42nd & Lex (15 page)

“Oh geez. Yeah, that’s my elevator mantra,
or it was, until I met you. I must have seemed like a complete idiot!”

“On the contrary, love. Oh, it shocked me. I
almost yelled out. Like I said on our first date, I’ve never been able to hear
another’s thoughts before, not in all my years. I’d heard of other vampires
being able to do it, but not me. Before I could say anything, we’d reached the
30
^th
floor and you launched yourself out of the elevator. I
continued on up to my meeting but I couldn’t get you out of my head. Not your
thoughts of course, I couldn’t hear you anymore once you left the elevator. But
I had to know about you.”

I snuggle closer to Lucan again, breathing
in his scent. A mixture of cologne and a sweet earthiness I can’t place. It
must have something to do with being a vampire. I close my eyes and breathe in
deep. “I felt it too,” I whisper. “That magnetic pull in your chest; I’ve felt
it too when we are together. I felt something the first time, well I guess now
the second time, we were in the elevator. When I stepped on you.”

Lucan hugs me closer. “I know,” he says
against my hair. “After my meeting I went back down to security and inquired
about the office on the 30
^th
floor. Once I knew your firm name, I
did some research. The internet really is the best modern invention—I’ve seen
them all. Lucky for me that your bosses like to put photos and bios of their new
associates on their website.”

I groan at the thought of Lucan stumbling across
anything else with my name attached to it on the internet, like the various
singles’ sites I’d joined at the urging of Max and Lindsey. Hopefully he didn’t
find any of those. Mercifully, he doesn’t answer me.

“I would find any excuse to come to the Chrysler,
hoping see you. Not that I had actually figured out what I would say to you if
I did. Then a friend of mine mentioned that the Cloud Club space was up for sale
as a private residence, so I bought it.” He stops trying to read my expression.
“What?”

“Nothing. If it were anyone else telling me this,
I would find it highly suspect and stalkeriffic, if you will. But coming from
you it’s cute. You certainly have gone through a lot of trouble to meet me, Mr.
O’Reilly.”

His face relaxes. I know he’s scanning my
thoughts to see if I am telling him the truth. I am. Now had told me this story
on our first date, I would have had an entirely different reaction. He laughs.

“Probably so. I had all but given up on
seeing you again until you and Lindsey got on the elevator Monday. I was coming
back from a meeting at the Enclave and there you were. I made up my mind that I
was going to introduce myself to you. So I waited downstairs for you Tuesday.
But you wouldn’t even look at me in the elevator so I decided I needed to take
a more direct approach, and, well, you know the rest.”

“What
do you mean you went to his apartment?”

“I
went to visit her, sir. There was no harm….until he came home.” His words were weak,
weaker than before, and waivered slightly on the last part as recalled the
fight with Lucan O’Reilly.

“Ainsworth, you idiot, I told you to keep
out of this. You’ll ruin it for us all.” This voice was not weak, but angry. He
tensed slightly, half expecting a blow to the face to accompany the angry
words. Mark mulled over the effects of his conduct in his brain, an act that proved
to be more and more difficult as the weeks wore on. 

“I’m sorry Serge, sir. I will not go again.”
Head down, Mark was defeated. He thought his investigation would please Serge. Perhaps
it was stupid to go to the home of such a powerful vampire alone, but he wanted
to see Abri Cole. Mark hadn’t been shocked when he was served with divorce
papers this morning; after all, Sarah had been threatening him with it for
months. It was the attorney who filed them that surprised him. The attorney was
the same woman Serge been lusting over all week. How could it be coincidence
that his wife’s divorce lawyer was also dating Lucan O’Reilly, the most
powerful vampire in New York and Serge’s archenemy? Or at least that’s how
Serge had explained it to him. 

Serge saw her at work earlier in the week
with Mr. O’Reilly and hadn’t shut up about her since. How hot she was and how
he wanted her. Mark had to agree, she was pretty. Not flashy and manicured like
most women on the arms of rich men in this city, but a natural beauty. Mark
should know, his own wife is one of those flashy and manicured women.  

