How To Marry A Millionaire Vampire (17 page)

Gregori pocketed the cell phone. “Connor followed Ivan Petrovsky to a house in New Rochelle. Ivan and his friends went inside. Connor thought they might be holding Shanna there, so he went around back, levitated to a second floor window and teleported inside.”

Roman’s nerves tensed. “Was she there?”

“No,” Gregori replied. “All the rooms upstairs were empty.”

Roman breathed a sigh of relief.

“But they did have a mortal captive on the first floor,” Gregori continued. “Connor listened in on them. Ivan was furious that Shanna hadn’t shown up. Then they killed the mortal. Connor was sore upset ’cause he could only listen. He knew he couldn’t defeat four vampires by himself.”

“Bugger,” Angus muttered.

“Connor heard them receive a call, and then they all rushed out the front door. He went downstairs and found their victim. A U.S. marshal.”

“God’s blood.” Roman grimaced. “He was probably Shanna’s contact.”

“Bloody hell,” Angus muttered. “No wonder the CIA wants us dead. ‘Tis vampires like Petrovsky that give us a bad name.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Laszlo fiddled with a button on his tux jacket. “Can’t we convince the CIA that some of us are peaceful?”

“We’ll have to try.” Angus folded his arms across his broad chest. “And if they doona believe we’re peaceful, then we’ll have to kill the bastards.”

“Aye.” Ian nodded.

Roman frowned. Somehow, their Highlander logic escaped him. “So where is Connor now?”

“He’s on his way here,” Gregori replied. “So is Petrovsky. Connor heard him talking about something he’s planning to do here.”

“Och, we must be prepared.” Angus strode into the ballroom.

Roman waited by the door. The band was playing a waltz. Vampire couples swirled around the floor. Jean-Luc and the reporter danced by, the French coven master shooting Roman a pained look. Angus was giving his instructions to a regiment of Highlanders in a comer of the ballroom.

Ivan Petrovsky was on his way to cause trouble. At least they knew about it ahead of time. It was the unknown that made Roman sick with worry. Where the hell was Shanna?

* * *

The clock on the taxi’s dashboard read eight-fifty. Shanna was running late, but at least she was no longer being followed. Thanks to the driving skills of her taxi driver, Oringo, they had shaken the black SUV off their trail.

“This is the street.” Shanna glanced at the piece of paper where she’d written the address. “Fifty-two sixty-seven. Do you see it?”

The street was dimly lit, making it hard to read the numbers on the houses. They passed a house that was completely dark.

Oringo slowed down. “I think that was it.”

“The dark one?” Why would Bob wait in the dark? An icy finger of doubt tickled the back of Shanna’s neck. Bob had sounded strange on the phone, too.

Oringo pulled over to park. “Here you are. I make fifty dollars extra, right?”

“Yes.” Shanna removed her billfold from her purse. She glanced again at the dark house. “Does that look safe to you?”

“Looks empty to me.” Oringo took a bite of his pastrami sandwich, then twisted in the seat to look at her. “You want to go somewhere else?”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know where else to go.” She scanned the area. There were several parked cars along the street. Was that a black sedan? The tickle on the back of her neck drifted down her spine. “Can you drive by that black car?”

“Okay.” Oringo coasted up the street, slowly passing the sedan.

Shanna peeked over the backseat. Seated behind the wheel of the sedan was a man. “Oh my God!” He was the same man who had cursed in Russian in front of Roman’s house.

He stared back at her, his eyes narrowed.

Shanna turned her back to him. “Drive! Hurry!”

Oringo stomped on the accelerator. The tires squealed. Shanna glanced back. The Russian was yelling into a cell phone. Oringo reached the end of the street and swerved into a left rum, cutting off her view.

Oh shit. The Russians had found out about the safe house. Where on earth could she go? “Aaargh.” She sank down in the seat and covered her face.

“You okay, miss?”

“I—I need to think.” A friend, she needed a friend. Someone who could hide her, loan her some cash. Think! She tapped the heel of her palm against her brow. She couldn’t go far. She was almost out of cash now. A friend, somewhere close.

“Radinka!” Shanna sat up.

“What?” Oringo gave her a worried look in the rearview mirror.

