About a Vampire (8 page)

Holly fretted over all of this as she followed Justin downstairs and out the front door. She expected him to have a vehicle of his own, so was surprised when he led the way to her own car.

“We're taking my car?” she asked, pausing in front of the old beater.

“It's how I got here from the hotel. I followed you,” he announced and opened the passenger door for her.

Holly walked reluctantly to the open door, then paused and turned to peer at him with sudden understanding. “You made the taxi driver let me go into the house.”

“You're welcome,” he said for an answer and turned to walk around and get into the driver's side.

“Thank you,” Holly mumbled and slid into the car to watch him dig her keys out of a side pocket of . . . her purse? She hadn't noticed him grabbing that on the way out. It must be when he'd done it, but she'd been so distracted with her own thoughts she'd apparently missed it.

Holly shrugged and simply waited for him to get in. She had no problem with his driving. If anything, she'd prefer it at that point. She was a bit shaken up by everything at the moment, a fine tremor running through her body, and was happy to leave the driving to him.

“Seat belt.”

Holly glanced over with disbelief when Justin muttered that as he got behind the steering wheel. “Are you serious?”

He peered to her with surprise. “Well, yeah. It's safer.”

“Safer how? I'm a vampire,” she pointed out. “I can't die.”

“You're an immortal, not a vampire. And of course you can die. Everyone can die. Even us,” he assured her.

Holly goggled at him. “Do you even hear yourself?
Immortal
by definition means never dying.”

“Yes, well, it's something of a misnomer then,” he muttered, starting the engine. “You can die. You're just harder to kill . . . and you'll never age. Or get sick, and you'll heal from nearly every wound.”

“Then how can we die?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Beheading. Or burning. We're very flammable.”

“Hot stuff,” Holly murmured, unsure where the words came from. It was like a memory, but not . . . just the words echoing in her head. She glanced to Justin, surprised to find him staring at her with an odd expression on his face. “What?”

He hesitated, but then shook his head. “Nothing.”

Holly peered at him silently for a moment, and then leaned her head back. Her stomach was killing her. It had started with a mild gnawing sensation earlier, but now it was like someone had poured acid into her stomach. Or like a million little piranha were eating her alive from the inside out. And the shaky sensation she'd had earlier had turned into full-­on tremors. In truth, she felt sick as a dog, but he'd said they didn't get sick, so Holly supposed this was something else . . . hunger maybe. Despite being away from James, she could still smell the tinny sweetness of blood in her nostrils . . . and she wanted it.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and repeatedly, trying to calm down and rid herself of the sensations attacking her. It didn't help though; the more she inhaled, the more that remembered tinny scent filled her head. It was like James had followed them into the car and was sitting right beside her.

Surely Justin couldn't be giving off that scent? Could he? She wondered suddenly. He had said they were still human, so she supposed they still had blood.

Holly felt something shifting in her mouth as she had that thought, and instinctively ran her tongue around her teeth, stiffening when she pricked her tongue on a needle sharp canine. One of the fangs she'd spotted in the bathroom mirror, she thought at once and then tasted the blood in her own mouth. It was a little bit of heaven. Holly found herself sucking at her own tongue, drawing it farther back from her teeth in an effort to draw more blood from it, but apparently the wound had already closed. There was no blood to be had.

She sat still and silent for a moment, but then couldn't resist deliberately running her tongue across one fang again, this time inflicting a good gash on the sensitive tip. It hurt like the devil, but tasted so good. If anyone had told Holly a month, a week, or even a day ago that she would enjoy and even begin to crave the taste of blood like a drug addict jonesing for heroin, she would have laughed in their face. But right at that moment, as the sweet juice slid over her taste buds and down her throat, it was nectar . . . and she wanted more . . . and if she was still human enough to have blood in her body, then so was Justin.

J
ustin glanced to Holly as he pulled into the hotel parking lot. He'd noticed her closing her eyes at the start of the drive and she now appeared to be sleeping. He turned his attention back to driving as he found a parking spot and steered into it. Then he turned off the engine, undid his seat belt and turned in his seat to peer at her. He'd stared at Holly a lot as she'd gone through the turn. Through most of that, though, her expression had been a rictus of agony, which was really unattractive. Not that he'd cared. He'd attended more than a ­couple of turnings over time and had known to expect that. Now however, while her mouth was stern and grim with what he suspected was pain, her expression was still more natural than he'd yet seen it.

