Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1) (15 page)

By the end of the meal, I was ready to burst and even Keanu’s eyes looked glazed. Ian hadn’t eaten and I thought he looked sad as Keanu transferred the leftovers onto a tray. I was slightly sad myself as the roulade left the dining room. Only my memory of the sausage sandwich debacle had prevented a third serving.

“You didn’t want anything?” It was hard to believe. What’s one visit to the bathroom in the greater scheme when you have eternity to work with?

Ian shrugged as he stood from the table. “I’ve tasted Keanu’s cooking before. Please excuse me.” He left the room.

Alrighty then. So much for that conversation.

Keanu returned for the remainder of the dishes as I stared after Ian in consternation. (Actually, I was staring at the door—Ian was long gone.)

“Yeesh, was it something I said?” I didn’t know which was more annoying—Ian’s behavior or the fact that Ian’s behavior annoyed me, if that made sense.

Keanu smiled as he cleared. “It’s not you. Ian is sulking because he couldn’t eat.”

“Who the heck was stopping him?” I shoved my chair back and tried to clear my own dishes, but Keanu snatched them from my hands.

“What the hell, Keanu?” I slapped my hand on the table. “What is
wrong
with you guys today?”

“Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m overprotective.” He carefully wiped the smears of roulade off my dessert plate and extended it, upside down.

Tilting my head to read the tiny print I read aloud from the back of the plate, “The White House 200
th
Anniversary, 1800 – 2000, Lenox, The White House Collection.”

“What does that mean, the White House Collection?”

Keanu gently set the plate on the tray. “Exactly what it says. It’s the presidential china from Clinton’s terms in office. Not all of it of course, it was an enormous set.”

“Do I want to know why it’s here?”
Or how Ms. Parkes had obtained it?

“No. And to answer your other question,” he cut me off before I could demand more details, “Ian didn’t eat because he’ll be nauseous tomorrow. The last thing he needs is food in his stomach.”

That stopped me. “You’re talking about sun sickness. Ian didn’t give details,” I murmured, not that
that
was anything new. Until recently I’d thought vampires couldn’t be in the sun at all.

Keanu settled back in his seat at the head of the table and sipped his water. (I’d vetoed his enthusiastic suggestion of wine at noon.) “I’m happy to help with that.

“You already know a vampire’s strength increases as we age, which affects our reaction to the sun. After a human has fully converted, it takes a new vampire centuries to stay awake during daylight, let alone survive exposure to sunlight. Sun sickness manifests in different ways. Vomiting, nausea, muscle weakness and headaches are the lesser symptoms. Depending on the amount of skin exposed and the vampire’s age, the poisoning is frequently fatal. Even after two and a half centuries I’d be far too weak to survive it without regular infusions from Ian.”

He shrugged as if this was no big deal.

“But you’ll be okay, right?” I said it somewhat desperately. I felt like the world’s biggest jerk for putting the guys through this.

“Honestly? I’m somewhat looking forward to it.” Keanu shrugged again. “The sun being painful doesn’t make it less worth seeing,” he finished simply before rising and removing the rest of the dishes from the room.

Having nothing better to do, I left the table and went in search of Ian. I found him on his blue sofa and sat beside him without waiting for an invite.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t eat. Maybe when things are less crazy I’ll cook for everyone, though I’ll make sure to use different plates to spare Keanu’s nerves.”

Ian smirked, but I didn’t know if he was reacting to my china reference or the idea of me cooking. And okay, I didn’t know how to cook but surely I could master
one
splashy meal—if for no other reason than to wipe the smirk off Ian’s face.

Giving up on conversation, I shifted my attention to the trio of movies Ian had queued in advance. By the time I’d sat through Schindler’s List, Gone with the Wind and Avatar—my first experience with 3d glasses—I didn’t argue when Ian suggested I turn in. My emotions had been sucked dry.

“If it’s okay with you, now that it’s dark, I’ll apply a temporary window tint to the truck,” he added.

I’d never heard the term. “Window tint?”

“It’s a thin film used to darken glass. It’s sheer, but it reduces the amount of light the glass lets in. It might make things easier and we can remove it later.”

“Sure, anything to make it easier is fine. You’ll wake me when it’s time to leave?” I had a vision of Ian trying to do everything alone.

“I need you there,” he reminded me. “If we’re asked to go inside for the payment or a receipt, that’s on you unless I have the privacy to force an invitation. It’s doable but I’d rather conserve my energy.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. And thank you for this.”

“We don’t want Luigi out of business any more than you do.”

