a werewolf bite.”

Oh, dear. Time had not been kind to Lucien. It was the only explanation she could think of, for him to have such a mental lapse. Strange, she hadn’t heard of a human condition like dementia striking a vampire before. Still, there was always a first time for everything...

Her arms rose to grasp the window, but he moved swiftly, his body a blur as he shifted to the end of the branch. “I’m serious, Nin—Natalie.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re bat-crap crazy, Lucien. Goodbye.” She began to draw the window down to close, but he slammed his hand on the pane of glass, effectively halting her movement. She flinched at the anger in his blue eyes, the set of his jaw.

“Vivianne’s been bitten and I don’t have much time to find a cure. You’re my last resort, Natalie. Help me.”

His sister. She remembered how close they’d been, how he’d often spoken of her as his partner in all sorts of childish pranks, and how they’d supported each other when it came to his controlling, Reform-senator father. Family. It had always been so important to Lucien.

Yeah, well, family had been important to her, too, once upon a time. Anger warred with sympathy. Anger won. Her eyes narrowed at his words. “Me? Help you? Where were you when I needed you, Lucien?” she snapped. “You don’t get it, do you? You broke your promise to me and as a result I lost everything. Help you? I hate you.”

She slammed the window closed, pulled the curtains across with a snap of fabric and stomped over to her en suite bathroom. She pulled cotton balls from the jar on her bathroom sink, stuffed them in her ears and stomped back to her bed.

Help him, indeed. She pounded her pillow into a comfortable pulp and lay down. She brushed away the tears trailing down her cheek as she glared at the wall.

No, damn it. She refused to care.

* * *

Lucien eased back along the branch toward the trunk of the tree.

I hate you.

He settled himself in the crook of the tree, staring at the darkened, covered window. He couldn’t quite close his mouth, although his fingers clenched around the branches above and to the side of him. Shock. Annoyance. Frustration. Pain. Shock. The emotions tore through him.

He was still trying to process everything. Nina—no, Natalie—was alive. He could barely believe it. He’d suspected it was her when she’d slammed the door in his face. Not because she’d slammed the door, or because she’d resisted his compulsion—he still didn’t know how that worked—but because of the way she’d said his name in such a familiar manner. It had sparked memories of a younger, happier woman.

Who currently hated him.

She was so angry, so bitter—nothing like the young woman he’d once known, the woman whose memory he’d cherished. She also awakened a pain he’d buried deep.

He sagged against the tree. When he’d come looking for Professor Segova, he’d expected a quick, easy, polite discussion with a stranger. After all, he could simply compel the woman to tell him everything he needed to know. She was his last resort, though.

Vivianne had been languishing in her coffin for eight months. The witch, Dave Carter, had placed her under a suspension spell when she’d been bitten by a stray lycan, in an effort to give himself enough time to find something that everybody else didn’t believe existed—a vampire’s cure against the lycan toxin. Eight months, and he’d exhausted every option, had visited every elder, witch, monk, shaman—hell, he’d even tried the mundane human doctors. Nothing. Now, though, Dave had learned of a woman well-versed in ancient lore, who could possibly search through the dusty records for an oblique reference to the cure. Well, that was the plan. And he’d anticipated finding an older woman who would succumb to his compulsion and tell him everything he needed to know.

But, no. Instead he’d found a woman who could not only resist compulsion, but now showed no inclination whatsoever to help him save his sister.

She was right, though. He hadn’t been there when she’d needed him. He’d promised and he’d let her down, and she’d paid the ultimate price. He shifted, guilt and shame weighing uncomfortably on his shoulders. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Nin—no, Natalie. Natalie... He repeated the name over and over in his mind, trying to get it to stick, despite the shock. What the hell was he supposed to do now? His sister’s body was slowly being eaten by the poison. His father would blame him for this death, too. He would lose the only family he knew.

He looked up at the sky. Already the dark was giving way to gray. He’d have to move soon, find someplace dark and protected from sunlight. He eyed the window. He didn’t want to leave her.

She could be the key to saving his sister. She was also the only real friend he’d ever had. His eyes narrowed. He’d twisted himself inside out when he’d heard of her death. And here she was, looking remarkably healthy for a corpse. All those years—decades—he’d tortured himself with remorse for not being there for her, his regret for a treasured life lost had ripped him apart. He’d done dark deeds as a result of that pain, that desolation.

And it had all been for nothing. She lived. Anger tasted like ash in his mouth.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her she was his last resort. Failure was not an option. Natalie Segova would help him save his sister.

He just needed the right leverage.

* * *

Natalie glanced around as she lifted her suitcase into the trunk of her compact car. She’d waited until the sun was truly overhead before stepping out of the house. There was no sign of Lucien. Not that she expected to see him. He was a blood-sucking vampire who sizzled to ash in the sunlight. She hoped he’d crawled back into whatever dark place he’d lived in for the past forty years.

Still, it was a relief he’d finally left. She wasn’t sure when, though. She’d stayed awake all night, listening. Hadn’t slept a wink.

That was probably his evil plan, darn it. She’d had to wait for sunrise, though, before she could start packing. She hadn’t wanted to clue him in to her plans for a speedy departure. It had taken her most of the day to get things sorted.

