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  “Yeah. You know. Humans get cold. It does things…like tighten their nipples. It’s a lot of fun with the women. A lot.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh man. You’ve been dead too long, or something. Anybody can suck blood, KayNan. Few do it right. I happen to be an expert. I’ve got a list of women that call me for dates.”

  “Oh. Hell. Akron?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Akron inserted. “I’m going to let Nigel dig this hole all by himself, although…this does highlight why we’ve had an uptick in cell phone activity ever since they got to be the thing in communication.”

  “Well. It’s your policy, Sir. I can only use them once. And heck. I’m called a lot. But once the chicks get too old, they’re like…too old. Fresh blood. That’s my style.”

  Oh…damn. That was his heart. KayNan made fists about his chains as the muscle gave the slightest tremble deep in his chest, and then continued with another one. In a rhythmic fashion.

  “My heart is beating,” he told them.

  Dead silence answered. It lasted a full three seconds. And then Nigel started sputtering.

  “You lucky bastard! Here I am describing things from memory as if I’m having the time of my un-life…and you’re experiencing them?”

  “I’m not experiencing anything. Except this. Something weird is happening to me. All over.”

  “Who is she?” Akron asked.

  “Who?”

  Nigel answered. “You’ve found your mate. This is what happens. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, or when. And I’d be jealous, except you are hundreds of years older than me. Shit. Does that mean I have to wait a millenia for my next date with a condom?”

  “What’s a condom?” KayNan asked.

  “Ignore him. It’s easier. We’ll send you over some videos. But Nigel is right about one thing. You are one lucky bastard. So, tell us. Who is she?”

  “All set, Sir. I mean, shoot. Hit me with the details and I’ll be searching. We can always use new associates. The one Reika just delivered is really something. Name’s Darryl Bailes. Excellent knife skills. You should see the targets those two can hit. They just completed a hit on—”

  “Nigel.”

  Akron stopped him.

  “Oh. Sorry Sir. When you’re ready. Or…when KayNan is ready. I’ll be typing. Any time now. Just give me some details. A name. Anything.”

  Akron sighed. The sigh made a throbbing noise that swelled through the sound system.

  “That’s just it,” KayNan replied. “I haven’t met anyone.”

  “No?”

  “Well…anybody that I didn’t kill.”

  “Ouch. That would be disastrous, eh? Imagine, finding your one shot at reanimation and real live sex, and then snuffing it out. Wow. What a bummer.”

  “His targets were the Carlotti brothers, Nigel. I sincerely doubt either of them were his mate.”

  “Oh. Yeah. There is that. I’m just trying to brainstorm, here.”

  “Keep it to yourself then.”

  “That’s not the point of brainstorming, Sir. The idea is to toss out as many things as possible because one might just trigger something else, and that might trigger something else, and before you know it – voila! You have the answer.”

  Another heavy sigh boomed through the speakers.

  “All right. Fine. I’ll stay silent. Geez. Cut a guy some slack and what happens?”

  “A guy might never get to play the VIDWAR game again. That is what happens.”

  “Oh. Got it, Sir. I’ll just anxiously await instructions.”

  “Are you still there, KayNan?” Akron asked.

  He was. He was licking his lips with his tongue, and actually experiencing taste. Texture. Saltiness. And Nigel had been right. He could use a shower.

  “Yes,” he replied finally.

  “You need to give me some perimeters to work with here.”

  “I don’t have any. I don’t get out much. You know that. And this…just started.”

  “Time frame?”

  “Ten minutes ago. Maybe more.”

  “Triggering event?”

  “Oh, that’s a great question, Sir. Really good.”

  “Nigel—” Akron warned.

  “I had a dream,” KayNan told them. “No. Wait. It was more a…vision.”

  “A woman?” Nigel asked.

  “Just a face. Actually…it was her eyes.”

  “Color?”

  “Dark brown.”

  “Get started on it, Nigel.”

  “Right. Female. Dark brown eyes. Not much to go by. I’m getting a bazillion hits, Sir.”

  “Narrow it down then.”