Holly had lovely, long dark raven hair and . . . well, an average face, he supposed, but it was beautiful to him. Her face was almost an oval. At the beginning of the turn, it had been rounder. Her body had also been fuller with more curves to it. She'd been what ­people nowadays would have considered heavy. But he'd always liked larger women; they were soft and warm and . . .

Justin let those thoughts go. While Holly had carried the extra weight he liked on a woman, she no longer did . . . and he still liked her. Hell, she could be a bag of bones and he'd like her. The woman was his life mate . . . and completely untouchable, he reminded himself unhappily.

That thought firmly in mind, Justin leaned forward and gave her shoulder a shake to wake her. He barely touched her arm, though, before she moved. The woman struck like lightning, thrusting up out of her seat and launching at him, driving him back against the driver's door as she crawled into his lap like some nightmare creature. She was going for his throat, fangs bared when the driver's door suddenly opened behind him and they both spilled out onto the pavement. Justin was on the bottom, his head crashing into the black tar surface with enough impact to briefly stun him.

By the time the pain in his head receded enough to allow him to open his eyes, Lucian was standing over him with an unconscious Holly in his arms. There was a quickly fading red mark on her forehead. Scowling, he scrambled to his feet and reached for her at once. “What did you do?”

“Took control of the situation,” Lucian said calmly. “Grab her purse and close the car door.”

Justin hesitated, but then did as instructed, quickly snatching her purse off the car floor where it had fallen and then locking and closing the door. It was a waste of time though, since the front driver's window was broken.

“You hit her, didn't you?” Justin asked grimly as he turned back toward Lucian. But Lucian wasn't there anymore. He was already halfway across the parking lot, heading swiftly for the hotel door. Cursing, Justin scrambled to catch up. He wanted to demand Lucian give her to him, but that didn't seem a good idea. Holding her close when he couldn't claim her was likely to be torture for him so instead he asked again, “You hit her, didn't you?”

“She was about to tear out your throat,” Lucian said mildly. “I prevented that.”

“By knocking her out with a blow to the head,” Justin said grimly. “Why the hell didn't you just take control of her mind and stop her that way?”

“She was mad with blood lust and beyond controlling in that moment,” Lucian answered and when Justin continued to glare, asked, “Would you rather I had let her tear out your throat and then executed her for doing it?”

Justin scowled, but then said, “I was raised that it isn't right to hit women.”

“It isn't,” Lucian agreed. “Unless they're new turns who don't know better than to rip out the throat of the first walking blood bag that comes along.”

“I am not a walking blood bag,” Justin said through clenched teeth as they entered the hotel.

“You were to her,” Lucian said with a shrug.

Knowing he couldn't win the argument, Justin let it go and briefly fell silent as they crossed the lobby to the elevators. Other than a quick glance from one or two employees of the hotel, no one paid them any attention, and Justin knew Lucian was quickly taking control of minds and changing what was seen.

Justin let him concentrate on the task and didn't speak again until they entered the elevator, and then it was to ask, “What were you doing in the parking lot anyway?”

“Decker and Anders had just dropped me off when you pulled in.”

“And where did they go after dropping you?” Justin asked.

Lucian shifted Holly over his shoulder to free up his hands. He then grabbed his phone out of his pocket, punched a button and lifted the phone to his ear, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that his arm rested under Holly's sweet derriere . . . and that Justin was growling deep in his throat with displeasure at that fact.

“He's here,” Lucian barked into the phone and then added, “So is she, so finish your business quickly. Call when you're done and we'll meet at the airport.”

“The airport?” Justin echoed.

Lucian stepped through the opening elevator doors and started up the hall.

“Why are we going to the airport?” Justin asked, scrambling after him.

“Because we're done here. We're going home,” Lucian said as if that should be obvious.”

“But—­what about Holly?” Justin asked with concern.

“We're taking her with us.”

“And her husband?” he asked with amazement.

“He can't come.”

Justin stopped walking briefly and gaped after him. “Did you just make a joke?”

Lucian turned back to peer at him with one eyebrow raised. “When?”

