Forever Valentine (2 page)

He’d also watched the pathetic excuse for a man who now sat across from her ask her out on this ludicrous date. Silently, he’d been hoping she’d tell the weasel to take a hike, but to his consternation, she’d agreed to dinner with the other doctor. It had been all Ian could do not to reveal his presence and pound the smaller man into the floor for even daring to think he had a chance with this special woman.

Coming here tonight was immature, he knew, but Ian couldn’t help himself. He had to watch over her. He told himself he was just doing the duty he’d sworn to perform as an enforcer for his kind, but really, he was here for himself. Jena wasn’t going to tell weasel-boy about vampires, and even if she did, the mental munchkin sitting across from her wouldn’t believe it. He just didn’t have the imagination.

But he did have audacity. In vast quantities. Ian saw him reach across the table to snag her hand at the same time his leg moved and his sock-covered foot brushed over her calf. Jena jumped, moving her chair back so she was mostly out of reach of his marauding footsie, but she couldn’t pull her hand away without causing a scene.

If that little twerp touches her one more time,
Ian thought loudly in their direction,
it’ll be the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre all over again.

Really, Ian.
The feminine flavored thoughts landed gently in his mind, shocking him down to his Italian leather loafers.
Please try to behave yourself.

You heard me?
It didn’t seem possible the little human doctor could have any psi ability—and certainly not this kind of strong, delicious-tasting telepathy. Ian could count on one hand the number of humans he’d met over the centuries who could communicate with him this way.

Obviously.
Her tone was dryly amused.

Fascinating.
The observation escaped through his astonishment.
Do you make a habit of listening to other people’s thoughts?

Actually, no. I’ve only ever been able to pick up on really strong personalities and practically no one ever hears me when I talk back in their minds.

‘Practically’ no one?

Well, my mother can. And a few others.

More and more intriguing.

Dick Schmidt interrupted their silent conversation by squeezing her hand.

What do you see in a guy like that? He’s on the make, plain and simple. And if you dare take Romeo home with you tonight, I may not be able to control myself.

His name is Dick.

How appropriate
.

You wouldn’t really hurt him, would you?

Ian paused.
I’d try not to, but honestly, Jena? I can’t be certain. I don’t like seeing you with him.

But is it so wrong to want someone in my life, Ian? Compared to you, my life is so short. I want to find love, if I can.
Her tone was so wistful, it lit the dark recesses where he’d buried his heart.

You won’t find love with the likes of him. And you still have many years to consider, and find the man who will treat you right.

Not as many as you might think—or that I might wish for.

Ian would have asked what she meant by that cryptic comment, but Dick reclaimed her attention, shoving a small box across the table. Ian’s hackles rose.

“For you, dollface.” Ian’s sharp hearing picked up the other man’s smarmy tone.

Ian’s only consolation was that Jena didn’t seem all that thrilled at the prospect of receiving a gift from the other doctor. She opened the small package as if it were contagious, an expression of guarded curiosity on her beautiful face.

When she lifted the lid and dropped the box back on the table, Ian almost rose and rushed to her side, but she was quick to recover her composure. She pasted a patently false smile on her face and thanked the man for the lovely thought, but demurred from accepting what Ian now saw was a chunky silver bracelet. Even from across the room, he could smell the metallic tang of fine silver, more pure even than sterling.

Poison.                                                            

Pure silver was the fastest, most painful way to kill a vampire. It reacted with the special agent in their blood and tissues, frying them from the inside out. Ian had seen one or two of his kind die that way in his many centuries and the agony of their deaths haunted him sill.

Give it back to him. I don’t want that poison anywhere near you.
Ian knew he was being unreasonable. She was human after all, silver wasn’t lethal to her. But all his protective instincts rose when he saw the otherwise pretty ornament.

Believe me, neither do I. Silver and I just don’t mix.