“Can you take me to Romatech Industries?” She fumbled through her purse and pulled out the paper she’d printed earlier. “Here’s the address. Just outside White Plains.” She leaned forward to show it to Oringo.

“Okay. No problem, miss.”

Shanna settled back in her seat. Radinka would help her. She was kind and understanding. And she had said she worked evenings at Romatech. There would also be security at the facility. And lots of people working there. Including Roman Draganesti.

Shanna shuddered. No way would she ask that womanizing creep for help. She’d explain to Radinka that she had no desire to ever see Roman again. She only needed a safe place to hide until she could contact the U.S. marshal’s office in the morning.

Poor Bob. She hoped he was okay. Memory of the Russian in the black sedan made her skin crinkle with goose bumps. She peered out the back window. “Are they following us?”

“I don’t think so,” Oringo said. “We had good head start.”

“God, I hope so.”

“This reminds me of hunting in the savannah. I love hunting. That is my name, you know? Oringo means ‘loves to hunt.’”

Shanna wrapped her arms around herself. “How do you feel about being the prey?”

With a laugh, he veered into a sudden right turn. “Do not worry. If black car comes, I lose them.”

Soon they were outside Romatech. A long driveway curved from the front gate to the front entrance of the facility. Then it circled back through the manicured grounds to the front gate. The driveway was completely jammed with black limousines.

“I get in line?” Oringo asked.

Shanna looked in dismay at the line of cars. What the hell was going on? Getting stuck in traffic with no avenue of escape didn’t seem like a smart idea. “No, drop me off here.”

Oringo pulled to the side of the road. “Must be something big going on inside.”

“I guess so.” Well, the more, the merrier. A ton of people might be her best security right now. The Russians wouldn’t want a bunch of witnesses. “Here.” She passed Oringo a wad of money.

“Thank you, miss.”

“I wish I could tip you more. I’m so very grateful for your help, but I’m running out of money.”

Oringo smiled, his white teeth flashing in the dark. “No problem. I not have this much fun since coming to America.”

“Take care.” Shanna gathered up her purse and tote bag, then sprinted toward the front gate of Romatech.

“Halt!” A guard strode from the gatehouse. A Highlander.

Shanna froze while the memory of open coffins zipped through her mind. Don’t think about it. Just get to Radinka.

The Scotsman’s kilt was a dark gray and white plaid. He eyed her suspiciously. “Ye’re not dressed in black and white.”

Duh. Was there a law against hot pink? “I’m here to see Radinka Holstein. Can you tell her Shanna Whelan is here?”

The Scotsman’s eyes widened. “Holy Christ! Ye’re the one they’re looking for. Doona move, lass. Stay right here.”

He stepped into the gatehouse and grabbed a phone. Shanna pivoted, looking at the limousines. Since when did research facilities hold fancy parties?

She caught her breath. Out on the street, a black sedan pulled up in line. Shit.

She turned and ran for the entrance. She could only hope there was a whole regiment of armed Highlanders inside. Forget the damned coffins. As long as they were on her side, she’d manage to put the coffins out of her mind. Well, not completely.

She made it to the front door, where a limousine was unloading men and women dressed in black and white evening wear. They looked down their noses at her. A few of them sniffed as if she had a strange odor.

What a bunch of snobs, Shanna thought as she slipped inside. The wide foyer was filled with elegant men and women, gathered into groups and chatting. She weaved around them, aware of the haughty stares they angled her way. Sheesh, it was like showing up at the high school prom dressed in her grubbies and without a date.

She spotted a pair of double doors on the right, each door held open by a large potted plant. Music and the hum of voices drifted from the room. She made her way toward the doors.

Suddenly she saw a group of Highlanders marching down the hall. She slipped behind a door and potted plant. They spread out, searching the front entrance.

“Are you looking for the mortal?” a gray-haired man in a tuxedo asked.

Mortal?

“Aye,” one of the Highlanders answered. “Did she come in?”

“Yes,” the gray-haired man answered. “God-awful clothes.”

“Definitely mortal,” his female companion added with a sniff. “You can always smell ‘em.”

Oh, please. While the rich snobs kept the Highlanders occupied, Shanna sneaked through the doors and found herself in a ballroom. Couples dressed in black and white appeared to be doing a minuet straight out of the eighteenth century. Other guests wandered about, chatting and sipping from wineglasses.