“Never mind,” Justin muttered, starting forward again. Of course, Lucian Argeneau hadn't made a joke. The man had absolutely no sense of humor.

“You have five minutes to pack your things,” Lucian announced, stopping at the door across from Justin's and digging a keycard out of his pocket. “Then we have to leave.”

“But—­” Justin broke off. Lucian had already unlocked and entered the opposite room and was kicking the door closed behind him.

Mouth tightening, Justin turned to unlock his own door, muttering, “She's
my
damned life mate, or would be if she wasn't married. And first it was, ‘She's your responsibility, you have to train and watch her.' Now it's, ‘Go pack, Justin, I've got her in my caveman grip.' ”

“Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity.”

Justin whirled around just in time to catch the bag of blood that Lucian tossed at him.

“For the road,” Lucian announced and then closed the door again.

Heaving a sigh, Justin popped the bag to his fangs and went into his room. He didn't know what the hell was going on, but if Lucian said pack, it was probably best to do so.

 

Five

H
olly turned sleepily onto her side and burrowed into the blankets with a little sigh. The bed was so warm and comfortable . . . too comfortable, she realized suddenly and pushed against the darkness trying to reclaim her, swimming for consciousness as her mind listed off what was wrong with this bed. The bed she shared with her husband was a cheap one she'd got on sale at eighteen. It had lumps and bumps and sagged in the middle. It was not this comfortable.

Managing to fight her way back to consciousness, she blinked her eyes open and simply stared at the pale blue wall before her, a sense of déjà vu creeping into her mind. Her bedroom was not pale blue. She was waking up in another strange place.

This definitely wasn't a hotel room though, Holly decided, as her gaze slid around what she could see. There was a closet door, an overstuffed royal blue chair, an attractive and antique oak dresser and not a single generic print on the wall. Instead, there was a lovely painting of a woman in white, curled up sleepily on a wicker chair in the sunlight streaming through a window. Not a hotel then.

“No. Not a hotel,” someone agreed as if she'd spoken the thought aloud.

Holly turned on her back to peer wide-­eyed at the woman seated in a second overstuffed royal blue chair on the side of the room she hadn't yet examined. The woman was petite, with bleached blond hair and twinkling eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Giacinta Notte. But you can call me Gia.”

Holly raised her eyebrows. That told her absolutely nothing. This was a repeat of that morning in the hotel all over again, only with a woman there instead of a man. Feeling at a disadvantage on her back, Holly sat up abruptly in the bed. She pushed the sheets and blankets aside as she did, and was relieved to find that while she was waking up again in a strange bed, this time she was at least dressed.

“Were you not dressed the last time you woke up in a strange bed?” Gia asked curiously. “That sounds an interesting story.”

“You have no idea,” Holly muttered, swinging her feet over the side and grimacing as she noted that while she was still wearing the black dress pants and the red blouse she'd donned that morning, or what she presumed was that morning, they were a complete and utter wrinkled mess.

“I can help with that. Your clothes I mean,” Gia announced.

Holly peered at the woman solemnly. Gia's eyes were twinkling as if Holly had just said something amusing. Since she hadn't, the expression was a bit unsettling.

Repressing her amusement, the woman offered an apologetic expression. “My apologies. When I said that sounds an interesting story, you reacted by—­”

“By saying you have no idea,” Holly interrupted. “I know. I
am
awake, I promise.”

“Yes, you did, but you also thought of the last time you woke up in a strange bed,” she explained. “That
was
an interesting story, by the way,” she assured her with amusement and then mimicked in a deep voice, “ ‘You
have
won a lotto of sorts. The Bricker lotto.' Yeesh,
idiota
.”

Holly's eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you can read my thoughts?”

“Oh yes,” Gia assured her. “For instance, right now you're thinking, “Holy shit, Justin was telling the truth about immortals being able to read minds and stuff.” She nodded solemnly and assured her, “Yes, he was. You haven't yet gained the ability and are new to our ways, but I assure you it's a skill necessary to our survival. Although,” she added with a twinkle in her eyes, “I do understand your thinking me a rude bitch for reading you like this.”

