How To Marry A Millionaire Vampire (15 page)

“This is not my area of expertise, sir.” Laszlo twisted a button on his new, bright white lab coat.

“Don’t worry.” Roman scooted onto a stool in his lab at Romatech. “Besides, how could you hurt me? I’m already dead.”

“Well, not technically, sir. Your brain is still active.”

His brain was mush, though Roman didn’t care to admit it. Since receiving the news about Shanna’s disappearance, he could hardly follow his own train of thought. “You did a good job wiring VANNA to work. I’m sure you’ll manage with me.”

Laszlo picked up a wire cutter, then changed his mind and selected some needle-nosed pliers. “I’m not quite sure how to go about this.”

“Just rip the damn wires out of my mouth.”

“Yes, sir.” Laszlo advanced toward Roman’s open mouth with the pliers. “I apologize in advance for any discomfort.”

“Unh.” Roman acknowledged the remark.

“I appreciate your confidence in me.” Laszlo yanked the wires loose. “And I’m glad to have something to do. Otherwise, I start thinking about…” He lowered his hand and frowned.

“Aaargh.” Roman had wires poking the inside of his mouth. This was not the time for Laszlo to obsess over death threats.

“Oh, sorry.” Laszlo resumed his work. “I still don’t have my car. We left it at the dental office last night with VANNA in the trunk. So I don’t have anything to work on tonight.”

Roman remembered his unfortunate conclusion regarding the Vampire Artificial Nutritional Needs Appliance. That toy had propelled him into a powerful state of blood-lust. She would remind every Vamp how glorious it was to bite. He hated to tell Laszlo his project would have to be scrapped, especially when the guy was going through hell. Maybe after the conference.

“There.” Laszlo removed the last of the wires. “All done, sir. How does it feel?”

Roman ran his tongue along his teeth. “Good. Thanks.”

Now, he wouldn’t have to attend the conference with wires in his mouth. And Shanna wouldn’t be able to use the splint excuse to avoid kissing him. Not that he had much hope for future kisses.

He glanced at the clock in his lab. Three-thirty a.m. He’d been calling Connor every thirty minutes for an update, but no one had seen Shanna. She’d pulled a great disappearing act.

Roman knew she was tough and smart. And she had his crucifix to protect her. Still, he worried. He couldn’t concentrate on work. His package from China had arrived, but even that couldn’t distract him from his growing sense of frustration and anxiety.

“Is there something else I can do?” Laszlo was back to plucking at his buttons.

“Would you like to assist me on my current project?” Roman gathered a pile of papers from his desk.

“I’d be honored, sir.”

“I’m working on a formula that would enable us to stay awake during the daylight hours.” Roman handed the papers to Laszlo.

His eyes widened. “Fascinating.” He examined the papers.

Roman returned to his desk and opened the package. “This is a root from a rare plant that grows in Southern China. It’s supposed to have remarkable energizing effects.” He dug through a mass of Styrofoam peanuts and pulled out a dried root encased in bubble wrap.

“May I see it?” Laszlo reached for the dried plant.

“Sure.” A week ago, the project had fascinated him. But now Roman had lost interest. Why bother to stay awake during the day if he couldn’t share the time with Shanna? God’s blood, she had affected him more strongly than he had realized. And now that she was gone, there was nothing he could do about it.

Two hours later, Roman returned to his townhouse. His guests from Europe were safely tucked away in guestrooms on the third and fourth floors. His so-called harem had been chastised for their rudeness to Shanna. They were skulking in their rooms on the second floor.

He entered his office and headed to the wet bar for a bedtime snack. While the bottle warmed up in the microwave, he wandered toward his desk. Memories of Shanna filled his mind. He could see her resting on the blood-red velvet chaise. He could see them kissing by the door.

He stopped with a jerk. There on his desk was the silver chain and crucifix. “Shanna, no.” He reached for the cross, but it instantly seared his flesh.

“Shit!” He dropped it and examined the burned skin on his fingertips. Just what he needed—a painful reminder that God had abandoned him. Damn. He would heal overnight, but what would become of Shanna? Without the silver cross, she had no protection from the Russian vampires.

This was his fault. He should have been more honest. Now, in her anger, she had rejected the one thing she needed most to survive.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated hard. He’d been connected to her mentally just the night before. And it had been an amazingly strong, two-way connection. Perhaps some of it remained.

He reached out for her. Shanna! Shanna, where are you ?

God’s blood, he felt so alone and helpless.

Shanna moaned in her sleep, haunted by a strange dream. She was at work, and Tommy was in the examination chair, telling her to chill. Then he transformed into Roman. He raised his hand, palm up. A wolf’s fang rested in a pool of blood.

