A Bite to Remember (8 page)

She paused then and he suspected Jackie was biting her lip on commenting on the fact that he hadn’t bothered to open such important mail. Clearing her throat, she gestured to the last pile. “This pile is the important one. It’s what I was looking for when I opened your mail in the first place.”

“What are they?” Vincent asked, picking up the top letter.

“They’re unusual fan letters and nasty letters from angry employees who were fired, and upset actors and actresses who were passed over for roles. They’re possible suspects.”

Vincent grunted and read the letter he’d picked up. It was only a couple of lines long. He read it, paused, then reread it, his hunger suddenly forgotten.

I know who you are. I know what you are.

Frowning, he glanced at the envelope Jackie had stapled to it. The postal cancellation was local and dated little more than two months old, the return address was his own. He shifted the letter and envelope to the bottom of the pack and read the next, and the next. The first several were all the same. Short. Simple.

I know who you are. I know what you are.

Then one read:

Oops, someone had an accident.

Vincent stiffened and glanced at the envelope. It was dated the day after the stage set accident where the actress had broken her arm. Frowning, he set it aside and looked at the next. It read:

Oops, someone stumbled.

Vincent knew what he would find before he even looked at the envelope, but he checked anyway and his mouth flattened out with anger as he saw it had been posted the day after Dan Henson broke his leg.

“These are from him?” Vincent said, shifting that letter to the bottom to reveal the next.

Someone was thirsty.

He wasn’t surprised to find the cancellation was New York and was dated in the midst of his cast members coming down with their contagious anemia.

“Yes, it would seem so,” Jackie said, taking them from him. “But they might not be. They’re creepy, but don’t make any threats. And they’re all posted the day after the events. It could just be someone with a sick sense of humor.”

When Vincent snorted at the possibility, she shrugged. “I
don’t want to jump to conclusions. Any of these other letters might be from him. Tiny and I will look into them all.”

Vincent nodded and then asked, “Why did you want the list of employees?”

“I’ll have to check into everyone working for you, but I want to start with the play you were rehearsing in New York.”

“Why especially that one?”

“Four of the plays were already open when the actresses or actors walked and anyone who went to them could see who was the lead and so on. But that isn’t the case with two of them, one in Canada and the one in New York. You hadn’t yet publicized who was in
Dracula, the Musical,
had you?” she asked.

“No. We were still in rehearsal and preparing promotion, but hadn’t released any information yet,” he admitted.

Jackie nodded. “The attacks in New York would have to have been carried out by someone with access to the sets and actors. To have been biting your cast, they had to first know who was
in
your cast. I presume the rehearsals weren’t open to just anyone who felt like wandering in off the street?”

“No.” Vincent sighed. “There were security guards on the doors at the theatre we were using in New York to be sure no one came in.”

Jackie pointed out, “Of course, one of your kind could have controlled the minds of the security guards to allow them to get in. If that’s the case, the lists won’t help. We’ll just have to hope he took a job on set to assist in gaining access. Otherwise, we’ll have trouble tracking him down.”

When Vincent frowned, she added, “We’ll worry about
that after we go through the people on the list, which we’ll do the minute your production assistant faxes them over.” She pursed her lips. “That could be a while. This Lily has to actually go to the office and then find the files.”

Picking up the first stack of letters, Jackie moved around the desk, passing Vincent on her way to the closet. He inhaled as she went by, eyes closing briefly at the scent of spices and her own skin. God, she smelled good. And he was so hungry. Vincent was always hungry when he first got up, but this went beyond that. The more he stood about looking at and smelling Jackie, the hungrier he got, to the point that he was now almost unbearably ravenous. If he didn’t leave soon he might be moved to do something rash, which was never a good thing. His kind learned at a young age that rash behavior could be deadly behavior.

Forcing his eyes open, Vincent saw that Jackie was framed in the door of the closet. She was muttering to herself and shaking her head as she bent to rifle briefly through the large box of mail on the floor. His gaze trailed over her pert bottom as her gray skirt pulled tight over her behind and he found himself licking his lips as he imagined walking over, running his hands over those sweet curves, then letting his hands slide up and around her waist as she straightened in surprise before him.

