Getting What You Want (16 page)

Another needling chill ran up her spine. She shivered, her flushed skin suddenly feeling cooled.

“Here you go,” Allan said, handing her the leather folder with her credit card receipt inside. She jotted down a tip and signed her name, all the while fighting the urge to look around her again.

She thanked Allan and grabbed up her bags. When she stepped out on the street, she realized the sun had set. Signs that autumn was coming, even if the weather didn’t realize it. But she no longer felt the heat—only that creeping, eerie chill.

Someone was watching her.

She cast a quick look up and down the street, but didn’t see anything or anyone out of the ordinary. Still she didn’t linger. She doubled her steps, hurrying along the cracked and uneven sidewalk.

As she got closer to her apartment her nervousness didn’t lessen. If anything it rose, her heart battering against her rib cage, her breathing coming in shallow and panicked puffs.

When she reached the front gates, she fumbled with the keys, nearly dropping them as she searched for the right one. Finally after two tries, she managed to unlock the old padlock and hurry inside.

She leaned against the gates, trying to calm herself. She didn’t even understand what frightened her. She was also feeling lightheaded, like she had when she had been at the restaurant with Maksim. Maybe it was restaurants—although that made no sense whatsoever.

The nightmares, these sudden bouts of irrational nervousness and dizzy spells. What was going on with her?

She slowly sucked in another calming breath, then headed to her apartment. The place was dark, which meant Vittorio must still be asleep.

She unlocked her front door, automatically slipping the bolt back into place. She set the food on the kitchen table and continued on to her bedroom, flipping on the hall light as she went.

She reached her bedroom, only to see her bed was empty.
Where was he?
She turned back to the bathroom, but the door was wide open and the light off.

She knew he wasn’t in the living room. The apartment was empty. She moved back to her bedroom, staring at the rumpled covers of the bed, suddenly afraid that he’d left again. Gotten scared or distant or, she sighed, or whatever, and just left.

Then she heard footsteps behind her, and she spun to see Vittorio entering the hallway, his hair pushed back from his face as if he’d been running his hands through it. His dark eyes clouded with concern. Eyebrows drawn together in dismay.

“Where were you?” he asked.

She blinked, surprised by his tone. He sounded irritated. “I went out to get food,” she answered, hating that she sounded contrite, like a child caught doing something wrong.

He nodded, then his rigid posture seemed to relax, but before he could speak again, she gathered her wits.

“Where were you?”

“I was looking for you,” he admitted.

She studied him for a moment. “If you weren’t in the apartment, how did you get in? I just locked the front door.”

A
s Maksim headed up the front steps of the house Orabella was renting, he considered what he’d discovered, and again he was struck with the idea that Vittorio wasn’t involved in Ellina’s disappearance. Granted, he couldn’t know that for certain without entering Vittorio’s mind, which he couldn’t do. But his gut just told him this vampire wasn’t the type to abduct and kill Halflings—or anyone else for that matter.

Maybe it would be safe to approach him and ask him outright about Ellina and Orabella. But still he wasn’t sure. He wished he understood the real relationship between the two vampires.

This Vittorio certainly didn’t seem like Orabella’s type, yet she was clearly jealous of his love interest. Maybe Ellina had been interested in Vittorio too. Which brought Maksim back to Orabella being the dangerous party in this scenario.

“So what did you find out?” Orabella asked as he walked into her lavish bedroom. She lounged on the bed wearing nothing but a demi-bra and panties, both of which were little more than scraps of peach lace.

He stopped briefly to admire her, interrupting his train of thought. Demons were notoriously easily distracted. Then he turned away to hang up his coat in the armoire.

“I read the girl’s mind again,” he said. “To be honest with you, I don’t think she can handle me doing it much more. She’s very open. I could drive her mad if I continue. And we wouldn’t want that.”

“No,” Orabella agreed, a wryness lacing her voice. “We wouldn’t want that.”

His back to her, he smirked slightly. Her jealousy was showing again.

“So what did you learn?”

He turned back to her, working the buttons on his shirt, regarding her impassively. “She and Vittorio are definitely involved.”

She sat up. “You’re sure?”

He laughed, recalling the images he’d seen in her mind. Not half bad, he had to say. Erika was indeed a well-pleased woman. “Oh yeah, very involved.”

Her lips narrowed, the expression making her look old, hard. He’d never noticed that about her before—she wasn’t as young, pre-undeath, than he might have once thought.

“But I’ve got to tell you, he isn’t doing anything that seems creepy or suspicious to me. He really seems quite besotted, at least from what I can tell from her memories.”

Her eyes narrowed, but then she managed a look of concern. Well, sort of like concern. A vein in her forehead looked as if it might pop. Acting was getting more and more difficult for her. “Well, he would give her that impression,” she stated. Then she quickly added, “He has to gain her trust. That’s part of his strategy.”