Shanna rolled over. No, no blood.

In her dream, she picked up her instruments and looked inside Roman’s mouth. She glanced at the dental mirror. What? The mirror showed an empty chair, but Roman was in the chair. Suddenly he caught her hand. He wrenched the dental mirror from her grasp and tossed it onto the tray. “Come with me.”

Instantly they were back in Roman’s office. He took her in his arms and whispered, “Trust me.” Shanna felt herself melting.

Then he kissed her, kisses that she never wanted to end, kisses so hot that she kicked the blanket off the bed. He led her to his bedroom and opened the door. His king-sized bed was gone.

In the middle of the room sat a black coffin. No. Shanna stared at it in horror.

Roman held out his hand, beckoning her forward. She retreated to his office, but the harem was there, laughing at her. They had a new member—the dead blond from the television newscast. Blood trickled from two punctures on her neck.

With a jolt, Shanna sat up in bed, gasping for air. Oh God, even in her sleep she was a basket case. She dropped her head forward into her hands and rubbed her temples.

Shanna! Shanna, where are you?

“Roman?”

She looked around the dark room, half expecting one of the dark shadows to move toward her. The clock on the bedside table glowed the time. Five-thirty a.m. She turned on the lamp.

No one there. She took a deep breath. Just as well. Roman couldn’t help her. He couldn’t be trusted. Tears of frustration threatened to overflow.

Dear God, she had never felt so alone and helpless.

Shanna hid in her hotel room most of the next day, waiting until it was time to meet Bob at the safe house. Her thoughts eventually gravitated back to Roman. How could she have been so wrong about him?

He was a brilliant scientist and a gorgeous-looking man. He’d rescued her without a concern for his own safety. He’d been kind and generous. And there had been something else she’d sensed inside him. A great well of remorse and regret. She’d understood his pain. God knew she lived with guilt and remorse every day of her life. Karen had been alive when she’d first found her, but out of fear, she’d done nothing to help her.

Her gut instinct had told her that Roman suffered from the same kind of torment. She’d felt connected to him in a deep-rooted, elemental way, as if their two souls knew how to comfort each other more than anyone else’s ever could. He’d given her hope for the future, and God help her, she had sworn she was giving him hope. It had felt so right with him.

So how could he be a womanizing bastard with a harem? Had her loneliness and fear skewed her perceptions so that she no longer read people correctly? Had she somehow projected her own feelings of guilt and despair on him, making him appear totally different from his real self? Who was the real Roman Draganesti?

She’d been so sure about him. She had thought he was the perfect man. She had thought he was a man she could fall in love with. A tear rolled down her cheek. To be honest, she had already started falling for him. That was why it had hurt so much to discover his harem.

In the afternoon, she visited the hotel’s computer room and did a search. She found nothing on Roman, but the website for Romatech Industries came up, complete with a picture of the facility near White Plains, New York. It looked lovely, surrounded by manicured gardens. She printed the page and folded it up in her purse. Why? She didn’t want to see him again. He was a womanizing pig. Wasn’t he? She sighed. Whatever he was, he was driving her crazy. And she had more important matters to worry about. Like staying alive.

By seven-forty-five that evening, she was ready for her trip to the safe house. The clothes Radinka had purchased were not designed for blending into the woodwork. With her hot-pink pants and camisole, and a big cotton shirt of neon orange and pink plaid, she could be spotted a mile away. Oh well. She would just think of it as a disguise. No one would expect her to look like a hot-pink version of Marilyn Monroe.

She packed up her belongings and took the elevator down to the lobby. She waited a few minutes in the taxi line in front of the hotel. The sun had set, but the city was still bright with lights—bright enough that Shanna spotted a black SUV parked across the street. She caught her breath. A coincidence, that was all. There were hundreds of black SUVs in New York City.

The next cab was hers. She climbed in and was instantly assaulted by the smell of hot pastrami. She leaned forward to give the driver the address and noticed his half-eaten sandwich resting on a sheet of crumpled foil in the front seat. The taxi lurched forward, making her fall back.

“New Rochelle?” the driver asked as he careened onto the avenue, headed north toward Central Park.

Shanna glanced back. The SUV was pulling away from the curb. Oh, great. Her taxi made a right turn. She took a deep breath, waited, then looked back. The SUV was turning. Dammit!

She leaned toward the cab driver. “You see the black SUV behind us? It’s following us.”

The driver looked in the rearview mirror. “No, no. Is okay.”

She couldn’t place his accent, but his complexion indicated African or maybe Caribbean. She glanced at his ID card. “Oringo, I’m serious. Take a turn up here and see for yourself.”

He shrugged. “If you like.” He made a left turn onto Sixth, then flashed her a grin. “See? No black SUV.”