Vincent could almost hear her little murmur of surprise as he’d urge her bottom back against his groin. Cuddling her there, he’d then let his fingers slide up over her stomach, urging her jacket open so that he could cup her full breasts through the silk material of her red top. He’d hold them as she arched into the caress, then urge her long blond hair to
the side, baring her neck. He’d press kisses to her neck and then—

Vincent stopped his thoughts abruptly as he felt his teeth slide out. He then blinked in surprise as he realized it wasn’t the only part of his body that had responded to his imaginings. He was sporting a very healthy erection that was making a tent out of his cotton pajama bottoms. Even more surprising, as Vincent had imagined what he would do, his feet had carried him over to stand behind Jackie. He was close enough to smell her sweet perfume and it was a sort of torture that only increased his hunger, both of them.

Giving himself a mental shake, Vincent backed a step away and then turned on his heel and moved to the door. He had to feed.
Now
.

He glanced back toward Jackie as he opened the door, but she was still busy in the closet. Leaving her to it, Vincent slid silently out of the room.

Jackie stared at the heaping box of mail in the office closet and shook her head. How the man made any money was beyond her. He didn’t answer his fan mail, didn’t even look at his business letters, and his accountant must be charging him through the roof for sorting through the mess in his closet.

“You seriously do need a P.A., Argeneau. It’s just an incredible waste of money having your accountant wade through this junk and—”

Jackie paused and scowled as she turned to find the office empty. The man had slid out as silently as a thief while her back was turned. Frowning, she moved to the door and opened it to peer into the hall just in time to see Vincent stop one of
the security guys as he came down the stairs. She watched narrow-eyed as he spoke to the man, then he suddenly herded the worker into a side door further down the hall. And herding was the only word for it. Jackie pictured the poor man as a sheep being led to the slaughter. Not that she thought Vincent would kill him. He was just going to feed on him, she was sure.

Jackie slipped out of the office and moved quickly down the hall to pause outside the door the two men had disappeared through. She glanced quickly around to be sure no one was in the hall to see, then pressed an ear to the wood and held her breath as she listened.

Not a sound came from the room. Not a word. Not a murmur. Nothing.

After another hesitation, her mouth flattened out grimly and Jackie opened the door and slid inside to peer around. She spotted Vincent and the worker almost at once. The security man stood across the room, staring out of the window. Vincent stood behind him, his teeth sunk into the man’s neck.

“Ah-ha!” Jackie cried as she slammed the door closed behind her.

Vincent stiffened and then whirled to face her, guilt on his face and a drop of blood by the corner of his mouth. The worker didn’t react at all.

“I thought you said you didn’t feed on your employees!” Jackie snapped, hands on hips.

Vincent’s mouth curled down with displeasure. “I don’t. He’s not
my
employee.”

“Oh, that’s just semantics,” she protested. “He’s in the
employ of a company in your employ. That makes him your employee, if only indirectly.”

Vincent opened his mouth to respond, then paused and turned back to his dinner. The worker immediately began to move. His face utterly blank, he turned around and crossed the room.

Knowing that Vincent controlled him and was probably sending him from the room and back to where he belonged, Jackie opened the door and held it for him to exit, but turned to raise an eyebrow in Vincent’s direction before closing it. The vampire ignored her look of enquiry for another moment, his attention wholly on the laborer. She knew he was rearranging the man’s memories and thoughts, so waited patiently until he glanced her way and nodded.

Jackie immediately closed the door as soundlessly as possible and then waited for Vincent to speak. He didn’t keep her waiting long.

“I was hungry.”

“That’s it?” she asked with disbelief. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

Vincent shrugged. “I was hungry so I fed. What do you do when you’re hungry?”

“It’s hardly the same thing,” Jackie growled.

“Why? Because you feed on fluffy little baby cows and chickens and I feed on mortals?”

Jackie could only glare in response.

