Bled Dry (17 page)

Corbin made a face. “Well, I suppose it is more comfortable for the women.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Travis nudged him. “So how come you and the old lady ain’t living together? You break up or something?”

“We’ve never lived together. We’re sort of only partially together... it’s complicated.”

“You can tell us.”

They looked so sympathetic, that Corbin found himself divulging the situation. Leaving out the issue of his vampirism, of course. And a few other things. “We have only known each other a little over four months. We had met a few times, gone out.” They had met exactly three times, and had never gone out, unless you chose to count the night he had dragged her onto the roof of the casino. That had been outside, but not really
out
. All in all, they had spent approximately forty minutes total together prior to his impregnating her.

“There was an immediate attraction between us, do you know what I mean? Fireworks.” That was the whole truth.

They both nodded.

“Sure.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s how I felt when Sue used to bend over to pick up the onion rings. Like my pants were going to burn right off.”

“Exactement.”
Corbin understood that feeling perfectly. “That is exactly how it was. And we both felt it. So we acted on it.”

“And... ” Travis pressed him.

“And I didn’t speak to her for eight weeks after.” Which sounded really unmannerly when he said it out loud.

“Dude.”

“Shit.”

Precisely. “She came to see me to tell me she was expecting our child. I was taken a bit by surprise, to say the least.”

“I fucking guess so.” Travis shook his head. “So you’re just trying to work it out with the kid? Good for you. It’s always good for the kid when the parents get along if they’re not together.”

“Well... the problem is I have complicated the matter. After she told me about the child, I, well, we slept together again. So I thought... but now she doesn’t seem to want to, well, anything, and I don’t know if we are together, or separate, or what exactly it is that she wants from me.”

Their expressions were almost comical, both their eyes and mouths twisted and contorted in sympathetic horror. Corbin felt better, just getting the words, his fears, out in the open. Maybe these men, who certainly had more experience with modern women than he did, would have some advice.

“You’re screwed,” Jason said.

Corbin frowned. “Well, what would you do if you were me?”

“Cry.” Travis grinned at him.

“Run,” Jason added, and they both laughed.

Not feeling too amused, Corbin took another sip of his drink, the bitter taste sliding over his tongue. “I want to work things out. It is very awkward the way it is now.”

“So talk to her,” Jason said. “But before you do that, you’ve got to know if you want to be with her or not. You do, you go in saying, ‘We should be together.’ If you don’t, you say, ‘Let’s just keep it as friends and focus on the kid.’ But you gotta be honest and you can’t play around.”

He did want to be with her. But Brittany had pulled back. Way back. And it was obviously still bothering her that he was a vampire. “I want to be with her, but I am not sure that is what she wants.”

“So ask her.” Jason turned back to the dancer on stage.

Corbin looked at Travis. “What do you think?”

“Don’t look at me.” Travis shrugged. “I don’t know dick about women. My wife, she’s a good woman, and she’s having my baby and everything, but sometimes I think we should have just been friends. There’s something missing, and I try to ignore it, but it’s there, man. That feeling like something ain’t right. I don’t know.” He drained his bottle of beer. “It’s like she’s my mother or something. It’s weird.”

That was weird. Way too weird for Corbin to even comment on. “Maybe it’s just that your relationship has changed because of the baby. She has a different focus now, other than you.”

Travis shrugged, and clapped him on the back. “We’re a couple of fuck-ups, aren’t we? Got good women and we’re screwing it up.”

“That is true.” Corbin sat up straighter. “Maybe we should go to our women, yes, and show them that we appreciate them.”

“I’m in.” Jason waved his hand at the stripper, who looked like she could drop into a nap at any time. “These chicks have nothing on my wife. Sue is beautiful.”

“Maybe you have a point.” Travis pulled some money out of his pocket and put it on the table. “Wouldn’t kill me to think about her feelings for a change. Shit, maybe I’ll even grab her some flowers on the way home.”

“Good plan.” Jason nodded before finishing his own beer.

Corbin was going to pass on the flowers. Brittany hadn’t seemed to appreciate his previous floral offerings. But he was going to find her and talk to her. Tell her how he felt. “I am going to go talk to Brittany.”

He was standing up when he sensed another vampire in the room. Turning, he scanned the room, and was surprised as hell to see Gregor Chechikov, moving up to the bar, cigarette in hand. “
Excuse-moi
, I see an acquaintance.”

“Catch you later.” Travis punched Corbin in the arm and gave him his business card.

Jason shook his hand. “We should do this again sometime.”

That actually pleased Corbin. He no longer had friends. It would be nice to have other men to talk to once in a while. Carrick and others in the current administration tolerated Corbin, but most vampires were suspicious of him. It made for a lonely existence. When they had all exchanged phone numbers and made plans to get together in a few weeks, Travis and Jason left and Corbin headed over to Gregor.

Corbin was still three feet away when Gregor said, “Atelier.” He turned. “How interesting to see you here,” he said in French.

