Authors: Nina Mason
Beau Armstrong was still on the sofa, still covered with the throw, but awake.
“How do you feel this morning?” Callum asked with genuine concern.
“I’ve been better,” Armstrong complained. “The spot where ya’ll bit me feels like spit on a hot griddle.”
“That will pass.”
“When?”
“In a few more days.” Callum shrugged. “Give or take.”
“Lucky me.”
Callum fought the urge to roll his eyes. The transformation was painful, but far from agonizing. Armstrong needed to buck up. “Look on the bright side, eh? At least you’re not dead. Or in Avalon.”
“I almost wish I were,” Armstrong muttered, eyes closing. “Dead, I mean. What am I going to tell my wife? And my kids?”
Sudden spite narrowed Callum’s eyes. “Perhaps you should have thought about that before you took up with another woman.”
“It wasn’t like that, I swear.” Armstrong pushed up on his elbows and gave Callum a look that radiated sincerity. “It was business. Ask her yourself if you don’t believe me. I was a perfect gentleman, even after she came onto me.”
Jealousy dragged its sharp green claws across Callum’s heart. Though she’d not been herself at the time, that didn’t make it any easier to stomach the idea of her making advances toward Armstrong or any other man.
“Besides the bite, how do you feel?”
“Thirsty enough to drink from the toilet. And horny enough to hump your leg.”
“That’s the bloodlust. Until you’re strong enough to hunt, you’re going to have it so bad you’ll think you’re losing your mind.”
“Oh, joy,” Armstrong returned, closing his eyes. “I can’t wait.”
Fed up, Callum started to walk away. “Let me know when you’re done moaning, so I can share a few things you ought to know about your new lifestyle.”
“Wait. I’m done. Tell me.”
Turning back, Callum took the chair he’d pulled over last night. “First, I have a question for you. What are your plans for your business and Vanessa?”
Armstrong lay back down with a sigh and draped his forearm over his brow. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Aye, well. Don’t put it off too long, eh? I can’t hang around indefinitely.”
“How long are you planning to stay?” Vanessa asked from the hallway.
Callum glanced her way, noting the pink kimono and black stockings. He wanted her again rather badly and hoped she’d be up for another go when he’d finished with Armstrong.
“Would you be a love and get the poor sod some ice to put on the bite?”
“Of course,” she said, changing direction.
She went through a swinging door he assumed led into the kitchen. The sounds that followed confirmed his guess. The breaking seal of a freezer, the clatter of ice, and the thud of a cupboard door.
A few moments later, she returned with a plastic bag filled with broken cubes and handed it over the back of the couch to Armstrong, who pressed it against the wound on his neck.
Callum waited until she met his gaze before offering her his most charming smile. “Would coffee be too much trouble?”
“Not at all,” she replied with a smile that warmed his cockles. “I’ll just go and put some on.”
He watched her return to the kitchen, gaze glued to her curvaceous arse, thoughts leaping forward to bedding her again.
“It’s mighty decent of you to hang around to show me the ropes,” Armstrong said.
Callum pulled himself back to the moment. “Aye, though my motives are selfish ones. Over the next few days, you’re going to want to fuck something so badly you’ll think you’ve lost your senses. I’m not about to leave you here alone with my Nessa.” With a grin, he added, “So, it’s either stay to keep an eye on you or cut off your cock.”
Armstrong paled. “In that case, I’m even more grateful you’ve elected to hang around.”
The word “elected” gave Callum a qualm. He needed to make his mind up about the campaign. The longer he delayed, the harder withdrawing would become.
Vanessa came back into the room, announced the coffee was on, and went down the hall toward the bedroom. The urge to follow her twitched in Callum’s groin. God, how he’d missed her. More than he ever thought he could miss a lass.
“So tell me,” Armstrong said, regaining his attention, “besides the cravings for blood and sex, what else is there to being a vampire?”
“We’re not vampires.”
“We drink blood, which makes us vampires in my book.”
“I’m not interested in your book. You’re an Avalonian drone, a subject—or, rather
slave
—of Queen Morgan Le Fay. If she finds out you exist, you’ll likely be executed—if you’re lucky.”
Armstrong went white and licked his lips. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s the unlucky alternative?”
“Enslavement and sexual servitude. Though she’s also fond of torture and castration.”