“At least my feedings do not necessitate the death of my chosen meal,” Vincent pointed out dryly.

Jackie found herself blinking several times in response to this comment. She was at a loss for words. Not a single
argument was coming to her aid here and for a moment frustration reared within her, but then she realized there simply was no argument to that. She and her kind—mortals—did kill to eat. His kind didn’t have to kill to survive. In effect, immortals did much less harm to their chosen meal than mortals did, she realized, and suddenly felt on uneven ground as most of her outrage slipped away like smoke.

Before Jackie could rally her defenses, he started forward, continuing, “I was hungry. I always wake up hungry, and you smelled as delicious as Tiny’s homemade cookies. However, you and Tiny are off limits for biting, so I bit one of the workers from the security company.” He shrugged. “As you saw for yourself, he walked out of here. He was not unduly harmed, and will not remember the occasion. I am sated for now and no harm was done except perhaps to your delicate sensibilities.”

Jackie had to force herself not to take a step back when he paused directly in front of her. Vincent was close enough that she could smell him, close enough she could feel the heat from his naked chest, close enough she could touch him if she chose to and part of her really, really wanted to. Instead, Jackie barked, “My delicate sensibilities?”

Managing to tear her eyes away from his very close, very wide chest she scowled at Vincent. “Is that some kind of insult?”

Vincent raised his eyebrows, looking every bit as arrogant and condescending as his kind could get. “Not at all. I am simply surprised that someone who knows so well what we are, and has worked with us for so long, would be so
shocked and outraged when she sees us doing what it is in our nature to do.”

“Doing what it is in your nature to do,” Jackie echoed grimly. For some reason the words reminded her of the old fable about the scorpion and the frog. The scorpion convinced a frog to give it a ride across a river, but stung it halfway across. As the frog began to sink under the river’s surface, taking the scorpion with it, he asked why, and the scorpion said it was “in his nature.”

It was a good reminder to her, Jackie supposed. She mustn’t ever forget that Vincent was an immortal, a vampire with a vampire’s nature and attitudes. She and Tiny—and every other mortal he encountered—were probably nothing more than walking dinner to him.

Still, his irritation with her upset urged her to remind him, “The others of your kind drink blood from a cup, or even straight from the bag, but you’re the only one who actually bites people.”

“Hardly the only one,” Vincent said with a shrug that drew her attention back to his bare chest. “Simply the only one you’ve met.”

Jackie knew that was true, but she was finding it terribly difficult to think with the man standing so close.

“Besides,” he pointed out. “You wouldn’t have seen it at all if you’d simply minded your own business, rather than followed me in here.”

That, unfortunately, was also true. She’d followed him in here expecting to catch him in the act, had even
wanted
to, but this was his home and it really was none of her business. Unfortunately, Jackie was very curious about his feeding.
Tilting her head to the side, she gave in to that curiosity.

“Do you prefer men or women?” she asked and then—when he stiffened—added hastily, “To bite.”

Vincent relaxed and shrugged. “Do you prefer meat from a male or female cow?”

“There isn’t a difference,” she said with confusion. “Steak is steak.”

“And so it is with me. When I’m hungry, I don’t care. Whichever is handiest or easiest to get to; it’s all blood whether from a male or female.”

“Oh.” While she could understand that blood was blood, Jackie still found it surprising that—to him—feeding was just feeding. None of the files had got this in depth into their feeding habits. Most had been filled with data about the history of their people, each person’s individual history, and so on.

The only thing any of the files had said about their feeding habits was that they could survive on blood without food, but not food without blood. That they were now restricted by their council to feeding off bagged blood rather than off living hosts except in cases of emergency, or necessity such as in Vincent and his father, Victor’s, case. And the only exception was love bites as they were called, bites between an immortal and a consenting mortal or immortal lover. Jackie had some experience with the last rule. She’d consented to let Cassius bite her while they were dating and it had always been an incredibly erotic experience. In fact, it made it hard for her to imagine that feeding might not be that mind-blowing, sexy, whole-body rush of pleasure that she’d known.