“Of course.” I somehow kept forgetting the role Luigi’s business played for the two vampires. My sense of guilt was determined to make this all about me. I stood to leave, but Ian lifted his hand in a gesture to wait.

“One more thing before you leave. Keanu was in Manhattan a few nights ago and thought you’d like this.” He offered a bottle of crimson nail polish.

“Wow, that was generous. I’ll have to thank him.”

“Don’t spill,” he cautioned. “Nail polish won’t wash out. Use towels or something.”

“Not a problem.” I turned to leave then turned back before I forgot. “Not to be rude, but no kittens tonight, please. I’m old enough to not need protection from my dreams.”

Ian’s back went poker straight. “My apologies. Believe me Aurora, I know you’re an adult. I’m sure you can handle anything your dreams throw at you.”

He stalked out though I’d been leaving the room anyway. I considered pursuing him—for two seconds—and then decided Ian’s mood wasn’t my problem.

Since the air conditioning was blasting to combat the heat, I opted for a hot bath. A few changes had been made in the bathroom and I smiled at the silky crimson robe hanging from a hook on the back of the door, wondering if Keanu had selected it to match the nail polish or if Ian had picked it to match his bathroom. My new friends were a tad obsessive about color and I idly wondered if their vision differed from my own.

Sliding into the robe, I passed the time it took for the tub to fill by admiring the array of goodies that had materialized on the counter since my previous visit. The jewel bright bottles contained a selection of bubble baths, lotions and scented shampoos—everything you’d never expect a self-respecting male vampire to have in his bathroom.

Or a self-respecting male human, for that matter.

In addition to the bottles, a copper box sat near the toilet and I idly flicked the lid as I waited. There were a dozen objects inside, each individually wrapped. Since the other new additions were clearly intended for me, I ripped open a wrapper to investigate and a corded chunk of cotton fell into my hand.

It took me a moment to ascertain its intended purpose and I almost collapsed in laughter. A vassal’s lot in life must be lowly indeed if they could be forced to purchase feminine hygiene products. (Not for a heartbeat did I think Ian had bought tampons.)

By the time I’d finished snickering—and had flushed the evidence—the tub was full. I was still smirking as I re-hung
the robe and stepped into the tub. The fountains were as extraordinary as I remembered, but I didn’t linger. I wanted to try my nail polish and didn’t know how long it took to dry.

I was admiring my efforts when a tap at the door interrupted me. 
             

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

“COME in!” I said, happy Ian had
knocked for a change.

He poked his head in. “I saw the light. Are you still awake?”

“Obviously. What do you think?” I lifted my foot from the towel-draped bed and wiggled my toes. 

Being Ian, he took the question seriously. “Crimson suits you.” Still, he didn’t look particularly happy.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“I’m very well. Thank you.”

I lowered my feet to the floor, careful not to smudge the polish. “I didn’t ask whether you were well, I asked if everything was okay. You’ve been weird all day and now you’re evading my question. Have I done something wrong?”

In lieu of answering he reached into his pocket and withdrew the medical equipment I was so familiar with, setting it on the bed. He looked the closest I’d ever seen him to being embarrassed.

Shame flooded through me, and—wait for it!—more guilt.

“Of course, I’m sorry.’’ I felt terrible Ian had needed to ask, but Nicky had always scheduled our blood draws. In his absence they hadn’t even entered my mind.

“I won’t make you wait another minute,” I said, anxious to show how willing I was. “Do you have juice here? Or fruit? Water will work if you don’t have either, but if this becomes our new routine I’ll need you to keep something around.”

He nodded, doing the whoosh-y thing vampires were so annoyingly fond of before returning with an armload of options. He’d brought three kinds of juice, but I was intrigued by a can of ‘
fruit cocktail in all natural juice
’.

In what was becoming my battle cry around here, I inquired, “Fork?”

He raced to procure one before stepping back. “I’ll give you your privacy.”

Uh-oh.

“Wait, Ian, no.” I shifted toward the edge of the bed, my face already heating. This would be embarrassing.

“Did I forget something else? I’ve already realized I need to leave forks strategically around the house.” His voice was teasing and I felt better. Ian wasn’t mad—he was hungry and had spent the day watching other people eat. 

Embarrassment was pointless, but that didn’t cool my cheeks. “I’ve never done this alone. Nicky would take my blood and then I’d take his. If you can do it, great. If not, I’ll need a big mirror and a few more towels.” I tried to sound confident, but drawing my own blood with a backward mirror view was a disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh.” Initially taken aback, he recovered. “I’m familiar with the process and I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Then he disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes.

