Who currently hated him.
She was so angry, so bitter—nothing like the young woman he’d once known, the woman whose memory he’d cherished. She also awakened a pain he’d buried deep.
He sagged against the tree. When he’d come looking for Professor Segova, he’d expected a quick, easy, polite discussion with a stranger. After all, he could simply compel the woman to tell him everything he needed to know. She was his last resort, though.
Vivianne had been languishing in her coffin for eight months. The witch, Dave Carter, had placed her under a suspension spell when she’d been bitten by a stray lycan, in an effort to give himself enough time to find something that everybody else didn’t believe existed—a vampire’s cure against the lycan toxin. Eight months, and he’d exhausted every option, had visited every elder, witch, monk, shaman—hell, he’d even tried the mundane human doctors. Nothing. Now, though, Dave had learned of a woman well-versed in ancient lore, who could possibly search through the dusty records for an oblique reference to the cure. Well, that was the plan. And he’d anticipated finding an older woman who would succumb to his compulsion and tell him everything he needed to know.
But, no. Instead he’d found a woman who could not only resist compulsion, but now showed no inclination whatsoever to help him save his sister.
She was right, though. He hadn’t been there when she’d needed him. He’d promised and he’d let her down, and she’d paid the ultimate price. He shifted, guilt and shame weighing uncomfortably on his shoulders. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Nin—no, Natalie. Natalie... He repeated the name over and over in his mind, trying to get it to stick, despite the shock. What the hell was he supposed to do now? His sister’s body was slowly being eaten by the poison. His father would blame him for this death, too. He would lose the only family he knew.
He looked up at the sky. Already the dark was giving way to gray. He’d have to move soon, find someplace dark and protected from sunlight. He eyed the window. He didn’t want to leave her.
She could be the key to saving his sister. She was also the only real friend he’d ever had. His eyes narrowed. He’d twisted himself inside out when he’d heard of her death. And here she was, looking remarkably healthy for a corpse. All those years—decades—he’d tortured himself with remorse for not being there for her, his regret for a treasured life lost had ripped him apart. He’d done dark deeds as a result of that pain, that desolation.
And it had all been for nothing. She lived. Anger tasted like ash in his mouth.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her she was his last resort. Failure was not an option. Natalie Segova would help him save his sister.
He just needed the right leverage.
* * *
Natalie glanced around as she lifted her suitcase into the trunk of her compact car. She’d waited until the sun was truly overhead before stepping out of the house. There was no sign of Lucien. Not that she expected to see him. He was a blood-sucking vampire who sizzled to ash in the sunlight. She hoped he’d crawled back into whatever dark place he’d lived in for the past forty years.
Still, it was a relief he’d finally left. She wasn’t sure when, though. She’d stayed awake all night, listening. Hadn’t slept a wink.
That was probably his evil plan, darn it. She’d had to wait for sunrise, though, before she could start packing. She hadn’t wanted to clue him in to her plans for a speedy departure. It had taken her most of the day to get things sorted.
She lifted her sunglasses to rest on the top of her head as she strode through her kitchen and picked up a box from the table. She’d hastily packed her most prized possessions—whatever she could fit into her car. She’d lived as Natalie Segova for eight years, the longest she’d held on to an identity for decades, so she’d accrued quite a few things. Some old books that were dated pre-Troubles era—before humans realized the shadow breeds existed, and were quite telling of the time—some art, her tools, just in case she ever got close to a dig again. She eyed the contents, then gave a satisfied nod when she spied the small jewelry box tucked inside.
She peeled off her gloves and set them on the table, then reached for the velvet jewelry box. She lifted the lid and gently clasped the locket inside. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the object in her hand, opening her senses. All she could sense, all she could feel, hear and see was a black void. Nothing. She closed up the velvet box and sighed softly in frustration. Still nothing.
She glanced around the room and made a face. She’d been here for so long. It was comfortable. Familiar. She liked it. She liked her work, she liked her students. Heck, she even liked Terry, and good old Rupert who haunted her office. She liked her name, too.
Damn it, she was two years too early. People started to notice after ten years the lack of aging, so she generally made it a practice to move on before folks started to ask questions. But here—she liked here. Now she’d have to create a new name, a new identity. Where was she going to go? What was she going to do? It wasn’t like job opportunities for historians came up regularly.
She tugged on her gloves and lifted the box. She had so much access to information here, information she needed to figure out what the hell was going on with her. Even now she struggled to think of a destination that would help her with her quest. She stomped to her car. She didn’t like moving house. Had done more than her fair share of it. And why was her life in such a state of upheaval?
Lucien. It was all his fault. She dumped the box unceremoniously into the trunk and slammed the lid closed. She clapped her hands together, trying to dislodge as much dust as possible from her gloves. Why should she let another vampire ruin her life?
The thought brought her up short. Maybe she could just ignore him? She snorted. Like anyone could ignore Lucien Marchetta. The man was too good-looking, and too damn determined, to be ignored. She started to drift back toward the house. Send him on his way? Maybe she could get on with her life and to hell with Lucien Marchetta? Just go on living as Natalie Segova...? Her shoulders sagged. No. She couldn’t risk it. If word got out about who—or what—she really was, she wouldn’t have much of a life left, if any.
Being in this position, subject to the whims of a bloodsucker, was damn annoying.
She growled softly as she jogged back into the house to get her bag and keys. It was late afternoon and shadows were creeping across her yard. Dusk came early this close to the mountains. She had to get out of here before Lucien came back. And he would. If there was one thing she remembered about the man, it was how ruthless he could be when his family was threatened.
Her mouth turned down. What she would have given to have that fierce protection pointed in her direction. Well, obviously his regard for her hadn’t cut as deep as hers had for him. She straightened her shoulders. If wishes were horses, there would be no shadow breeds, damn it.
She returned to her car, slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.
Nothing.
She frowned, turned the key back to its original position and then tried again. Still nothing. She checked the fuel gauge. She still had a half tank of gas. Her eyes narrowed as she popped the hood and climbed out of the car. She lifted the hood, propping it open with the car rod, then rested her hands on the rim of the engine bay as she surveyed inside. It didn’t take her long to notice the distributor cap was missing.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
She heaved back off the car, her hands fisting as she took a few steps in one direction, then turned and stalked a few steps in another direction.
That weaselly, sneaky, clever bloodsucker. How had he known?