Maksim nodded as if he believed her. But he knew she wasn’t going to leave this alone. She’d want him continue to spy, entering Erika’s head despite the damage he was causing.

All for her own good, of course. Orabella did have a strange way of protecting this mere mortal.

He shrugged off his shirt, then turned to hang that as well. He heard her move behind him, the mattress making a muffled creak.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do to stop him,” she said, pretending to mull over ideas.

He turned and raised an eyebrow as if to say he didn’t know either—but he was definitely considering the dilemma right along with her.

She sighed, then stretched, her breasts straining and swelling against the barely-there restraints of her bra.

“I just don’t know,” she finally said, sounding as if the idea was just tearing at her.

He waited, expecting her request to come any moment. But instead she patted the mattress.

“Why are you staying way over there?”

Maksim frowned. He hardly expected her to have sex on her mind. Not when he’d just dropped the bomb that her precious Vittorio was involved with another. Very involved. Three-times-a-night involved.

But he walked over to the bed, not joining her, still waiting. What did she want him to do now?

She rose up on all fours and crawled toward him. He watched with surprise as she knelt in from of him. She slid her hands up his thighs until she reached the button of his fly.

He simply could not believe she was seducing him, not when he’d just confirmed her fears. “Are you worried about this poor girl?”

“I am. Very, very worried,” she said, and for once he couldn’t quite read her tone. “And I do have some plans to stop what’s happening.”

She looked up at him, batting her lashes. “But right now, I just want you to make me feel better.”

He watched as she worked free his penis, the damned organ erect, even while he was still confused about what was going on here and her role in it all.

Then she took the length of him deep into her mouth, and he lost track of why he should be concerned.

“How did you get in here?” Erika asked again.

Vittorio shifted slightly, searching for something that would sound believable. “I came in through the front door.”

“Do you have a key?”

He considered lying, but he suspected she’d demand to see it, if he did. She watched him with wide eyes, her hands fisted at her sides. Yeah, she’d ask to see the key; she looked truly distressed.

“I guess the door didn’t latch right, because I walked right in.”

She considered him, doubt in her eyes. She hurried past him, sidestepping him in an obvious attempt to avoid physical contact.

What happened while he slept that had her so shaken? He’d awoken, alarmed to find the apartment empty. He couldn’t allow her to go out on her own, especially at night. His mother couldn’t get to her during the day, thanks to the old sunlight thing. But at night, Erika had to stay close to him.

Still, he didn’t think a run-in with his mother was what had her acting so rattled. What had happened? Where had she gone?

He turned to follow her, knowing she was heading to the door to see if he was telling the truth.

She peered at the lock, then spun back to him. “It’s locked now.”

He nodded. “I know. I locked it when I came in.”

She frowned, clearly trying to decide if she should believe him.

“Erika, what’s going on?”

She considered him for a moment, then visibly relaxed, her shoulders lowering, her breathing calmer.

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding truly confused and troubled. “I just went out to get us some dinner, and while I was at the restaurant, I suddenly got light-headed. And I had this overwhelming feeling of being watched. It was strong enough that I really got a little frightened.”

Fear instantly filled Vittorio. Had his mother been out there watching her? “Did you see anyone?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. No one in particular. And I don’t think anyone followed me home. I just can’t…I can’t understand what’s going on with me.”

Vittorio approached her, stopping at arm’s length. He didn’t want to make her more nervous. But this time she didn’t move away. She just regarded him with those stormy eyes of hers.

“I’m sorry. I know you must think I’m nuts. Nightmares, strange feelings. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He had a feeling nothing was wrong with
her,
but something was definitely wrong. And he couldn’t help feeling as if he had something to do with it. Although the nightmares started while he was still attempting to stay away from her. And he didn’t know what the bouts of dizziness were—unless his mother was nearby and stealing her energy. Although the waves of her life force filling the room now certainly seemed powerful and undiminished.

So what was going on? Was his mother nearby? Was she causing this fear in Erika? Erika hadn’t been plagued with nightmares until his second night back. Were they related to him? Was that why she’d dreamed of him as her attacker last night?

For a moment, he recalled the paranormal creature he’d noticed on the street, but then disregarded him. Paranormal creatures roaming the streets of New Orleans were hardly unusual. The city was riddled with them.

“Sometimes we just get weird feelings,” he finally said, knowing whatever the cause he had to keep her calm and make her feel safe. “And the nightmares are strange, but people often suffer bouts of nightmares that are never really explained.”

His voice sounded confident; he wished he felt that way.

But she seemed to believe him, or want to believe him. She nodded and moved away from the door.

“What did you get to eat?” he asked. Maybe changing the topic would further calm her.

She glanced over to the table as if just remembering the food. “Oh, chicken, red beans and rice, and bread pudding, Creole-style.”

“That all sounds great.”