Holly slapped a dismayed hand over her own mouth. She never ever cursed. Well, okay, rarely ever. But she would definitely never call someone a bitch. Not out loud. She was constantly editing her thoughts when she spoke to avoid such things. Diplomacy and politeness had been drummed into her from the cradle. She couldn't edit her thoughts, however. They just came as they were and yes she
had
thought Gia was rude to read her mind like that. Although she would deny the bitch part to her grave and hadn't meant for her to hear that. “I'm really sorry, I didn't mean—­”

Gia waved off her apology with a laugh. “I've heard worse . . . and so will you once you learn to read minds. Mortals never guard their thoughts. They don't realize anyone can hear them. They look at ­people and make snap judgments and have throwaway thoughts that could be terribly hurtful if you let them.” Expression growing solemn, she warned, “You will hear many unpleasant things from mortals once you start to be able to read minds. When you do, you have to try not to take them personally, at least from the ­people who do not know you.” She paused briefly and then added, “As for the ones who do know you . . .” Gia grimaced and then shrugged. “You will learn what they really think of you.” Reaching out, she patted her arm. “Even the ­people who love us occasionally have unpleasant thoughts about us. It can be very painful . . . which may be good. It makes it easier for many turns to break away from their families.”

Holly frowned. She had no intention of breaking away from her family, and she really didn't think they would have hurtful thoughts about her. She had very loving and supportive parents. They were tight-­knit; they'd had to be. All they'd had was each other while she was growing up.

“So you have never had an unpleasant thought about anyone you love?” Gia asked, raising her eyebrows. “You've never thought your mother was a bit of a nag, or your father was anal and sometimes seemed to care more about a bunch of bones than he did the living breathing women in his life?”

Holly's eyes widened. “You read my mind,” she realized and breathed out a little sigh before admitting, “Yes, I've thought both those things . . . and I guess they would be hurtful to my parents.” She grimaced and added, “And I suppose they may have had the occasional unpleasant thought about me too.”

Gia smiled faintly and shrugged. “No one's perfect. We all have moments when we're stubborn, or selfish, or act like a spoiled brat. ­People who truly love us know this, and love us despite it. The ones who ignore those tendencies and pretend we're perfect don't really see us at all, they see what they want us to be . . . and that's not really love. Anyway,” she added, standing up and smiling now. “Enough of this serious business. We should see you changed and take you downstairs. Justin and the boys are waiting for you to wake up before deciding what to do about dinner.”

“The boys?” Holly asked uncertainly.

“Anders and Decker are here too.”

“Right,” Holly breathed with a frown. She didn't recognize either name.

“They work with Justin,” Gia explained. “Lucian dropped you all off before heading home to Leigh and the bambini.”

Holly thought
bambini
might mean “baby.” She had no idea who Lucian and Leigh were though. Frankly, she didn't much care either. She was too busy being relieved that Justin was there, and at the same time confused by that relief. He was mostly a stranger too.

“Bambini means babies,” Gia explained, turning to head for the door as she continued, “Lucian and Leigh have twins. And of course Justin is here. You are his life mate. He turned you. It is his job to train you to survive as one of us.”

“Right . . . as a vampire,” Holly muttered. Standing to follow her, she asked. “So, you can read my mind because you're one?”

“Of course. So are the boys,” Gia said on a laugh.

“So is this a . . . er . . . like a hive of vampires? You all live together and . . .” She let the question trail off because Gia had paused at the door and turned back, chuckling at the suggestion.

“No. This is not a hive, as you call it. This house belongs to Lucian's nephew, Vincent Argeneau. He and his wife, Jackie, are out of town and I offered to house-­sit.”

“Oh.” Holly tilted her head. “So why are the rest of us here?”

“Ah.” Gia wrinkled her nose. “Well, Lucian was going to take you back home to Canada for your training, but—­”

“Canada!” Holly squawked with horror. She'd simply assumed she was still in California, but the mention of Canada made her wonder.

“You are still in California,” Gia assured her.

“Oh,” Holly murmured, wishing the woman would stop this mind-­reading business. She let that thought go as she realized that Gia had said “back home to Canada.” The words seemed to suggest that Justin and the others were just visiting California, that they hailed from Canada. Weather aside, it was hard to believe vampires came from there. Canadians were known for being so polite, so . . . nice. Heck, James liked to joke that if America ever invaded Canada, Canadians would probably apologize for being in their way. It seemed the unlikeliest place for vampires to come from.