She threaded her way through the crowd. People turned to stare. Great. With her hot-pink clothes, she was advertising her uninvited status for all to see. She needed to find Radinka fast. She passed a table with a giant ice sculpture of a bat. A bat? This wasn’t October. Who did bats in springtime?

She froze in shock when she spotted the open coffin behind the table. It was being used as a giant ice chest. How sick could you get! She pushed her way through the crowd. Where the hell was Radinka? And was that Roman going up on the stage? He’d see her for sure. She hid behind a broad-chested man wearing a black T-shirt. DVN. He was holding a digital camera.

“You’re on.” The man cued a woman with huge breasts.

“This is Corky Courrant reporting for Live with the Undead. What an exciting evening! As you can see behind me”—the reporter motioned to the stage—“Roman Draganesti is about to welcome us all to the twenty-third annual Gala Opening Ball. As you know, Roman is CEO of Romatech, inventor of Fusion Cuisine, and master of the largest coven in North America.”

Coven? Who met in covens? Witches? Shanna looked around. Were these people all witches? It would explain the black clothing and the gory details like coffin coolers.

“Would you like a drink?” A waiter stopped in front of her, holding a black tray filled with glasses.

Was he a witch, too? And Radinka? And Roman? “I… uh, do you have something light?”

“Yes! Mr. Draganesti’s latest invention.” The waiter passed her a wineglass. “Enjoy.” He wandered off.

Shanna looked down at her glass. The liquid inside was red. Her attention was distracted by the sound of Roman’s voice. God, he sounded sexy. The bastard.

“I’d like to welcome you all to Romatech Industries.” His eyes scanned the crowd.

Shanna tried to make herself as small as possible behind the man from DVN, but damn, dressed in hot pink, she might as well be shooting off fireworks.

“And welcome you to the annual Gala—” Roman stopped.

Shanna peeked around the DVN man. Good God, Roman was looking right at her. He motioned with a hand, and Ian ran up onto the stage. The young Highlander turned and spotted her. He hurried down the steps and strode toward her.

“—Opening Ball,” Roman finished. “Enjoy.” He followed Ian down the stairs.

“Oh, wonderful!” the reporter exclaimed. “Roman Draganesti is coming this way. Let’s catch a word with him. Oh, Roman!”

Oh shit. What was she supposed to do now? Trust a Highlander who slept in a coffin? Trust a womanizing Roman who must be some kind of grand warlock?

The DVN man stepped back, bumping into her. “Oh, sorry.”

“No problem,” she murmured. Suddenly, she remembered the flying bat on the television and the slogan, DVN. On 24/7 because it’s always nighttime somewhere. Always nighttime? Was this some kind of witch network? “What does DVN stand for?”

The man snorted. “Where have you been the last five years?” His eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. You’re a mortal. What are you doing here?”

Shanna gulped. If she was the only mortal around, then what were these people? She retreated a step. “What does DVN stand for?”

The man smiled slowly. “Digital Vampire Network.”

She gasped. No, it must be some kind of sick joke. Vampires weren’t real.

Ian reached out for her. “Come with me, Miss Whelan. It’s not safe for ye here.”

She flinched. “Stay away from me. I—I know where you sleep.” Coffins, vampires slept in coffins.

He frowned. “Now, give me that glass. I’ll take ye to the kitchen for some real food.”

Real food? Then, what was this? Shanna lifted her wineglass and sniffed. Blood! With a yelp, she threw the glass to the side. It shattered on the floor, splattering blood everywhere.

A woman screeched. “Look what you did! Bloodstains on my new white gown. Why, you—” She glared at Shanna and hissed.

Shanna stepped back. She looked around. Everywhere, people were drinking from the wineglasses. Drinking blood. She hugged her bags against her chest. Vampires.

“Shanna, please.” Roman approached her slowly. “Come with me. I can protect you.”

She pressed a trembling hand against her mouth. “You… you’re one, too.” He even had a black cape like Dracula.

The DVN man shouted, “Corky, you’ve got to get this!”

The reporter shoved her way through the crowd. “We’ve had an exciting new development. A mortal has crashed the vampire ball!” She shoved a microphone into Shanna’s face. ‘Tell me. How does it feel to find yourself surrounded by hungry vampires?”