  “Right. How, Sir?”

  “You could brainstorm.”

  “Right. KayNan? Were her eyes any clue to nationality? Age?”

  “Not…really,” KayNan replied.

  “Nigel.”

  “Sir?”

  “I was being facetious.”

  “Oh. Okay. What should I do?”

  “When were you last out of your home, KayNan? And where?”

  “The Carlos hit. Chicago.”

  “Very good. Nigel? Shrink your search window for dark-brown eyed women. Bring up the investigation into the Carlotti murder. On my screen, too, please.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Here it is. The authorities have put together a team of detectives to solve the crime. They’re being pressured by the Carlotti family. Hey look. Aren’t they the same firm that makes men’s suits?”

  “Nigel.”

  “Sir?”

  “What happened this morning? About fifteen minutes ago?”

  “Oh. Autopsy…they just cut off the top of his head. You want visual?”

  “Later. And the crime scene?”

  “Looks like they sent an officer to accompany a woman. A psychic.”

  “Stop, Nigel. Right there.”

  “Sir?”

  “KayNan?”

  “Yes?” He leaned forward in his chair. The leather slid against the grime on his legs. He was definitely finding and using his shower the moment this was over.

  “I’m checking out now. I’ll leave you with Nigel.”

  “But—”

  “This is your mate.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Nigel can handle the particulars. He can send you the videos we mentioned, as well as assist you with your new wardrobe.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to need a nice menswear firm. Due to recent history, I would not recommend the Carlotti Brothers. And this is all I can do. I am signing off now.”

  “But, Sir!”

  “You don’t understand. Neither of you. I have to go. Your mate has a powerful ability. So do I. That’s how I know what I know. I do not wish our abilities to interact. On any level. The last thing I wish is to be a voyeur in your…un-life. You understand yet?”

  “I guess.”

  “Good. Nigel? Carry on.”

  Akron signed off. The effect was akin to turning the volume down. Dimming the lights. KayNan reached a hand to rub across stubble on his chin. Upper lip. There wasn’t much, because he’d shaved that fateful morning when he and the other slaves had made a bid for freedom. And failed.

  “Okay. KayNan, my man. Looks like your mate is a pretty sweet looking brunette. Small. Dark brown eyes. And wow. She has a nice set of—uh. I better shut up. You’ll hurt me. Her name is Jeannette. She lives in Philadelphia. Has a small shop that sells incense and other mood enhancing items. You know. Like feng-shui. That sort of thing.”

  “Feng-who?”

  “Never mind. She inherited the space from an elderly aunt. And a very nice quarterly income. That explains how she can afford the taxes on that location. And here’s her home address. Oh. You probably don’t want that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s not there. She’s in the windy city. I’ve got her hote
l. Her room number. And look. Here’s the code on her room keycard. But first…I’d better get you set up with some decent attire. Want it delivered to your PO Box in Nowhere, North Dakota? Or…want it expressed to her five-star Hotel?”

  “Which is faster?”

  “The hotel. I’ll book you into the penthouse suite. And…done. Oh. According to the file, you are still six foot two. Two hundred and five pounds. I’m going to assume that’s accurate. And your coloring probably looks best in winter shades.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Menswear, my dear Barbarian. Menswear. Oh. One more thing.”

  KayNan stopped his finger on the power button. “What?”

  “You’re going to have silk neckwear with your suit. Chains are definitely out of style this season. Trust me. Leave the iron at home. And try out that shower!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ah…the scent of white tea, infused as this was with strawberry, peach, and vanilla. Carrying the slightest undertone of rose petal.

  It was perfectly blended.

  Subtle.

  Jeannette’s hand trembled, holding the cup. She forced it still before inhaling, her senses picking out each taste and smell. She supposed she did qualify as the tea connoisseur the waiter had called her after she’d sent him back twice to get the right temperature for her water. It hadn’t been said as a compliment. Jeannette sipped at her brew, holding the cup within inhaling distance while the combination lingered on her tongue. She swallowed. Took another sip. Each movement was designed to give the concoction time to take effect. That’s why she’d placed this particular mixture in her tea ball. She’d chosen it not only for its aromatic qualities, but the soothing aura it usually imbued. All of which might be ruined if it wasn’t steeped at exactly the right temperature and for the correct amount of time. She needed a temperature range of 149 to 158 degrees Fahrenheit, and she needed to steep her tea for a minute and a half.