Serge hated Lucan O’Reilly on account of
Lucan’s involvement with an investigation into Serge’s errant feeding habits a
few years back. Serge wanted to take Abri Cole from him as revenge. And not
because he wanted to date her, but because he wanted to enjoy her very life
force until she was no more. He would then toss her aside like week-old Chinese.
He had tried to do the same to Mark and failed. It had not been Serge’s plan to
let Mark live or even turn him into a vampire. 

It was hard to concentrate on that day for
very long. Hell, it was hard to concentrate on anything for very long now. Mark
remembered enough of it to know that Serge was dangerous and cared nothing for
human life.

Mark had been working late, shortly after
starting his new job six months ago, when he decided to take a break and check out
the bar across the street. It was nearly empty but he struck up a conversation
with another guy about his age with a foreign accent sitting alone at the bar. The
guy had been cordial, asking about Mark’s job, his favorite sports teams, how
he had come to New York. Mark was glad to have someone to talk to that wasn’t
involved with work. He and his wife had just moved to the city and while she
had taken to the hustle and bustle instantly, Mark missed the slower paced life
of Texas. The guy had agreed, saying New York was so much different from his
hometown outside of St. Petersburg, Russia. It was nearly three o’clock in the
morning when the bar keep had insisted they take their conversation elsewhere. Mark
guessed he had had about half the handle of whisky the lazy bartender left between
them. He had not been this drunk since his bachelor party. Sarah was going to
be furious, she hated when he worked late and now he was coming home drunker
than a college freshman.

The young man had offered to pick up the
tab but Mark protested and they settled on splitting it evenly. Once the
bartender had returned with their change, Mark and the young man staggered out
into the warm, muggy night. Mark began to look for a taxi.

“I can give you a ride, friend,” the
young man offered. “No need to hail a cab this late. If you pass out the driver
will take a tour of Manhattan before he drops you at your door with a hundred
dollar fare.”  

“You have a car?” Mark was impressed. He
had not met a single New Yorker yet that owned a car. “I live near the Park on
the Upper West Side, is that out of your way?” Mark appreciated the young man’s
generosity and concern for his fellow man. It reminded him of Texas.

“Not at all.” The young man took a set of
keys from his pocket and a suped-up red Mustang flashed its headlights as he
disarmed the alarm. “Please, get in.”

“Thank you. Wait, I didn’t even ask you
your name.” Mark was sure he’d offered his name at some point, but he didn’t
know the name of the stranger he’d conversed with all night long and who was
about to give him a ride home.

“Serge. My name is Serge.”

Mark couldn’t remember anything past
that. He had woken up in his office the next morning still wearing yesterday’s
suit. He vaguely remembered accepting the ride from the man at the bar, but how
did he get back to his office? Had he even made it home last night?

He had called his wife, but she did not
answer, no doubt angry he had not come home. Or maybe she was mad that he had
come home late and kicked him out. That could explain why he was back at the
office. He checked his cell phone; there were seven missed calls from Sarah. The
last one came around three thirty. He had sent a text to Sarah at ten thirty
telling her he was still at work and would be home soon. He had really been at
the bar, but at that point had intended to come home at a reasonable time. She
had texted him at four thirty-seven “where are u?” He had not been home. 

Mark tried to stand up but collapsed back
into his chair. His head was pounding and he could hardly turn his neck. Probably
the result of a really bad hang over and sleeping in his office chair, he
reasoned.

Mark left his office and headed for the
men’s room at the end of the hall. This was one hell of a hangover. Mark
checked his reflection in the mirror and shrunk back in horror. His face was
bruised and there was a cut over his left eye. Turning his head to get a better
look at the damage, he noticed two puncture wounds on the left side of his neck
near his jugular vein. What in the hell had happened to him after leaving the
bar? His muddled brain could only come up with the name Serge. 

Immediately worried about Sarah, he
lurched from the bathroom and headed for the elevator urging his uncooperative
legs forward as best he could. If his supervisor caught sight of him like this,
he would be fired. No one ever took the stairs as they were on the 40
^th
floor so Mark switched paths as quickly as possible. His legs buckled a few
times and he tumbled the last half flight down but he managed to keep
conscious. Once outside Mark hailed a cab and headed to his apartment on the
Upper West Side.