Callum proceeded to explain the castes of drones and their duties, after which Armstrong remarked, “I could think of worse things than being a boy toy to a horde of beautiful faeries.”
“Trust me,” Callum said, shuddering as the memories of his enslavement and torture washed over him, “being a sex slave gets old bloody quick.”
Vanessa reappeared and threw a worried glance toward the men. “Beau, please tell me you’re not considering feeding on humans. I was a vegetarian and an animal rights activist before I was turned, and I don’t think I could bear it if I knew you were preying on people.”
Armstrong sat up and looked her way. “No offense, sweetheart, but you should have thought about that last night. Before you took off my clothes and started sucking my blood.”
Vanessa’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. “What happened last night wasn’t my fault,” she insisted. “I was under the power of the bloodlust.”
Callum wanted to say the degree of fault was debatable, but held his tongue. He wanted to fuck the lass, not pick a fight.
When Vanessa disappeared through the swinging door, Armstrong turned back to Callum. “Can I feed on both?”
“Aye, as long as you’re discreet. If you start feeding on random strangers, you’ll have to erase their memories. You don’t want word getting back to Queen Morgan that there’s an unaccounted-for drone running around the Hitherworld. She’s not particularly bright, but she’ll connect the dots soon enough. And my life depends on her believing I’m dead.”
Vanessa came back in with a tray holding three steaming mugs. “If you adopt the animal way,” she said as she approached, “you can assimilate as much as you want. See your kids, keep your business, lead a normal life, blend in.”
“Personally, I’m against too much assimilation.” Callum rubbed his morning-whiskered chin. That was one of the reasons he was uncomfortable with his decision about Parliament. “But I don’t have a family. Perhaps I’d feel differently if I did.”
As Vanessa held the tray between the two men, Armstrong sat up, took one of the mugs, and looked at Callum. “Can drones reproduce with human women?”
“Aye. We’re extremely fertile, so be careful where you stick your cock, eh? We don’t need a lot of half-breeds running about the Hitherworld drawing the attention of Queen Morgan and Lord Morfryn.”
Armstrong arched a dark eyebrow. “Lord Morfryn? Oberon’s evil twin?”
“Aye,” Callum said, claiming a mug. “He’s the dark overlord to which all the denizens of the Thitherworld must pay a tithe every seven years.”
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Callum sipped his coffee, savoring the rich flavor and aroma, as his gaze followed Vanessa down the hall. If he didn’t hurry, she’d be dressed before he got there. Not that he couldn’t take her clothes off again, but still.
Rising from his chair, he grinned down at Armstrong. “Anything else you care to know?”
“When can I go home?”
“Right after I do,” Callum returned noncommittally. He was hoping to convince Armstrong over the next few days to simply disappear into the shadows of New Orleans. He’d read him while they talked and knew the man’s marriage wasn’t a happy one. Maybe this was a good excuse to walk away from it. The last thing a drone needed was a wife who wouldn’t put out.
Callum retrieved his suitcase from the porch and headed back into the bedroom. To his dismay, Vanessa wasn’t there. The sound of running water told him she was in the bathroom. Leaving her to her toilette, he set his suitcase on the bed, opened it up, and took out a fresh set of clothes and the zippered leather pouch containing his razor and toothbrush.
The water shut off and a few moments later, Vanessa appeared in the doorway, still in the kimono.
“How’s Beau?”
“Well enough.”
Callum laid out his fresh clothes—jeans and a black T-shirt—and began to remove last night’s trousers.
“Do you think it’s safe to leave him alone for a while?”
“Why?” Now naked, Callum sat on the bed, hoping she’d take the hint and join him.
She didn’t. Instead, she said, “I thought we’d go over to Napoleon House so you can check out that chap I told you about.”
“I suppose it would be all right,” he said, hiding his disappointment behind a smile. “As long as we’re not gone too long.”
* * * *
It was close to eleven o’clock, hotter than hell, and as steamy as a Turkish bath. Callum was behind the wheel of Vanessa’s Taurus and doing a stellar job considering he’d never driven on the left side of the car or the road. He also didn’t know his way around New Orleans, not that she could claim more than a nodding familiarity herself. Luckily, she had a GPS app and Google Maps at her disposal.