I looked at him quizzically on his return and he shrugged. “What? I was washing my hands.”

“For what? Surgery?” His normally elegant hands were pink from heat and friction.

He ignored me. “If we have everything you need, I’m ready when you are.”

“We have all the equipment, but shouldn’t we go to your kitchen? Or at least let me move to a chair. Oh, and you forgot the extra towels.”

He smiled as if I’d said something amusing. “None of that will be necessary. I was inquiring more as to whether you needed anything else to be comfortable.”

I shook my head. Short of getting drunk, nothing would put me at ease.

“Then you can lie back and we’ll proceed.”

Instead of reclining I popped up. “Are you insane? On your fancy bed? What a marvelous idea!” I ran my hand over the velvet in disbelief. “Is this fabric even washable?”

“Aurora, please. It’ll be over before you know it. Look at me.”

Since looking at Ian was by no means a hardship, I obliged. As I met his eyes, I felt a wave of calm wash over me and I drifted on his self-assurance as he lifted the equipment with steady hands.

With as much dignity as I could manage, I lay back and pulled my nightshirt to the top of my thigh. Everything important was covered, but I was relieved I hadn’t worn skimpy underwear.

His hands moved closer and I deliberately looked away, telling myself not to be nervous. After all, this was nothing new for me and I already knew Ian had a talent for healing. Besides, anything was better than tapping my own vein.

“There.” With a flash of movement he was beside me and stroking my hair.

I braced myself. “Okay, I’m ready. Do it now, please.”

He sounded pleased. “Needle’s already in. It’ll be a few minutes—you know the routine—and then you’ll be done.”

“Damn, you’re good.” I hadn’t felt a thing.

He smiled. “As long as we have a connection, why not use it?” His hand continued to stroke my hair and I realized he’d turned on music at some point. The song featured men singing in Latin, which I didn’t understand, followed by people speaking French—which I didn’t understand either. Without my asking, Ian told me the male singing was called Gregorian chant and that the rest of the vocals were from a centuries old enigma. Whatever the heck
that
meant.

I felt woozy, accompanied by an uncharacteristically happy glow. Then I caught Ian murmuring along with the music and realized my contentment stemmed from him. I was reaping the benefits of his mood and giggled as he prepared to remove the needle.

“That tickles!” I felt a tiny stab of heat in my leg and Ian was beside me again.

“Bandage?” I whispered. I was almost too sleepy to move but didn’t want to bleed on the bed. Another stroke of my hair.

“No need, precious girl.” I didn’t know why he was whispering, but I loved his voice like this—quiet and low and ten times more soothing than the artificial voice he used when I was upset. “The needle site is clean and healed. Would you like to sleep, or would you like something to eat first?”

The decision was made when I fell asleep before I could answer.

I awoke to a chilly draft as the hands I’d admired earlier slid the velvet covers to my feet. I didn’t remember getting beneath the covers, but it wouldn’t be the first time Ian had tucked me in without my knowledge. However, it was definitely the first time he’d engaged in the
un
-tucking portion of the program.

I felt surprisingly enthusiastic about this turn of events, but still almost kicked him in surprise as he kissed the instep of my foot. As I stared at the foot in question, his mouth worked its way toward my ankle and I noted my crimson toenail polish shone iridescent black in the wavering light of the fireplace.

The fireplace? I would’ve sworn the room had been dark a moment ago, but it didn’t seem important as Ian’s lips inched up the side of my calf. No, not important at all.

Minutes passed as Ian worked his way upward. When his mouth reached the back of my knee, his hands slid up my thighs to free the fabric clinging to my hips, baring my midriff. Progressing upward to nip at my newly healed thigh, he skipped the obvious erogenous zone to focus on my abdomen—which became more erotic with each moment that passed.

His hands were cool to the touch and it felt like I was burning in comparison. I made several attempts to unbutton my night shirt only to have my hands gently removed and placed back at my sides each time.

As Ian’s mouth moved further, I fought to keep my hands from clenching into fists. The temperature of his mouth matched that of his hands and I shivered as he nuzzled the undersides of my breasts with infinite patience.

Finally,
finally
, he pulled back and unbuttoned my nightshirt himself. He moved so slowly I knew he was delaying each bare inch for his own pleasure. He could’ve torn the shirt from my body in a heartbeat if he’d wanted.

Hell, I would’ve ditched it ten minutes ago if he’d let me.

I made a sound in my throat that was pure frustration and in an instant the nightshirt was open and off. The moment my arms were free I set to work unbuttoning Ian’s shirt—with none of his finesse but a hundred times more speed. I’ll leave infinite patience to those with eternity to appreciate it.