She nodded again, an action clearly designed more to gather herself than to agree, but then she walked to the kitchen.

Vittorio noticed that she still skirted away from him. Given her nerves, he couldn’t blame her, he guessed. Although he didn’t want that distance. He’d made up his mind to protect her, but on top of that, he wanted to be with her. He wanted to have the closeness they had when they had sex. He wanted to know her. Everything about her.

Okay, even if his mother wasn’t a jealous homicidal maniac, he still was a lampir and that was a setback to say the least, but he just couldn’t let this woman go. He’d never felt this way in his whole life.

He watched as she got dishes down from the cupboards. Then she moved to the drawers to take out silverware. Then she brought them to the table. She glanced at him as she did so.

“Are you hungry?”

Vittorio nodded. She wanted things to be normal, and being normal for mortals involved sitting down, eating a meal, chatting. And damn it, he was going to give her that—even if it killed him. Or the food did.

He took the plates from her, giving her a small smile. “Let me set the table.”

She looked down at both their hands on the brightly swirled pottery dishes. Then she nodded, allowing him to take them. She turned back to the counter to open the containers of food. The spicy scent of red beans and rice filled his nose, making his stomach flip.

The smell of food normally didn’t bother him, but then he didn’t usually know he was going to have to eat it. But he would for Erika.

He arranged the plates, also realizing he didn’t actually know how to set a table. That sort of thing was done for him when he’d been alive, and since his undeath, plates and silverware just hadn’t played a big part in his life.

He placed a fork on the right, then frowned, trying to recall if that looked correct. He changed it to the left, but still couldn’t decide if that looked right. He switched it back to the right.

“Here, let me do it.” Erika moved close to him and arranged the fork, then the knife. “There.”

He studied her, her head close to his. She looked up and smiled. And before he thought better of it, he kissed her.

Instead of pulling away, she kissed him back. Her response gave him hope that she wasn’t completely uncomfortable with him or with her earlier feelings.

“Wow,” she said when they parted. “I never got that sort of reaction for setting the table.”

“Well, you should have,” he told her.

She smiled, and he was relieved to see most of the worry had left her eyes.

“So are we going to eat?” He immediately wondered why he didn’t just go in for another kiss. That would be much more fun and save him from the dreaded dinner. But mortals needed to eat. And Erika still looked a little wan. Relaxing and food would do wonders for her.

“Yes.” She brought the containers over to the table, setting them in the center. “Dig in.”

God, he so should have gone with more kissing. But instead he forced a smile and sat down at one of the place settings.

She joined him, passing the white Styrofoam box of chicken toward him. He accepted, taking a fork and spearing one of the grilled and seasoned breasts.

He shook the food onto the plate, regarding the cooked meat warily, as if it might attack him.

“Some rice?”

He took the container and ladled out just a bit.

Erika frowned. “Are you sure you got enough?”

He eyed the small mound, knowing it was going sit in his gut like twenty pounds of wet cement. “No, this is fine. I’m not terribly hungry.”

She looked concerned, which he found rather endearing. Then she began to spoon beans and rice beside her chicken.

“I’m starving,” she told him. And he couldn’t help but grin.

“What?” she asked, pausing, then surveying her filled plate. Her cheeks colored a pretty pink. “I’m really hungry,” she said, looking a tad embarrassed.

“Then you should eat,” he assured her, making sure she knew he saw nothing wrong with her appetite. “It will make you feel a lot better to have a full stomach.”

She nodded, setting down the white container. She immediately began to cut the chicken.

He followed suit, but rather than eat the sawed bit, he pushed it around in the sauce of the rice and beans. He glanced up to be sure she was eating however.

After several bites, she noticed he wasn’t eating with the same gusto.

“Do you not like it? I was guessing when I ordered.”

“No, it’s great.” To emphasize his point, he took a bite of the chicken, deciding meat was possibly safer than rice and beans. It felt like wet rawhide in his mouth, but he chewed, even offering her a tight-lipped smile as he did.

She smiled back and continued eating.

Vittorio was thrilled when, after just two more struggling swallows, she asked, “What’s your favorite food?”

He took the question as an opportunity to set down his fork. He considered. What had he liked when he’d been able to eat—well, eat for enjoyment?

“I liked—” He had to think. “I liked turkey with dressing. And apple pie.” He smiled, recalling how Cook used to put extra cinnamon in the pie, just for him. “And I liked pheasant with new potatoes.”

Erika gave him a strange look. “Pheasant? I’ve never had that before.”

“It’s delicious,” he informed her with a smile. “A bit like chicken, actually.”

She nodded, her expression saying she’d take his word for it. She took another bite of rice, then chewed thoughtfully. He wondered what she was pondering.

“Why would you say ‘liked’ as if you never had it anymore? Turkey and apple pie—why wouldn’t you have those? At Thanksgiving at the very least.”