Single White Vampire (2 page)

Kate supposed that if his speaking a whole sentence was progress, his reverting to complete silence had to be the opposite—but she determined not to think of that. Trying to make her smile a little sunnier, she cleared her throat and said, “If you don't like eating out, perhaps I could order something in and—”

“No.” He started to close the door again, but Kate hadn't lived in New York for five years without learning a trick or two. She quickly stuck her foot forward, managing not to wince as the door banged into it and bounced back open.

Before Mr. Argeneau could comment on her guerilla tactics, she said, “If you don't care for takeout, perhaps I could pick up some groceries and cook you something you like.” For good measure she added, “That way we could discuss your fears, and I might be able to alleviate them.”

He stiffened in surprise at her implication. “I am not afraid,” he said.

“I see.” Kate allowed a healthy dose of doubt to creep into her voice, more than willing to stoop to manipulation if necessary. Then she waited, foot still in place, hoping that her desperation wasn't showing but knowing that her calm facade was beginning to slip.

The man pursed his lips and took his time considering. His expression made Kate suspect he was measuring her for a coffin, as if he were considering killing her and planting her in his garden to get her out of his hair. She tried not to think about that possibility too hard. Despite having worked with him for years as Edwin's assistant, and now for almost a year as his editor, Kate didn't know the man very well. In her less charitable moments, she
had
considered just what kind of man he might be. Most of her romance authors were female. In fact,
every
other author under her care was female. Lucern Argeneau, who wrote as Luke Amirault, was the only man. What kind of guy wrote romances? And vampire romances at that? She had decided it was probably someone gay…or someone weird. His expression at the moment was making her lean toward weird. Serial-killer-type weird.

“You have no intention of removing yourself, do you?” he asked at last.

Kate considered the question. A firm “no” would probably get her inside. But was that what she wanted? Would the man slaughter her? Would she be a headline in the next day's news if she did get in the door?

Cutting off such unproductive and even frightening thoughts, Kate straightened her shoulders and an
nounced firmly; “Mr. Argeneau, I flew up here from New York. This is important to me. I'm determined to talk to you. I'm your
editor
.” She emphasized the last word in case he had missed the relevance of that fact. It usually had a certain influence with writers, although Argeneau had shown no signs of being impressed so far.

She didn't know what else to say after that, so Kate simply stood waiting for a response that never came. Heaving a deep sigh, Argeneau merely turned away and started up his dark hall.

Kate stared uncertainly at his retreating back. He hadn't slammed the door in her face this time. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Was it an invitation to enter? Deciding she was going to take it as one, Kate hefted her small suitcase and overnight bag and stepped inside. It was a late-summer evening, cooler than it had been earlier in the day, but still hot. In comparison, stepping into the house was like stepping into a refrigerator. Kate automatically closed the door behind her to keep the cool air from escaping, then paused to allow her eyes to adjust.

The interior of the house was dark. Lucern Argeneau hadn't bothered to turn on any lights. Kate couldn't see much of anything except a square of dim light outlining what appeared to be a door at the end of the long hall in which she stood. She wasn't sure what the light was from; it was too gray and dim to be from an overhead fixture. Kate wasn't even sure that going to that light would bring her to Lucern Argeneau's side, but it was the only source of light she could see, and she was quite sure that it was in the direction he'd taken when walking away.

Setting her bags down by the door, Kate started carefully forward, heading for that square of light, which suddenly seemed so far away. She had no idea if the way was clear or not—she hadn't really looked around before closing the door—but she hoped there was nothing to trip over along the way. If there was, she would certainly find it.

 

Lucern paused in the center of his kitchen and peered around in the illumination of the nightlight. He wasn't quite sure what to do. He never had guests, or at least hadn't had them for hundreds of years. What did one do with them, exactly? After an inner debate, he moved to the stove, grabbed the teakettle that sat on the burner, and took it to the sink to fill with water. After setting it on the stove and cranking the dial to high, he found the teapot, some tea bags and a full sugar bowl. He set it all haphazardly on a tray.