As they drove through the French Quarter, she pointed out some of the local sites and shared a few of Beau’s more interesting stories, including the one about Jack St. Germain. Callum seemed genuinely interested and in a good spirits, so she hoped their day together would be pleasant despite their troubles.
The Napoleon House—a three-story stucco building that had seen better days—was located at the corner of Chartres and Saint Louis, two blocks west of the cathedral. The interior had the feel of an old English pub with its beamed ceilings, weathered plaster walls, mismatched tables, and massive wooden bar. The courtyard had a much more Mediterranean feel with its potted palms, ceiling fans, and white tablecloths. As inviting as the
al fresco
option was, they opted for a table with air-conditioning.
A striking mulatto woman showed them to their table and took their drink order. Vanessa asked for the Pimm’s Cup—the bar’s signature drink—while Callum requested their best single-malt, as predicted.
“Is Finn working today?” Vanessa asked the server as she turned to go.
“He is.” The waitress glanced toward the bar, where no one appeared to be on duty. “Are you friends of his?”
“Not really,” Vanessa told her. “He did me a service a few nights ago and told me to pop in sometime for a cocktail and to say hello. So, here I am.”
“Well,” the woman said, “he’s around here somewhere. When I see him, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
The restaurant wasn’t what Vanessa would call crowded, but there were several other patrons drinking, eating, and chatting away. It seemed like a nice place—a little rough around the edges, perhaps, but in a way that was more old-world than run-down. The classical music pouring out of the jukebox contributed to the sophisticated ambiance.
As Vanessa drank it all in, she noticed a man sitting alone at a corner table. Something about him seemed familiar and, as she studied him, trying to work out where she knew him from, he met her gaze. Surprise registered on his face before he hid it behind a friendly smile.
Face heating, she returned the smile briefly before looking away. She set her hand on Callum’s arm and gave it a squeeze. Offering her the sweetest of smiles, he set his hand atop hers.
“Mo bhilis.”
It sounded to her like “ma vilis” and he’d said it in the soft way one utters an endearment, making her warm as well as curious. “What did you just say?”
“
Mo bhilis
,” he repeated. “It means ‘my sweet’ in Gaelic.”
She liked that, liked having him here, liked that he seemed to want to work things out to their mutual satisfaction. She couldn’t see the way right now, but she was definitely willing to go down that path. She wanted to be with him, wanted to believe he was her one true love. Somewhere along the way, he’d restored her faith in romance. He’d also stolen her heart.
The clatter of ice drew her gaze toward the bar. There was Finn, fixing her drink. Callum’s whisky already sat on the bar in a low-ball glass.
“There he is,” she whispered, leaning closer to Callum. “Let’s go over and say hello before he disappears again.”
As they both got up, their chair legs scraped loudly, drawing Finn’s attention. Recognition bloomed on his face along with a smile.
“I told you I’d come by when I could,” she said, rushing up to the bar. “Thank you again for coming to my rescue.”
“It was my pleasure,” Finn said with a dazzling smile.
She took Callum’s arm and pulled him closer. “This is Callum Lyon, my”—she stopped herself, unsure how to fill in the blank— “erm, the guy I told you about.”
When Callum offered his hand, Finn stopped what he was doing to give it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m Finn MacKnight.”
“Likewise.” Callum gave the man the cool once-over. “And thank you for coming to my lady’s aid when I wasn’t available to do so myself.”
“I was glad to be of service.” Finn returned to mixing the cocktail on the bar. As he wedged a cucumber slice among the ice cubes, he pushed the Pimm’s Cup toward the whisky. “These, I believe, are your drinks,” he said, looking up with a smile. “Would you like to take them back with you or shall I have Serena bring them over?”
In the daylight, Vanessa could see more clearly how truly handsome Finn was. Chiseled features, strong jaw, wavy dark hair, piercing blue eyes. The soft luminance of faery blood was evident in his swarthy complexion upon closer inspection.
Now that he and Callum were side-by-side, she realized Finn’s blood smelled even sweeter than her lion’s, making her suspect her Good Samaritan might be one of the good folk of Elphame, which also would explain his act of kindness toward her.
They thanked Finn once more before taking their drinks back to the table, where, voices low and heads together, they exchanged speculations while enjoying their beverages. The Pimm’s Cup—a blend of brandy, lemonade, and lemon-lime soda—was as delightfully refreshing as she’d hoped.