“Go to hell!” Shanna turned, but there at the door stood the Russians.

“You’re coming with me.” Roman seized her in an iron grip and swirled his cape around them both.

Everything went black.

For a moment of sheer terror, Shanna couldn’t feel her feet upon the ground. She was floating, confused, dizzy, but always aware that she was in the clutches of Roman Draganesti. Darkness enveloped her, disorienting and scary. A sudden bump and she was standing. No, stumbling.

“Steady.” He kept a grip on her arm. When he lowered the cape, a cool breeze feathered her cheeks and surrounded her with the earthy scent of pine mulch and flowers.

Outside. She was in the garden that surrounded Romatech. Dim landscape lighting illuminated the shapes of bushes and trees and cast eerie shadows across the lawn. How did she get here? And she was alone with Roman Draganesti. Roman, the… the… Oh God, she didn’t want to think it. It couldn’t be true.

She jerked away from him, her Nikes skidding in the gravel of the garden path. Not far away, she could see the brightly lit ballroom through plate glass windows. “How? How did we… ?”

“Teleportation,” he replied softly. “It was the quickest way to get you out.”

It must be a vampire trick, which meant only a real vampire could do it. Someone like… Roman. Shanna shivered. It couldn’t be true. She’d never bought into the modern notion of a romantic vampire. A demonic creature, by its very nature, had to be revolting. Surely, vampires were hideous creatures with green, rotting flesh, and fingernails a mile long. Not to mention a case of bad breath that could flatten a herd of buffalo. They couldn’t look gorgeous and sexy like Roman. They couldn’t kiss like him.

Oh my God, she’d kissed him! She’d stuck her tongue inside a creature from hell. Oh jeez, this would sound great in confession. Say two Hail Marys and avoid further contact with the spawn of the devil.

She stepped onto the grass into the dark shadow of a shade tree. She could see only a silhouette of him in the dark. His black cape stirred in the cool breeze.

Without another thought, she took off in a mad dash, heading for the lights of the front gate. She ran as hard as she could, not allowing the encumbrance of a tote bag and purse to slow her down. Her adrenaline was skyrocketing, her hopes of escape rising, rising. A few more yards and—

There was a whir of movement that shot past her, a blur in the dark that suddenly stopped in front of her. Roman. Shanna skidded to a stop to avoid crashing into him. She gasped for air. He didn’t even look winded.

She bent over to catch her breath.

“You cannot possibly outrun me.”

“I noticed.” She eyed him warily. “My mistake. I just realized I shouldn’t do anything that’ll give you an appetite.”

“You needn’t worry about that. I don’t—“

“Bite? Isn’t that exactly what you do?” An image of a wolf’s fang flitted through her mind. “Oh, jeez. That tooth I implanted in you—it really was a fang?”

“Yes. Thank you for helping me.”

She snorted. “I’ll send you a bill.” She dropped her head back to gaze at the stars. “This can’t be happening to me.”

“We cannot stay here.” He gestured toward the ballroom. “The Russians might see us. Come.” He moved toward her.

She jumped back. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You don’t have any choice.”

“That’s what you think.” She shifted her tote bag to her shoulder and opened her purse.

His sigh sounded irritated, impatient. “You can’t shoot me.”

“Of course I can. I won’t even get charged with murder. You’re already dead.” She pulled out the Beretta.

In a flash, he ripped it out of her hand and tossed it into a flowerbed.

“How dare you! I need that for protection.”

“It won’t protect you. Only I can do that.”

“Well, aren’t you high and mighty? Problem is, I don’t want anything from you. Especially tooth marks.” She heard his frustrated groan. So she was trying his patience. Too bad. He was trying her sanity.

He jabbed a finger toward the ballroom. “Didn’t you see the Russians in there? Their leader is Ivan Petrovsky, and the mafia has hired him to kill you. He’s a professional assassin, and a damned good one.”

Shanna stepped back, shivering as a cool breeze ruffled her hair. “He came to your party. You know him.”

“It’s customary to invite all coven masters.” Roman advanced toward her. “The Russians have paid a vampire to kill you. Your only hope of survival is with the help of another vampire. Me.”

She inhaled sharply. He’d admitted the awful truth about himself. She could no longer deny it, even though she desperately wanted to. The truth was just too scary.