The SUV turned onto Sixth Avenue.

Oringo’s smile faded. “You in trouble, miss?”

“I could be if they catch me. Can you lose them?”

“You mean, like in movies?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“We in a movie?” Oringo looked around as if he expected to see cameras set up on the sidewalk.

“No, but I can give you an extra fifty if you lose them.” Shanna mentally counted her cash. Dang, by the time this ride was over, she’d be almost completely tapped.

“You got a deal.” Oringo slammed on the accelerator and zoomed across two lanes to make a right-hand turn.

Shanna fell back against the seat. She fumbled about for a seat belt. This was going to be one hell of a ride.

“Ah, damn! It is still behind us.” Oringo swerved into another right turn. They were now going south, the wrong direction. “What kind of trouble you in?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Ah.” Oringo cut through a parking lot and burst out onto a street without slowing down. “I know where you can get a good Rolex. Or Prada bag. Real cheap. Looks like the real thing.”

“I appreciate that, but I really don’t have time to shop right now.” Shanna flinched when the cab ran a red light and narrowly missed getting hit by a delivery van.

“Too bad.” Oringo grinned at her in the rearview mirror. “You look like good customer.”

“Thanks.” Shanna looked behind them. The black SUV was still there, though it had been stopped momentarily by the red light. She glanced at the dashboard clock. It was fifteen past eight. She would arrive at the safe house late.

If she ever arrived at all.

Roman arrived at Romatech at twenty past eight. The Gala Opening Ball was scheduled to begin sharply at nine. He wandered across the ballroom. A swarm of balloons hovered along the ceiling like a colony of black and albino bats. He groaned inwardly. Why did his guests love this ghoulish atmosphere? He certainly didn’t feel like partying when everything here reminded him he was dead.

The tables were covered with black tablecloths, topped crosswise with square white tablecloths. Black vases filled with white funeral lilies stood at the ends of each table. The center of each table was left blank for now. That space was reserved for the ice sculptures.

Behind each of the three tables was a black coffin. No satin on the interior. They were actually giant ice chests. Nestled among the ice cubes were bottles of the new taste sensations he was introducing tonight—Bubbly Blood and Blood Lite.

A small stage had been erected on one side of the room,in front of the glass windows that overlooked the garden. The band was already there, setting up their equipment.

A pair of double doors suddenly swung open. Workers held the doors while others wheeled in the ice sculptures. A flurry of activity buzzed around the sculptures. Everyone was excited.

Roman had never felt more depressed. His tuxedo was uncomfortable. The cape—ridiculous. And there had been no word about Shanna. She’d disappeared, leaving him ragged with worry and his tired old heart withered with loss. He’d asked Connor to watch Petrovsky’s house tonight. The Scotsman had agreed, even though it meant he would miss the Opening Ball. At least, as far as Roman could tell, the Russians hadn’t found Shanna, either.

Radinka strode toward him, her face flushed. “Doesn’t it look wonderful? This will be the best party I’ve ever planned.”

He shrugged. “I guess.” He noted the warning glint in Radinka’s eyes. “It looks great. You did a wonderful job.”

She snorted. “I know when I’m being patronized. Your tie is crooked.” She reached up to adjust his bow tie.

“It’s hard to do without a mirror. Besides, it wasn’t in the dress code at the monastery.”

Radinka paused. “Then it is true? You were a monk?”

“Not a very good one. I’ve broken most of my vows.” All but one.

She made a dismissive sound as she finished with his bow tie. “You are still a good man. I will forever be in your debt.”

“No regrets?” Roman asked softly.

Her eyes filled with tears. “No. Never. He would have died if you hadn’t…”

Turned her son into a demon? Roman doubted she wanted to hear the harsh words.

Radinka stepped back and blinked to clear her eyes. “Don’t make me feel all mushy. I have too much work to do.”

Roman nodded. “We still haven’t found her.”

“Shanna? Don’t worry. She will come back. She must. She is in your future.” Radinka touched her forehead. “I have seen it.”

Roman sighed. “I want to believe you. Really I do, but I lost my faith many years ago.”

“And you turned to science?”

“Yes. It’s dependable. It gives me answers.” And it hasn’t abandoned me like God. Or betrayed me like Eliza. Or run away like Shanna.

Radinka shook her head, regarding him sadly. “For a very old man, you have much to learn.” She pursed her lips. “You realize, don’t you, that in order to have a future with Shanna, you will have to get rid of your harem.”

“Shanna’s gone. The point is moot.”

Radinka narrowed her eyes. “Why do you keep them? As far as I can tell, you ignore them.”

“And you’re supposed to ignore my personal life, remember?”

“How can I when you are so miserable?”