“Mark, you idiot, focus.” Serge slapped his
face, bringing him out of his memory.

“Sorry Master.” Mark hated calling anyone
Master but it usually guaranteed Serge would calm down quicker.

“Well, you’re going to need to find a place
to stay; you can’t keep staying here with me. The smell is killing me.” Serge
threw the divorce papers back at Mark. “I still can’t get over the delicious
coincidence of her choice in divorce attorneys, however. Maybe you aren’t such
as mistake after all.”

“I figured I would just stay at a hotel or
something. I’m sure Sarah won’t let me back in the apartment now.”

From what Mark could to piece together,
Serge had attempted to feed on him after getting him in the car and they had
struggled. That was how he received the cut over his left eye and the bruises. Mark
assumed that Serge’s inability to finish him off was what led to his current
state, not a vampire and not a human.

Serge was a young vampire himself, barely
five years old. He had not known at the time that his failure to kill Mark
would cause such problems. His venom was not yet powerful enough to turn a
human into a vampire and Mark had fought him off before he could just drain him
and leave him for dead. Unfortunately, it was nearly impossible to drain or
turn him now that he was a Halfling. The laws of vampire nature were funny that
way. 

Sarah was leaving Mark because of what he’d
become. He was moody, erratic on his good days, and nearly comatose on his bad
ones. She assumed he had become a workaholic asshole, maybe even a drug addict
or a drunk, because he tried to stay away from her as best he could. Mark
crashed at Serge’s or wandered around the park when things got really bad so
Sarah wouldn’t see him.

He took a leave of absence from his job a
few months ago in the hopes that things would get better. Money wasn’t an
issue, thank God, so Sarah was none the wiser. Mark couldn’t believe it was
over. He wanted to offer Sarah and explanation, that he was a vampire, well,
half vampire, and ask her to stay with him. The divorce papers guaranteed that
opportunity was gone. She would have him committed on court order if he told
her what had happened. Her lawyer would see to it for sure after what Mark had
done to the poor woman tonight. At that point, his mental clarity gave out and
he succumbed to the numb, dim-witted darkness of his mind. 

Serge knew the Enclave would put them both
to death if they knew Serge had created a Halfling. Until the arrival of the
divorce papers, Serge had been considering beheading or burning Mark to cover
his transgressions. But that was before the lovely Abri Cole went and stuck her
smug nose in their business. Mark’s recent misfortune, as fate would have it,
put Serge one step closer to his goal of making Abri his own. There was no way
he could put Mark out of his misery now; he needed him. The complicated part,
of course, was Lucan O’Reilly.  

At least Mark had money, lots of money. Money
even his stupid wife and her attorney didn’t know about. If Serge had to be
stuck with a Halfling going through a divorce in order to get to his prize, at
least he could do it in style in the Upper West Side.

The brightness of the room wakes me up
before I’m ready. How does Lucan not have curtains? He is not in bed with me
when I roll over to ask. My heart sinks; I was hoping to catch a glimpse of him
sleeping. The sound of pots and pans banging around in the kitchen gives away
his position.

I release the death grip on the down pillow
I've been strangling and untangle my feet from the sheets. The clock next to
the bed says it’s just past seven. What am I going to do with myself for twelve
hours until my dinner with Sarah? Lucan is standing by the bed when I look up.

“Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya, Abri,” he says in
his best Irish brogue. Oh God, he’s a morning person.   

“Hi,” is all that I can manage in return as
I squint at him through my dried out contacts. One day I will remember not to
sleep in them. 

“If you’re hungry I’m making French toast
and bacon. You eat bacon right?” He looks worried.

“Sure, I like bacon. I grew up on a farm,” I
remind him. “Sorry. I’m not really a morning person, especially when I’m up early
on a weekend.” I don’t usually get up before noon on weekends unless I have to
go into work. I yawn and stretch before scooting to the edge of the bed.