Jena slid the box back over to Dick using just the tip of one finger. She thanked him again for the sentiment, but explained her allergy to silver. She also said—much to Ian’s satisfaction—she couldn’t accept such a costly gift from a man she hardly knew.

You’re allergic to silver?
The idea made Ian pause. Few humans were truly allergic to the precious substance.

My skin turns black and a sort of disgusting shade of green. It’s pretty gross, so I steer clear.

Curiouser and curiouser, Ian thought carefully to himself. The fair skin, the allergy to silver, preference for working the night shift…all these things suddenly made him suspicious. They brought to mind legends about how once in a very long while, a child might be born of a vampire and a mortal. It wasn’t common at all, but every few hundred years or so, such things did occur.

The resulting children were often sickly, but usually survived into their thirties, and sometimes had children of their own. Demi-vampir, these oddities lived on the fringes of both worlds, often totally unaware of their connections to the supernatural unless they came into contact with a true vampire who was willing to clue them in.

Perhaps Jena, or one of her ancestors more likely, was the product of such a union? Then her abilities and proclivities would make a lot more sense. Ian wondered if she could be one of these—the rarest of the rare.

Chapter Two

Ian sat through the rest of the interminable dinner date, calmly sipping his wine, presenting a tranquil façade to the world while he inwardly seethed. Dick was really getting on his nerves. The unctuous doctor had more moves than an acrobat, and he tried every last one on Jena. But she was just a little too savvy. She verbally skirted around his glaring innuendo, and avoided his roving footsie with aplomb. Ian silently cheered her on from his ringside seat.

When it came time to leave, he was right behind them. Oh, most people wouldn’t be aware he followed, but another supernatural being might just ferret him out—if they were really good.

Ian watched from the bushes at the foot of Jena’s driveway as Doctor Octopus tried to charm his way inside her home. The little bastard would step through that door over Ian’s dead body, and no other way. But he’d give Jena a chance to get rid of him in a more reasonable way first.

Ian didn’t quite understand his own violent responses, but he knew he was far from rational where Jena was concerned. Still, he would try to play by the rules, as long as Doctor Dick didn’t do anything to push Ian over the edge. He wanted so badly to pound the other man’s face into the ground, he knew he had to steer clear if at all possible. Contact between himself and the smaller mortal male could very well be deadly for Doctor Dickhead.

Ian amused himself thinking up insulting variations of Dick’s name while he waited impatiently for Jena to finally send the jerk on his way. Hey, it was better than ripping the man’s face off. And far less troublesome.

But what had the world come to when a fearsome, centuries-old vampire had to play schoolyard games in his mind to keep from brutally biting a man he didn’t like at all? Ian shook his head. It was because of Jena. Had to be. The woman was driving him crazy. It was as plain and simple as that. Before Jena had come into his life, he had been a mentally balanced, somewhat austere man. Since babysitting for the beautiful doctor, he’d become a salivating, slandering, just downright silly parody of himself.

Ian grinned in triumph when the sniveling facsimile of a man finally turned away from Jena’s door in defeat. A silent pounding of his fist in the air was Ian’s victory dance. He watched Dick Schmidt back his pompous luxury car out of the driveway, and followed his progress down the dark street until he was out of sight.

Only then did Ian make his way up to Jena’s door. It was partially open as he knocked, and Jena stood on the other side as if expecting him. Perhaps she was, he thought with an inward quake. Perhaps she was one of the precious few mortals who could detect his kind, even when he wished to remain hidden. Or perhaps—and this was even more frightening—she was the one woman in all the world, and all the centuries, who was destined just for him.

“Will you invite me in?” Ian’s voice was pitched low, his tone somber.

Jena knew the vampire had to be formally invited inside her dwelling. It was tradition, and these creatures thrived on tradition, if nothing else. But the question remained in her mind—should she? Should she invite the vampire into her home, breaching the sanctity of her only retreat?

Could she trust Ian not to take advantage? Could she trust him not to kill her, if for some reason he took it into his mind that she was a threat to his people? That was the crux of the matter right there.