“We must go.” He grabbed her quickly. Before Shanna could object, her vision went black. The swirling disorientation was terrifying. She could no longer feel her body.

When she became aware of her body parts again, she was standing in a dark room. She stumbled, regaining her balance.

“Careful.” Roman steadied her. “Teleportation takes a while to get used to.”

She shoved his arm away. “Don’t ever do that to me again! I don’t like it.”

“Fine. Then we’ll walk.” He grasped her elbow.

“Stop it.” She pulled her arm away. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m your only hope for escaping Petrovsky.”

“I’m not helpless! I’ve done pretty good on my own. And I can get help from the government.”

“Like the federal marshal in New Rochelle? He’s dead, Shanna.”

She gasped. Bob was dead? “Wait a minute. How do you know?”

“I had Connor watching Petrovsky’s house in Brooklyn. He followed the Russians to New Rochelle and found your contact there. The marshal didn’t stand a chance against a group of vampires. Neither will you.”

She swallowed hard. Poor Bob. Dead. What should she do?

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He touched her arm. “Let me help you.”

She shivered at the feel of his fingers gliding down her arm. Not that it repulsed her. It had the opposite effect. It reminded her of how determined he’d been to rescue her, how kind and caring he’d been, how sweet and generous. His desire to help her was genuine. She knew that deep down in her soul, even though she reeled in shock from this latest revelation. How could she accept his help now that she knew the truth? How could she not? Wasn’t there a saying about fighting fire with fire? Maybe the same held true for vampires.

Jeez, what was she thinking? Trust a vampire? She was a bloody food source for them. The blue plate special.

“Is that your real hair color?” he asked softly.

“Huh?” Shanna noticed he had moved closer and was looking at her too intently. Like he was hungry.

“I always knew the brown color was false.” He touched a lock of hair on her shoulder. “Is this your real color?”

“No.” She retreated a step and shoved her hair behind her shoulders. Oh great. She’d just exposed her neck.

“What is your real hair color?”

“Why are we discussing hair color?” Her voice shook and rose in volume. “Do freaking blonds taste better?”

“I thought a safe, mundane subject would calm your nerves.”

“Well, it didn’t work. I still can’t get over the fact that you’re a blood-sucking demon from hell!”

He stiffened with a jolt. Oh great. She’d hurt his feelings. But shoot, she had every right to be upset. So why did she feel bad about lashing out at him?

She cleared her throat. “I may have been too harsh.”

“Your description is essentially correct. However, since I have never been to hell, it’s not appropriate to say I have come from there.” His shadow moved slowly across the room. “Though it could be argued that I’m there now.”

Ouch. She’d really hurt him. “I—I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause. Finally he responded. “I don’t need an apology. You’re not to blame for this. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

Ouch again. She wasn’t handling this very well. But then she didn’t have much experience talking to demons. “Uh… can we turn on a light?”

“No, it would be visible through the window, and Petrovsky would know that we’re here.”

“Where are we, exactly?”

“My lab. It overlooks the garden.”

A curious smell pervaded the room—antiseptic cleanser and something rich and metallic. Blood. Shanna’s stomach twinged. Of course, he worked with blood. He was the inventor of synthetic blood. And a drinker of it, too. She shuddered.

But if Roman’s artificial blood was feeding vampires, then those same vampires were no longer feeding off live people. Roman was saving lives in two different ways. He was still a hero.

And still a blood-drinking demon. How could she deal with this? Part of her was repelled, but another part wanted to reach out to him and tell him he wasn’t at all bad for a… vampire.

With an inward groan, she realized he didn’t need her comfort. He had ten vampire women at home to keep him company on his lonely nights. Eleven women, including Simone.

He opened the door onto a dimly lit hallway. For the first time since leaving the ballroom, she could see his expression. He looked pale. Tense. Angry.

“If you will follow me, please.” He stepped into the hall.

Shanna advanced toward him slowly. “Where are you taking me?” She peered out the door. The hallway was empty.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her. Instead he scanned the hallway as if expecting the bad guys to appear any second. With the power of teleportation, they probably could pop up without warning. Roman was right. Her only hope of surviving the murderous intent of one vampire was to rely on another one. Him.

“Okay. Let’s go.” She followed him down the hall.