She lifted her sunglasses to rest on the top of her head as she strode through her kitchen and picked up a box from the table. She’d hastily packed her most prized possessions—whatever she could fit into her car. She’d lived as Natalie Segova for eight years, the longest she’d held on to an identity for decades, so she’d accrued quite a few things. Some old books that were dated pre-Troubles era—before humans realized the shadow breeds existed, and were quite telling of the time—some art, her tools, just in case she ever got close to a dig again. She eyed the contents, then gave a satisfied nod when she spied the small jewelry box tucked inside.

She peeled off her gloves and set them on the table, then reached for the velvet jewelry box. She lifted the lid and gently clasped the locket inside. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the object in her hand, opening her senses. All she could sense, all she could feel, hear and see was a black void. Nothing. She closed up the velvet box and sighed softly in frustration. Still nothing.

She glanced around the room and made a face. She’d been here for so long. It was comfortable. Familiar. She liked it. She liked her work, she liked her students. Heck, she even liked Terry, and good old Rupert who haunted her office. She liked her name, too.

Damn it, she was two years too early. People started to notice after ten years the lack of aging, so she generally made it a practice to move on before folks started to ask questions. But here—she liked here. Now she’d have to create a new name, a new identity. Where was she going to go? What was she going to do? It wasn’t like job opportunities for historians came up regularly.

She tugged on her gloves and lifted the box. She had so much access to information here, information she needed to figure out what the hell was going on with her. Even now she struggled to think of a destination that would help her with her quest. She stomped to her car. She didn’t like moving house. Had done more than her fair share of it. And why was her life in such a state of upheaval?

Lucien. It was all his fault. She dumped the box unceremoniously into the trunk and slammed the lid closed. She clapped her hands together, trying to dislodge as much dust as possible from her gloves. Why should she let another vampire ruin her life?

The thought brought her up short. Maybe she could just ignore him? She snorted. Like anyone could ignore Lucien Marchetta. The man was too good-looking, and too damn determined, to be ignored. She started to drift back toward the house. Send him on his way? Maybe she could get on with her life and to hell with Lucien Marchetta? Just go on living as Natalie Segova...? Her shoulders sagged. No. She couldn’t risk it. If word got out about who—or what—she really was, she wouldn’t have much of a life left, if any.

Being in this position, subject to the whims of a bloodsucker, was damn annoying.

She growled softly as she jogged back into the house to get her bag and keys. It was late afternoon and shadows were creeping across her yard. Dusk came early this close to the mountains. She had to get out of here before Lucien came back. And he would. If there was one thing she remembered about the man, it was how ruthless he could be when his family was threatened.

Her mouth turned down. What she would have given to have that fierce protection pointed in her direction. Well, obviously his regard for her hadn’t cut as deep as hers had for him. She straightened her shoulders. If wishes were horses, there would be no shadow breeds, damn it.

She returned to her car, slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

She frowned, turned the key back to its original position and then tried again. Still nothing. She checked the fuel gauge. She still had a half tank of gas. Her eyes narrowed as she popped the hood and climbed out of the car. She lifted the hood, propping it open with the car rod, then rested her hands on the rim of the engine bay as she surveyed inside. It didn’t take her long to notice the distributor cap was missing.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

She heaved back off the car, her hands fisting as she took a few steps in one direction, then turned and stalked a few steps in another direction.

That weaselly, sneaky, clever bloodsucker. How had he known? She knocked the rod down and slammed the hood back into place. Well played, Lucien. Well played. She took a deep breath. Now what?

She whipped her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and sent a text to her research assistant, Ned Henderson, asking to borrow his truck tomorrow. When the sun came up, Lucien would be forced to find cover, and she’d be able to flee. She nodded. That was the safest course of action. Sure, she hated delaying her escape, but it was better to be thorough and alive than impulsive and dead. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Great. Now she just needed to make it through the night. She grabbed her bag and keys, hesitated, then removed her suitcase from the trunk. She may as well be comfortable tonight. She hurried to her back door and had just opened it when she heard footfalls on the porch steps behind her. She whirled, surprised.

Lucien leaned against the porch railing, his eyes looking so startlingly blue with his dark hair. His black shirt was open at the collar and he was wearing a black coat that fell halfway to his knees. She frowned. She’d always thought he was handsome. Dreamy, even. Now, though, all these years later, she was aware of him in a way that was new and...unwelcome. She let go of her suitcase and subtly adjusted her grip on her tote, her hand sliding inside. She kept her gaze on him as she grasped the handle of her blade.

Despite the brisk breeze, his coat was open, revealing the dark shirt beneath. He folded his arms, the fabric pulling taut against his shoulders as he smiled. A slow, seductive curve of his lips. His gaze traveled from the top of her head to the tip of her sneakers, lingering on her curves. She swallowed. She wasn’t used to him looking at her like that. Not for forty years. Not ever. It wasn’t friendly, or exasperated, or even angry. No, it was provocative. She swallowed again and the corners of his mouth kicked up in a knowing smile.

She dropped her suitcase and bag and then whirled, stepping toward her doorway, to safety. She needed to get inside. He moved in a blur, slipping between her and escape. She gasped and jerked back, raising her hand. He caught her wrist and he slid his other hand up the doorjamb, skillfully using his body to crowd her back against the external wall of her home.

He eyed the silver blade in her hand with mild interest and squeezed just enough for her to wince at the pins and needles. Her grip relaxed. The dagger fell, its blade burying itself in the wooden slat of the decking. He let go of her wrist and brought his hand up to brace it against the clapboard at the side of her head.

He met her gaze intently as he leaned forward, effectively cornering her against her home. He tilted his head to glance at the suitcase at her feet and arched an eyebrow.

“Going somewhere?”