Jena considered for a long moment before stepping back to make room for him to enter.

“Please come in, Ian.”

“You say that with such resignation. As if you’ve been expecting me.”

Jena shrugged. “I knew from the moment I saw you in that restaurant, you would show up here sooner or later.”

Ian sighed dramatically. “How the mighty have fallen. I’ve become predictable in my old age.”

Jena chuckled as he swept past her into the small foyer of her house. He had a quirky sense of humor and it took her by surprise.

“I’ll grant that you’re probably much older than me, but you give the appearance of being only a few years my senior. So the ‘old age’ thing just won’t work.”

“Ah, the impertinence of youth.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “But then what’s an immortal to do?”

Jena ushered him into the small, heated greenhouse that was attached onto the back of her home. It was a refuge in the sheltering greenery of her private backyard. She kept a small wine cooler in the room for when she needed to unwind after a long day—or night—at the hospital. There were also a multitude of candles just waiting to be lit around a small patio set with a table and two chairs.

“Will you join me in a glass of Beaujolais Nouveau? Can your kind drink that?”

Ian actually shivered. “It is a delicacy to me. The first wine…the closest thing to sunshine I will ever feel again.”

Jena was touched by his unexpectedly poetic words as she bent to retrieve a fresh bottle from her private stock in the wine cooler. When she straightened from her task, Ian was already seated, and several of the nearest candles were lit.

“You move fast,” she nodded toward the flickering tapers.

“When the need arises.” Ian bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Smiling, Jena set the wine bottle before him, along with a cork screw. “Will you do the honors?”

“Gladly.”

Ian made short work of the wrapper and cork, allowing the wine to breathe a bit while Jena reached behind her for a pair of crystal glasses. He really had impeccable manners, like something right out of the pages of history. But then, that’s essentially what he was. He had lived in gentler times and had the manners to prove it.

Jena could not let herself forget that regardless how polite he was now, Ian was a cold-blooded killer. Not only had he embraced the darker side of existence when he became a vampire, but the work he did as an enforcer for the vampire hierarchy only honed his deadly skills. It was his job to hunt down rogues among his kind, dispense justice, and protect the secrecy of their existence from all mortals.

She guessed he had also dealt with other kinds of supernatural beings throughout his many years on earth. Intrigued, she tried to imagine just a little bit of what he had lived through in his centuries. The things he must have seen. The places he must have lived. It boggled the mind.

“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.” Ian’s voice floated from out of the night. The candles were for her benefit, she knew. Vampires could see quite well in the dark.

“Like what?” She tried to be nonchalant, but it was clear she’d been caught staring.

Ian poured the wine calmly. “Like you’re wondering just what horrible things I’ve done over the centuries.”

Damn.
“So are you a mind reader as well as a vampire?” Jena lifted the glass and tried to brazen it out.

“Sometimes. Though it’s more my skill at reading facial expressions and body language than anything psychic. And you’re wonderfully easy to read, Jena.” He toasted her with his glass.

“So much for a woman’s air of mystery.”

Ian drank a small sip from his glass and appeared to truly savor it. The look on his face was that of a man who had touched the sublime. Jena knew the Beaujolais was good. It came from Atticus’ vineyard, after all. Atticus was a vampire who had spent centuries perfecting his vines and his wine making craft.

“Oh, your mystique is in tact, doctor. Never fear.” Ian cradled the glass as if it held the most precious thing in the universe. And for him, perhaps it did.

Jena’s newly changed friends had told her just a bit about the vampire’s relationship to wine and how alcohol somehow reacted with their body chemistry to heal them. It was about the only thing they could ingest without becoming ill and it held an almost mystical significance to them. It was their one last link to the sun.

Her friends wouldn’t tell her much more, but just knowing of the existence of vampires in the world fascinated Jena. It amazed her to think her newly-turned friends would live on long after she was dead. They would remember her and perhaps in that way, she’d leave just a little of herself behind.