He stalked toward an elevator, his cape fluttering behind him. “There’s an underground chamber here at Romatech, completely lined with silver. No vampire can teleport through its walls. You’ll be safe there.”

“Oh.” Shanna stood in front of the elevator, staring at the down button. “I guess silver is like your kryptonite?”

“Yes.” The elevator doors opened. Roman held them open and motioned sharply for her to enter. She hesitated.

His jaw clenched. “You have to trust me.”

“I know. I’m trying. Is that why you gave me that silver crucifix? To protect me from the Russian vampires?”

“Yes.” A pained expression flickered across his pale face. “And from myself.”

Her mouth fell open. He had been tempted to bite her?

His eyes narrowed. “Are you coming?”

She swallowed hard. What choice did she have? She stepped inside the elevator.

He let go of the doors, and they swooshed shut. She stood apart from him, staring at the buttons. He’s still the same man you knew before. He’s still the same man.

“You no longer trust me, do you?”

She took a shaky breath. “I’m trying.”

He glowered at her. “I could never hurt you.”

A spurt of anger burst to the surface. “You have hurt me, Roman. You had the gall to… to flirt with me and kiss me when you have ten live-in mistresses. And then, if that’s not enough, I find out you’re a… a…”

“Vampire.”

“A demonic creature who has actually considered biting me.”

He turned toward her. His eyes darkened to a burnished gold. “I knew this would happen. You want to kill me now, don’t you?”

Shanna blinked. Kill?

“A stake or a silver blade through the heart is the best way to be rid of me.” He stepped toward her and pointed to a spot on his chest. “This is my heart, or rather what’s left of it.”

She stared at his broad chest. Good God, she’d rested her head there. She’d even kissed him, and he’d tasted sweet and so alive. How could he be dead?

He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. “This is the spot right here. Can you remember it? You should wait till I’m asleep. I’ll be totally defenseless then.”

“Stop it.” She jerked her hand away.

“Why?” He leaned close. “Don’t you want to kill the blood-sucking demon from hell?”

“Stop it! I could never hurt you.”

“Oh, but you have, Shanna.”

Her breath hitched. She turned away as hot tears gathered in her eyes. The elevator doors opened. He stalked down a shadowy hallway.

She hesitated. How was she supposed to handle this? Wasn’t it enough that her life was in danger? But her heart was aching for a totally different reason. She was trying to understand, trying to accept the truth about Roman. She actually cared about him, but she was just making things worse. She was hurting him when he was trying to help her. But dammit, it was hurting her, too. She had thought he was the perfect man. How could she have any sort of relationship with him now?

And he didn’t need her. He had ten females of his own kind at home. They’d probably known him for a hundred years. She’d known him only a few days. How could she compete with that? She trudged into the hallway.

He was standing in front of a massive door, punching in a number on a keypad.

“This is the room lined with silver?”

“Yes.” He pressed his forehead against a device. A red beam scanned his eyes. He opened the heavy metal door and motioned for her to enter. “You’ll be safe in here.”

She stepped inside. It was a miniature apartment complete with a bed and kitchen. Through an open doorway, she spotted a bathroom. She dropped her bags on the kitchen table. Then she noticed that Roman had entered the room and was removing his cape. He draped it over his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“This side of the door is lined with silver. It would burn my skin.” Using the cape as insulation, he pushed the door shut. Then he turned the locks and slid a heavy bar into place.

“You’re going to stay here with me?”

He looked at her. “Are you afraid I’m going to bite you?”

“Well, maybe. You’re bound to get hungry sooner or later.”

“I do not feed off mortals,” he said through gritted teeth. He marched to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle from the fridge, and stuck it in the microwave.

So he was hungry, Shanna realized with a grimace. Or maybe he ate when he was upset. Like her. Somehow, a lecture on emotional eating didn’t seem wise at the moment. She would really rather he be full.

Memories of the kitchen at Roman’s house came flooding back. Connor trying to keep her out of the refrigerator. Connor and Ian warming up their “protein drinks” in the microwave. The harem girls drinking red stuff from their wineglasses. Good God, it had been in front of her the whole time. The wolf’s fang. The coffins in the basement. Roman sleeping like the dead in her bedroom. He really had been dead. Was still dead, even though he walked and talked. And kissed like a… a devil.