When a burst of laughter slipped from Gia's lips, Holly realized the woman must still be reading her thoughts, and flushed with embarrassment.

“Well,” Gia said with amusement. “Vampires, or immortals as we prefer to be called, aren't exactly from Canada. I mean they didn't originate there, though that is where Lucian and some others now live. But you can find them all over. I am from Italy, for instance, and some live in the States as well. In fact, Justin is originally from here in California,” she informed her.

“Is he?” Holly asked with surprise. Vampires from her home state . . . Who knew? It was often referred to as sunny California and for a reason . . . one that didn't seem to her to make it vampire friendly. She shook that thought away and asked, “Why was he going to take me to Canada for my training?”

“Because that is where Justin, Lucian, and the others now live. Actually, that's where I was staying too until I came to house-­sit for Vincent and Jackie,” she announced. “So, he thought it best to take you there, at least temporarily. But Justin argued against it.”

Holly had been about to interrupt until she added that last part, but now blinked in surprise. “Justin did?”

“
Si.
He seemed to think you would be more comfortable getting your training here in California.”

He was right, Holly thought. She would have been super stressed to wake up and find herself not only in a strange bed, but a strange country as well, with no passport or way home. At least this way she could get home under her own steam if Justin refused to take her there. She had agreed to talk to him, and to get blood, but she had no intention of spending any longer than she had to here. As soon as she had the thought, Holly tried to forget it. She didn't want Gia to get wind of that and try to stop her. Fortunately, the woman didn't seem to pick up on the thought, because she continued her explanations.

“And when Lucian heard that Dante and Tomasso were considering coming out to house-­sit with me . . .” Gia shrugged. “Lucian knew they had helped Vincent train Jackie after her turning, and had done a fine job of it, so he said okay and brought you all here.”

“ ‘All' being myself, Justin, Andrews, and Beckham,” Holly said slowly, trying to recall the names.

“Anders and Decker,” Gia corrected gently. “They are Rogue Hunters, like Justin, and offered to stay and help out until Dante and Tomasso get here.”

“Anders and Decker. Rogue Hunters,” Holly nodded, pretending she knew what that was. She hadn't a clue, but didn't care either.

“Mind you,” Gia said, amusement back in her expression. “From what I can gather, Anders and Decker only offered to stay and help so they could give Justin a hard time.”

“Right,” Holly murmured. She didn't understand why or how the men planned to give Justin a hard time, but really had no desire or intention to get to know anyone or what was between them anyway. She hadn't agreed to this training business. And she hadn't thought talking to him would land her in another strange bed. How much time had passed since she'd got in the car with Justin? She wondered. The last time she'd woken up in a strange bed, two days had passed. How long had it been this time? And how had she got from her car to here? The last thing she remembered was riding in her car. No. She recalled him parking it and turning to her . . . Jeez, she'd attacked him like some wild animal, going mindlessly for his throat and the blood she could smell pumping through it, Holly recalled with dismay.

“You didn't hurt him,” Gia said. “Lucian came upon you assaulting Justin and knocked you out.”

“Oh,” Holly said weakly, unsure how she should take that news. She was glad this Lucian had stopped her from hurting Justin, but knocking her out seemed a bit drastic. Couldn't he have just slapped her face or something to bring her back to her senses?

“Slapping you would not have brought you out of blood hunger,” Gia said quietly. “You had been too long without feeding. New turns need more blood and more often than mature immortals. You needed to be fed. Knocking you out was the best thing he could do for you at that point.”

“Oh,” Holly repeated.

“Once he knocked you out, they took you up to the hotel room and Lucian administered sleeping sedatives to keep you quiet for the flight here.”

That made her stiffen. They'd drugged her? And—­ “What do you mean flight? I thought I was still in California.”

“You are,” Gia assured her. “We're on the outskirts of LA here.”

Holly groaned at this news. She was hours from home. “How long have I been out?”

Gia raised her eyebrows at the question, thought briefly and then shrugged. “I'm not sure. What day was it when you last remember being conscious?”

“What
day
?” Holly asked with disbelief.

“Yes.”

Holly felt her jaw tighten with anger. She so knew she wasn't going to like the answer to her question when she got it, and her voice reflected that when she said, “It was early Thursday morning.”