  The waiter had watched her test the water with her little travel thermometer. He’d been sneering the first time. The second time, he’d sighed heavily and said several unsavory things beneath his breath. The third carafe of water he’d brought was the correct temperature. That’s when he’d said he didn’t realize he had a ‘new-age tea connoisseur’ to satisfy, in a fairly surly tone that could adversely affect his tip.

  Oh. She’d forgotten. This five-star hotel automatically added a large gratuity to every check, regardless of what you ordered or what time of night. Jeannette looked over the sparsely-filled dining room. It was after eleven, but they didn’t close until midnight. She’d checked. She didn’t really like five-star hotels that came with five-star service attitudes, nor dining rooms so rich they didn’t just have digital background music. They paid a trio of musicians to play stringed instruments softly over in one corner. But that’s what happened when the Carlotti Brothers hired you and then booked and paid for your stay.

  Jeannette took another sip of her brew. Perfect. This combination of white tea was exactly what she needed, imbued as it was with delicate complexity and natural sweetness. Exactly…

  The Senior Carlotti had taken her information earlier without an eyelash bat to show disbelief, although he’d whitened to the same shade as his expensive men’s dress shirt when she’d described the assassin she’d seen. As if vampires really existed and went around killing people such as the elder Carlotti sons. She’d actually stuttered just saying it. Carlotti Senior had simply nodded sagely. Then his lips had thinned and he’d waved his guards back. He’d thanked her for the information. Said he had what he needed now. Her job was finished. He’d handed her a check for her fee that included such an outrageous bonus she was almost afraid of cashing it, got on his cell, and instructed someone to contact a firm named V.A.L., whatever that was. She hadn’t heard more. She didn’t want to. Someone had taken her elbow to escort her to a limo, and after a short drive, she’d been deposited on the steps of this hotel, and left to find her room. And get some rest. Before her five-thirty wake-up call, the early flight back home, and normalcy.

  Watching old, black-and-white movies on the over-sized flat-screen LED television monitor hadn’t worked. Exercise was useless as well. She should be exhausted. She’d visited the hotel gym for over an hour, spent another hour walking the halls of every floor. Twice. And then she’d tackled the emergency exit stairs. Once down. Then up. Her thighs had jittered from the exercise as she’d showered. But it hadn’t worked. She didn’t need physical exhaustion. She needed mental tiredness. Yet every time she closed her eyes, she got an image. Him. That man. That…creature. Looking at her with vivid green eyes. He’d been wild-looking, yet still extremely handsome. Swarthy…like he’d once spent a lot of time in the sun. Thick with muscle. Scarred.

  And those eyes!

  Sleep eluded her. Still. She suspected why. She was anxious. Restless. She’d stirred the powers and they weren’t finished with her. Everything felt hyper-sensitive, alert and readied, as if tuned to the right frequency to receive, and then just left hanging, tempting her to violate her cardinal rule. The waiter didn’t know. Nobody did. This tea was just another effort at staving off insomnia – especially the upcoming bout.

  There was a sudden ruckus over at the entrance. Something fell with a thud. Something else made a breaking sound. Glass shattered, all of it altering the ambiance of the dining room, jarring the musicians to a series of discordant notes before they recovered. Heads turned toward the entrance. Not hers. Jeannette set the cup on its saucer and stood, the move tipping her chair slightly, all of it without conscious thought or volition. Or command. And then she looked up to watch the man who walked toward her, completely ignoring the reaction of waiters dropping trays and patrons going open-mouthed in his wake.