“I could say the same for you, Chechikov. It was my understanding you were in St. Petersburg.” He moved in next to Gregor and leaned against the bar counter, curious. Gregor hadn’t left the continent in centuries, as far as Corbin knew. He was a big bear of a man, intimidating in both looks and nature, and had been a political associate of Vladimir of Kiev in the tenth century, involved in dealings with the Ottoman Empire. Once powerful in the Nation, richer than God, or at least Donald Trump, he had suddenly retreated from the political arena, before Corbin had even entered the world of the undead. Now Gregor stayed in St. Petersburg, quiet except for the money that he doled out to various causes and factions he supported, including Corbin’s own research.

Gregor gave him a slight smile. “I decided to venture out for the election.”

“The primary?” Corbin found it odd. Illogical. He did not like illogical. And he could have sworn Chechikov didn’t have a party affiliation.

“Yes, and then for the final election as well. It proves to be interesting, and I have never been to Las Vegas.”

Corbin realized that was the extent of the explanation he was going to get. “It is good to see you,” he said politely. Truthfully, he didn’t like Chechikov, and wasn’t really sure why not, but he had to play nice since it was Gregor’s rubles that funded his research. And with virtually no questions asked. Chechikov didn’t seem to care what Corbin was doing in the lab, though he had expressed mild interest in gene manipulation in one of their infrequent phone conversations.

“You, too.” Gregor raised his shot glass of clear liquid and tossed it back. He set it on the counter. “Now I’m off. I am staying at the Bellagio, if you would like to have dinner one night.”

Dinner? Corbin nodded. “Certainly.” Even though he was thinking it was utterly bizarre to receive such an invitation. He and Chechikov were not on those kinds of terms.

Apparently now they were.

As Chechikov headed for the front door, Corbin stared at him, feeling a small niggle of concern. Something was wrong. This was not a coincidence for Gregor to be in Vegas right as Carrick had won the primary and the opposing party’s candidate was set to be announced.

The bartender asked Corbin if he wanted a drink and he shook his head absently, puzzled, staring at the shot glass Gregor had used. Old habits died hard. Glancing around to assure no one was aware of him, he picked up a cocktail napkin. Wiping the rim all the way around, he folded the napkin, and tucked it into his pocket.

He might not have another opportunity to add Chechikov to his DNA database.

Ringo was pacing, strung out from the desire to get high, anxious as hell over Kelsey. No matter that he had never intended to come back for her. Now that he had, she wasn’t there, and it worried him. He had returned to their room to get her after stopping at a restaurant and tossing back two shots of whiskey. It hadn’t decreased his urge for something harder, something like what Donatelli had had in that cup. Heroin.

But the alcohol had made him bold, reckless. Desperate to get rid of the urge swirling inside him, he had fed four times, straight from the source, sucking his victims hard and fast, taking more than he should have to finally feel full. It hadn’t worked, and he’d left four women dazed and disoriented in Central Park. It had made him feel guilty, which had pissed him off, and when he had returned to their crappy motel room and found Kelsey gone, he swiftly shifted his anger to her.

She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without him. This was why he hated dragging her around with him, like a fucking anchor around his neck. And where was the gratitude? He could have just left her, yet he’d gone back for her, and this was what he got? Shit. He had been just fine on his own, without all these complications. Pain in the fucking ass, that’s what she was, had been since the first time he’d met her. He didn’t know why he put up with her, didn’t know why he kept her around, why he risked his neck for her. Didn’t know why the hell he was worried about her.

Because she was a freaking fruitcake, that’s why, and for whatever weird-ass reason, he cared about her. And damn it, he hated that. Hated it. He didn’t want to care. Or worry. Or regret that he could never be the kind of man who would be good for her.

Ringo ripped the lamp off the nightstand, its cord tearing out of the socket, and tossed it against the wall above the dresser, where it shattered with a satisfying smash. He sent the other one flying after it. And pitched the ice bucket onto the floor. He was pulling out dresser drawers one by one and stomping them into bits with his boots when the door opened and Kelsey came in. The sight of her, safe, a frown on her beautiful face, filled him with relief and renewed rage.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded, splintering wood beneath his feet with a sickening crack.

Kelsey came over to him in a rush, her hands fluttering out. “Ringo, stop that. We can’t pay for that.”

“So. What.” He reached for another one.

Kelsey grabbed his arm to stop him. “Baby, what’s the matter?” She stroked his skin, her voice soothing. “I’m sorry I left... I hope you weren’t worried. I just went to feed. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be gone, since you didn’t leave a note or anything.”

A note? Now he was supposed to leave a fucking note whenever he wanted to go anywhere? “You should have done what I told you to do and stayed here. You never listen to me, Kelsey!”

She moved in closer, sliding her leg along his, wincing like she’d felt a sudden pain. “Shh... yes, I do. I listen to you. Don’t be mad at me, baby. You know I only want what makes you happy. I’m sorry.”

Her lips were on his ear, hands moving over his arm, his chest. Ringo stood still, breathing hard, his anger untamed, anxiety and urges rising hot and fast and sick inside him. He felt out of control, and he worked to regain a semblance of it.