He would offer Kate C. Leever a cup of tea. Once that was done, so was she.

Hunger drew him to the refrigerator. Light spilled out into the room as he opened the door, making him blink after the previous darkness. Once his eyes adjusted, he bent to pick up one of the two lonely bags of blood on the middle shelf. Other than those bags, there wasn't a single solitary item inside. The cavernous white box was empty. Lucern wasn't much for cooking. His refrigerator had pretty much been empty since his last housekeeper died.

He didn't bother with a glass. Instead, still bent into the fridge, Lucern lifted the blood bag to his mouth and stabbed his fangs into it. The cool elixir of life imme
diately began to pour into his system, taking the edge off his crankiness. Lucern was never so cranky as when his blood levels were low.

“Mr. Argeneau?”

He jerked in surprise at that query from the doorway. The action ripped the bag he held, sending the crimson fluid spraying out all over him. It squirted in a cold shower over his face and into his hair as he instinctively straightened and banged his head on the underside of the closed freezer compartment. Cursing, Lucern dropped the ruined bag onto the refrigerator shelf and grabbed for his head with one hand, slamming the refrigerator door closed with the other.

Kate Leever rushed to his side. “Oh, my goodness! Oh! I'm so sorry!
Oh!
” she screeched as she caught sight of the blood coating his face and hair. “Oh, God! You've cut your head.
Bad
!”

Lucern hadn't seen an expression of such horror on anyone's face since the good old days when lunch meant biting into a nice warm neck rather than a nasty cold bag.

Seeming to recover her senses somewhat, Kate Leever grabbed his arm and urged him toward the kitchen table. “Here, you'd better sit down. You're bleeding badly.”

“I am fine,” Lucern muttered as she settled him into a chair. He found her concern rather annoying. If she was too nice to him, he might feel guilted into being nice back.

“Where's your phone?” She was turning on one heel, scanning the kitchen for the item in question.

“Why do you wish a phone?” he asked hopefully.
Perhaps she would leave him alone now, he thought briefly, but her answer nixed that possibility.

“To call an ambulance. You really hurt yourself.”

Her expression became more distressed as she looked at him again, and Lucern found himself glancing down at his front. There was quite a bit of blood on his shirt, and he could feel it streaming down his face. He could also smell it—sharp and rich with tinny overtones. Without thinking, he slid his tongue out to lick his lips. Then what she'd said slipped into his mind, and he straightened abruptly. While it was convenient that she thought the blood was from an injury, there was no way he was going to a hospital.

“I am fine. I do not need medical assistance,” he announced firmly.

“What?” She peered at him with disbelief. “There's blood everywhere! You really hurt yourself.”

“Head wounds bleed a lot.” He gave a dismissive wave, then stood and moved to the sink to rinse off. If he didn't wash quickly, he was going to shock the woman by licking the blood off his hands all the way up to his elbows. The bit he'd managed to consume before she startled him had barely eased his hunger at all.

“Head wounds may bleed a lot, but this is—”

Lucern gave a start as Kate suddenly stepped to his side and grabbed his head. He was so surprised that he bent dutifully at her urging…until she said, “I can't see—”

He straightened the moment he realized what she was doing, then quickly bent over the sink to duck his
head under the tap so she couldn't get at his head again and see that there was no wound.

“I am fine. I clot quickly,” he said as cold water splashed on his head and ran over his face.

Kate Leever had no answer to that, but Lucern could feel her standing at his back watching. Then she moved to his side, and he felt her warm body press against him as she bent to try to examine his head again.

For a moment, Lucern was transfixed. He was terribly aware of her body so close, of the heat pouring off her, of her sweet scent. For that moment, his hunger became confused. It wasn't the smell of the blood pulsing in her veins that filled his nostrils, it was a whiff of spice and flowers and her own personal scent. It filled his head, clouding his thoughts. Then he became aware of her hands moving through his hair under the tap, searching for a wound she wouldn't find, and he jerked upward in an attempt to stand away from her. The attempt was neatly thwarted by the tap slamming into the back of his head. Pain shattered through him, and water squirted everywhere, sending Kate stepping back with a squeal.