  It was the man she’d seen…and yet he’d changed. No skim of whisker shadowed his upper lip or chin. No wild mane of hair cascaded over his shoulders. This man was impeccably groomed, hair tied back in a queue, and attired in a tailored suit that highlighted the width of his shoulders as well as the narrowness of his hips. Everything was in monochromatic tones of dark gray, fading to black. His jacket. His shirt. Tie. Vest. Everything. It was amazingly striking, even without adding in his handsomeness. She’d been right about that, as well. He probably should be walking a red carpet somewhere, not causing havoc in a dining room in downtown Chicago. He came closer, walking around obstacles without looking – as if they didn’t even exist. And the closer he got, the more every part of her body reacted. First with alarm, then downright fright. Adrenaline kicked in. Her heart pounded. Her breath quickened. Shivers flew her limbs, chilling her.

  He stopped on the other side of her table, looking at her with an enigmatic expression…coming from incredibly green eyes. Jeannette tried to swallow, but the dry gulp merely scraped her throat. His eyes narrowed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Now, that was just overkill. He had a voice that didn’t need amplification. Or moderating. It was full. Deep. Melodic. They guy probably could sing bass notes. Nobody who looked like him needed a voice that stopped traffic. Jeannette’s heart skipped a beat. He frowned.

  They were garnering attention. Her waiter was approaching at a clip that caught the corner of her eye. She almost turned to him.

  “You have a voice?” the creature asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Uh…you.”

  “Me?”

  His eyebrows lifted as if in surprise. That gave her another heart flutter. The moment she felt it she got his instant appraisal through narrowed eyes again.

  “Your heart. It’s racing. And missing beats. Is that normal?”

  Her eyes widened.

  “And don’t ask how I know. I’m rather…new to this.”

  A dark shade crept up his jaw, adding unnecessary attractiveness where it wasn’t remotely needed. Jeannette’s knees started knocking together beneath her ankle-length skirt. It probably wasn’
t pretty. And it wasn’t controllable. Her knees were still tapping against each other in a non-rhythmic fashion. She’d read about that affectation in romance novels. She’d never felt it before.

  Her waiter reached them and cleared his throat to get their attention, and then just stood holding onto a couple of large menus. He barely reached the man’s shoulder level. No, Jeannette. He’s not a man. He’s a creature. Jeannette moved her eyes to the waiter.

  “Madam didn’t tell me she was dining with a companion tonight. I will see to another table setting immediately. Would Monsieur care for a wine? Or perhaps a cocktail?”

  “Uh…”

  The man – No, Jeannette…he’s a creature – looked as unsure as he sounded. Jeanette’s heart reacted with a quick pulse. And his eyes narrowed again. As if he somehow felt it.

  “We…should probably sit down?” Jeannette offered.

  “Perhaps the gentleman is waiting for the lady to be seated.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Jeannette dropped onto the padded seat. Actually, it was more like her legs had been waiting for permission to cave in, and upon receiving it, acquiesced without a murmur. The creature watched her for a bit, and then copied her motion, to the extent that he bounced slightly upon reaching his own seat. That was almost funny. Her lips twitched.

  “What?” the creature asked.

  “Uh…”

  “Would you care for the wine menu?”

  The waiter interrupted, holding the menu for the creature to take from him. Jeannette counted to eight before the waiter gave up and set it on the table.

  “Very well. Would you rather look at the evening’s dinner selections?”

  He held out another menu. The creature looked up at her with the strangest expression in his eyes. Unsure. Worried. Helpless. It couldn’t be. He was acting as if he’d never seen a menu before. That was patently ridiculous. And even if it were true, she really didn’t need to assist him. But her mouth opened and she spoke up anyway.

  “That won’t be necessary. He’ll have a coffee. And…a bit of that special dessert you tried to entice me with earlier. The pineapple thing. With coconut sherbet. Won’t you?”

  The creature nodded. The waiter snapped the menu shut, gave her an indecipherable look and left, each step showing his disapproval. He obviously knew the stats that a woman dining alone was the worst tipper, while a couple looking like it was a first date was usually the best. That could explain his alacrity at showing up and assisting the creature, and also his disgust at her taking over the situation and ordering something guaranteed to get him a pittance. Either that or he was gay. And this fellow was something one didn’t see every night.