Roman took a deep breath. One of the ice sculptures was in place. God’s blood, it was the most hideous goblin he’d ever seen. “A coven master must have a harem. It’s an ancient tradition. The harem is a symbol of his power and prestige.”

Radinka stared blandly at him, unimpressed.

“It’s a vampire thing, okay?”

She crossed her arms. “In that case, I hope my son never becomes a coven master.”

“They have nowhere else to go. They were raised in times when ladies weren’t expected to work. They have no skills.”

“They’re good at freeloading.”

Roman lifted a brow. “They needed a place to live and blood to drink. I needed the appearance of a harem. Overall, the arrangement has worked quite well.”

“It’s only for show, then? You haven’t had sex with them?”

Roman shifted his weight from one foot to another. He reached up to loosen the tie that was strangling him.

“Don’t mess it up!” Radinka slapped his hand away. She glared at him. “No wonder Shanna is so angry with you.”

“They don’t mean anything to me.”

“And that is meant as an excuse?” Radinka snorted. “Men. Even as vampires, you’re all alike.” She glanced to the side. “Speaking of vampire men, they have arrived. And I need to get back to work.” She headed toward one of the tables.

“Radinka.” She glanced back when he called her. “Thank you. You really have outdone yourself.”

She smiled wryly. “Not bad for a mortal?”

“The best.” He hoped she knew he wasn’t patronizing her. He waited as the men approached. Jean-Luc, Gregori, and Laszlo were in front. Bringing up the rear were Angus and his Highlanders.

Angus Mac Kay was a huge man, a warrior who had mellowed only slightly over the centuries. He was in formal Highland dress—a black jacket over a white jabot shirt with lace at the neck and sleeves. Because of the black and white ball, the Highlanders were wearing kilts that displayed the Scott black and white or the Douglas gray tartan. Their sporrans were made of black muskrat fur. With a nod, Angus dispersed his Highlanders. They spread out to conduct a security check of the building.

In an attempt to look somewhat civilized, Angus had tied his shoulder-length auburn hair into a queue with a strip of black leather. A black-handled dagger was barely visible in one of his black knee socks. Angus never went anywhere without a weapon. In fact, Roman figured his old friend had probably stashed a claymore in one of the potted plants by the entrance.

Jean-Luc was so much the opposite, it was almost laughable to see them side by side. Jean-Luc Echarpe had sophistication down to a fine art. He was more than the grand coven master of Western Europe. He was a world-renowned fashion designer. At first, Jean-Luc had focused on evening wear, since he and his followers were only active during the night. But when movie stars had started wearing his designs, his business had mushroomed. Now he was on the cutting edge of everyday fashion with his line of Chique Gothique.

Jean-Luc was sporting a black tuxedo with a black cape lined in gray silk. He carried a black walking stick he didn’t need. He was the most agile vampire Roman had ever met. Tall and slim, he could run up the side of a building without batting an eye. His curly black hair was worn with a disheveled look, and his twinkling blue eyes dared anyone to disagree with his taste.

Jean-Luc might look like a fop, but Roman knew better. The Frenchman could turn deadly in less than a second.

Roman nodded at his friends. “Shall we go to my office?”

“Aye,” Angus replied for the group. “Gregori tells me ye have some new drinks for us tonight.”

“Yes. They’re the latest from my line of Fusion Cuisine.” Roman escorted the men down a hall to his office. “The first one, Bubbly Blood, is a combination of blood and champagne. It’ll be advertised as the drink of choice for those special vampire occasions.”

“Formidable, mon ami.” Jean-Luc smiled. “I have sorely missed the taste of champagne.”

“Well, it still tastes more like blood, I’m afraid,” Roman continued. “But the fizz is there. And the alcoholic content. You can get a definite buzz after a few glasses.”

“I can vouch for that,” Gregori added. “I volunteered as guinea pig and drank a bunch. Great stuff. At least I think it was.” He grinned. “I don’t remember much about that night.”

Laszlo fiddled with a button on his rental tux. “We rolled you out to the car in an office chair.”

The men chuckled. Laszlo blushed. Roman suspected the chemist was nervous at being in the company of three major coven masters. But then, Laszlo always looked nervous.

“Did ye get the whisky I sent ye?” Angus asked.

“Yes.” Roman slapped his old friend on the shoulder. “Your fusion drink of whisky and blood is next on our list.”

“Och, good,” Angus said.

“I tried the Chocolood.” Jean-Luc wrinkled his Gallic nose. “It was too sweet for my taste, but the ladies love it.”

“They love it too much.” Roman opened his office door. “That’s why I invented the second drink we’re introducing tonight. Blood Lite.”

“A diet drink?” Jean-Luc entered his office.