Once bared, I could feel every precisely defined muscle in Ian’s torso (so smooth and cool), but the dim light from the fire proved inadequate for admiring it. The light was at his back, denying me a good look at the contours I wanted to scrutinize. My explorations continued one handed while my other hand flailed for the bedside lamp I knew was there. Somewhere.  

My fingers made contact with the bottle of nail polish and sent it skittering to the floor… I found the spine of the book I’d been reading and the clasp of the bra I’d removed before my bath…

I tried to visualize the nightstand as I remembered it, my eyes half crossed as Ian lightly scraped his teeth over my throat. Then my hand plunged into something wet and cold and I jumped up with a squeak.

Backing up against the wall, I found the chandelier’s light switch and flipped it to see what I was doing. Or rather, what I hadn’t been doing. The fireplace was unlit, my nightshirt was still buttoned and Ian was nowhere in sight.

The fruit cocktail I’d selected earlier had been poured into a crystal goblet and nested inside the larger bowl of melting ice—the same bowl into which I’d plunged my hand.

I dried my hand on my nightshirt and sat on the bed, grateful I’d avoided dunking my hand in the sticky fruit. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate because I needed it. I sure as hell needed
something
.

Frustration didn’t come close to describing how I felt and I silently willed myself not to self-combust, grateful that at least no one had been here to witness my foolishness. Then I flinched, realizing both Ian and
Keanu could easily have heard me. Damn. Why hadn’t I kept my mouth shut and let Ian send me another kitten dream?

I froze.

Then I unfroze and went from frustrated to furious at the speed of light. Ian knew I was an adult, did he? He was sure I could handle
anything my dreams threw at me
? So help me, I’d make him pay for this. Somehow.

Not bothering to make a plan (or hunt down pants), I stomped to the living room, stopping short when I found Keanu on the sofa and Ian nowhere in sight. Keanu looked taken aback and I made an effort to rearrange my face into something less homicidal.

“Can I, ah… help you with something, Rory?” His eyes were wide and wary—apparently my efforts hadn’t been entirely successful—and I abandoned the pretense.

“Sure,” I snapped. “You can either tell that
jerk
to stop messing with my dreams or you can tell me where he is
right now
so I can tell him personally.”

Wordlessly, Keanu pointed over my shoulder and I whipped around. As I looked, the wall screen split into dozens of individual images, each showing a different room.

“What? What am I supposed to be looking at?” I whirled back to Keanu and, so help me, the godlike vampire shrank back into the cushions and
flinched
. It would have been hilarious if I hadn’t been furious.

“The um, upper left screen.”

The upper left screen was black and empty. “What about it? There’s nothing there.”

“Look closer, Rory. I’ll up the lights and zoom in.”

Turning around again, I saw a few flecks of white begin to grow larger. Eventually the pale dots became distinguishable as Ian’s face and hands, but everything else was indistinct darkness. As his features grew larger I realized everything surrounding him was black, from the furnishings to his clothing.

“Where the hell is he?” Wherever it was, it was nowhere I’d been.

“It’s our light deprivation room,” Keanu said simply. “It’s a good place to relax.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I was almost too mystified to be upset. “We’re underground. Everything is light deprived once the lights are out.”

“Maybe to
you
,” he replied mildly, which gave me pause.

“Oh.” That was something to ponder when I had some free, non-pissed off time. Of course vampire eyes would be more sensitive to light. “If he sleeps in there, why does he have that wonderful bedroom?”

“Not to state the obvious, but
you’re
using his bedroom. Ian needed to rest before you two leave.” Keanu regained his confidence as my outrage faltered under his logic.

“Oh.” (I wasn’t earning points for witty repartee tonight.) Then it hit me. “Rest? It’s four in the morning. Shouldn’t he be awake?” I’m not sure why I was determined to spar with Keanu, but apparently I was.

Instead of the verbal combat I craved, his response was disappointingly patient. “Ian has been in there since he left you and I can assure you he hasn’t altered anyone’s dreams. If kittens are still plaguing you, I’m afraid that’s on you. Ian is a little, um, drunk.”

I don’t know which hit me harder, embarrassment that I’d dreamed Ian into my head (and bed) without assistance, or shock at the idea of Ian drunk. In the grand tradition of denial—which I vowed to embrace immediately—I opted for the latter.

“You guys can get drunk? How? You said it yourself, the only thing your system can absorb is—Oh.”

Yep, my word for the evening. “Ian overindulged then?”