Cursing, Lucern ducked out from under the tap and snatched at the first thing to come to hand; a tea towel. He wrapped it around his wet head, straightened, then pointed at the door. “Out of my kitchen. Out!”

Kate C. Leever blinked in surprise at his return of temper, then seemed to grow an inch in height as she marshaled her own. Her voice was firm as she said, “You need a doctor.”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that the only word you know?”

“No.”

She threw her hands up in the air, then let them drop—as quick as that, seeming to relax. Lucern found himself wary.

Kate C. Leever smiled and moved to finish making the tea he had started. “That settles it, then,” she said.

“Settles what?” Lucern asked, watching suspiciously as she threw the two teabags in the tea pot and poured hot water over them.

Kate shrugged mildly and set the kettle back. “I had intended on trying to talk to you, then checking into a hotel later tonight. However, now that you've hurt yourself and refuse to go the hospital…” She turned away from the steeping tea to raise one eyebrow. “You won't reconsider?”

“No.”

She nodded and turned back to plop the lid again on the teapot. The clink it made had an oddly satisfied sound to it as she explained, “I can't leave you alone after such an injury. Head wounds are tricky. I suppose I shall have to stay here.”

Lucern was opening his mouth to let her know that she most certainly was not staying there, when she moved toward the refrigerator and asked, “Do you take milk?”

Recalling the bag of blood ripped open in the fridge, he raced past her and threw himself wildly in front of her. “No!”

She stared at him, mouth agape, until he realized he stood before the refrigerator door with his arms widespread in a panicked pose. He immediately shifted to lean against it, arms and ankles crossed in a position
he hoped appeared more natural. Then he glared at her for good measure. It had the effect of making her close her mouth; then she said uncertainly, “Oh. Well, I do. If you have any.”

“No.”

She nodded slowly, but concern filled her face and she actually lifted a hand to place it soft and warm against his forehead as if checking for fever. Lucern inhaled the scent of her and felt his stance relax somewhat.

“Are you sure you won't go to the hospital?” Kate asked. “You're acting a tad strange, and head wounds really aren't something to mess with.”

“No.”

Lucern was alarmed when he heard how low his voice had gone. He was even more concerned when Kate Leever smiled and asked teasingly, “Now, why aren't I surprised by that answer?”

Much to his dismay, he almost smiled back at her. Catching himself, he scowled harder instead and berated himself for his momentary weakness. Kate C. Leever, editor, might be being nice to him right now, but that was only because she wanted something from him. And he would do well to remember that.

“Well, come along, then.”

Lucern stopped his woolgathering to note that his editor had collected the tea tray and was moving toward the kitchen door.

“We should move to the living room, where you can sit down for a bit. You took quite a blow,” she added as she pushed through the swinging door with one hip.

Lucern took a step after her, then paused to glance
back at the refrigerator, his thoughts on the other full bag of blood inside. It was his last until the fresh delivery tomorrow night. He was terribly hungry, almost faint with it. Which was no doubt the reason behind his weakness in the face of Kate C. Leever's steamroller approach. Perhaps just a sip would strengthen him for the conversation ahead. He reached for the door.

“Lucern?”

He stiffened at that call. When had she stopped addressing him as Mr. Argeneau? And why did his name on her lips sound so sexy? He really needed to feed. He pulled the refrigerator door open and reached for the bag.

“Lucern?” There was concern in her voice this time, and she sounded closer. She must be coming back. No doubt she feared he had passed out from his injury.

He released a mutter of frustration and closed the refrigerator door. The last thing he needed was another debacle like spilling blood all over himself. That had already caused him unending problems, like the fact that the woman now planned to stay with him. He'd meant to nix the idea at once, but had been distracted by Ms. Leever approaching the refrigerator.
Damn!